“He will not die--he will not die, I hope--at any rate, don’t talk so loud within hearing of these people. My dear Lady O’Shane, this foolish boy--this Harry Ormond is, I grant, a sad scapegrace, but you must bear with him for my sake. Let this poor wounded fellow remain here--I won’t have him stirred to-night--we shall see what ought to be done in the morning. Ormond, you forgot yourself strangely towards Lady O’Shane--as to this fellow, don’t make such a rout about the business; I dare say he will do very well: we shall hear what the surgeon says. At first I was horribly frightened--I thought you and Marcus had been quarrelling. Miss Annaly, are not you afraid of staying out? Lady O’Shane, why do you keep Miss Annaly? Let supper go up directly.” “Supper! ay, every thing goes on as usual,” said Ormond, “and I--” “I must follow them in, and see how things _are_ going on, and prevent gossiping, for your sake, my boy,” resumed Sir Ulick, after a moment’s pause. “You have got into an ugly scrape. I pity you from my soul--I’m rash myself. Send the surgeon to me when he has seen the fellow. Depend upon me, if the worst come to the worst, there’s nothing in the world I would not do to serve you,” said Sir Ulick: “so keep up your spirits, my boy--we’ll contrive to bring you through--at the worst, it will only be manslaughter.” Ormond wrung Sir Ulick’s hand--thanked him for his kindness; but repeated, “it will be murder--it will be murder--my own conscience tells me so! If he die, give me up to justice.” “You’ll think better of it before morning,” said Sir Ulick, as he left Ormond.