“By Heaven!--the living image of the kindest and bravest officer under whom a soldier ever served! I am prouder, sir, in having you this night beneath my humble roof, than if you called a prince your father.” And stretching forward his hand, the veteran grasped mine in his with an honest ardour that proved how deeply military attachment takes root, and how dearly the remembrance of “auld lang syne” is cherished in the soldier’s memory. “And now,” he said, “what is there in the Fox and Hounds which I can offer to my old colonel’s son?” “Nothing but what is already on the table; but possibly you could, in another matter, render me some assistance?” “Name but the way in which John Williams can be serviceable.” “You know my relationship to Mr. Clifford?” “Perfectly. I was with my gallant captain the night we stole his beautiful lady from the convent garden. Alas! many a time it has grieved me to the heart, to think that the old gentleman should remain so cold and unforgiving as he is; but he is poisoned against his child by the priests and villains who surround him. How can I be useful? What do you intend to do?--Do you intend to call on the old man? If you do, I fear there are those about him who will prevent it. No one is allowed to see him but in the presence of that dark monk they call Father Daniels. The house is guarded like a gaol, and the gates are locked against the world.” “I despair of obtaining an interview by open means,” I replied--“How shall I manage it by secret ones?” “It will be all but impossible,” said the sergeant. “I will think over it to-night; and if a chance exist we’ll try it, hit or miss. But soft!--surely that voice which I hear in the kitchen is old George Smith the keeper’s? He is the only one of the old servants now remaining at the Hall; and, only that his master has a strong regard for him, and won’t listen to any stories to his disadvantage, he would have shared the fate of others, and been sent adrift as they were. Father Daniels hates him; and, faith, its cordially returned! The old keeper remembers your honour’s mother well, and many a time he speaks of her--and I’ll stake my pension, that he will befriend the son of her whom he still reverences in his heart.” As he spoke, the sergeant rose and left the room.--Irishmen are all more or less superstitious; and I hailed it as a happy omen, that, in the very opening of my attempt, fate should have thrown across me an old comrade of my father. To succeed, I had scarce a hope; but, for every reason, I was ambitious to fail respectably. I was experimentalizing under the direction of one whose good opinion I was anxious to secure; and I determined that when I returned to town, I would at least satisfy Mr. Hartley that I had struck boldly, although the blow had failed.