“The reason why I made these inquiries about the name of Norton,” said Lord Cullamore, “is this. There was, several years ago, a respectable female of the name, who held a confidential situation in my family; I have long lost sight of her, however, and would be glad to know whether she is living or dead.” (“My sister-in-law,” thought Tom.) “I fear,” he replied, “I can render you no information on that point, my lord; the last female branch of our part of the family was my grandmother, who died about three years ago.” At this moment a servant entered the apartment, bearing in his hand a letter, for which office he had received a bribe of half-a-crown. “I beg pardon, my lord, but there's a woman at the hall-door, who wishes this letter to be handed to that gentleman; but I fear there's some mistake,” he added, “it is directed to Barney Bryan. She insists he is here, and that she saw him come into the house.” “Barney Bryan,” said Tom, with great coolness; “show me the letter, for I think I know something about it. Yes, I am right. It is an insane woman, my lord, wife to a jockey of mine, who broke his neck riding my celebrated horse, Black and all Black, on the Curragh. The poor creature cannot believe that her husband is dead, and thinks that I enjoy that agreeable privilege. The circumstance, indeed, was a melancholy one; but I have supported her ever since.” Morty O'Flaherty, who had transferred his charge to other hands, fearing that Mister Norton might get into trouble, now came to the rescue. “Pray,” said Tom, quick as lightning, “is that insane creature below still, a poor woman whose husband broke his neck riding a race for me on the Curragh, and she thinks that I stand to her in that capacity?” “Oh, yes; she says,” added the man who brought the letter, “that this gentleman's name is not Norton, but Bryan--Barney Bryan, I think--and that he is her husband, exactly as the gentleman says.” “Just so, my lord,” said Tom, smiling; “poor thing! what a melancholy delusion.” “I was present at the accident, Mr. Norton,” added Morty, boldly, “and remember the circumstance, in throth, very well. Didn't the poor woman lose her senses by it?” “Yes,” replied Tom, “I have just mentioned the circumstance to his lordship.” “And--beg pardon, Mr. Norton--doesn't she take you for her husband from that day to this?” “Yes, so I have said.” “Oh, God help her, poor thing! Isn't she to be pitied?” added Morty, with a dry roguish glance at Mr. Norton; “throth, she has a hard fate of it. Howaniver, she is gone. I got her off, an' now the place is I clear of the unfortunate creature. The lord look to her!” The servants then withdrew, and Norton made his parting bow to Lord Cullamore, whom we now leave to his meditations on the subject of this interview. CHAPTER XXI. A Spy Rewarded --Sir Thomas Gourlay Charged Home by the Stranger with the Removal and Disappearance of his Brother's Son.