A return chaise from Kilcock was at last secured, and Daly, with his servant on the box, proceeded towards Dublin. It was dark when they reached the capital, and drove with all the speed they could accomplish to the Knight's house in Henrietta Street. Great was Daly's discomfort to learn that his friend Darcy had just driven from the door. “Where to?” said he, as he held his watch in his hand, as if considering the chances of still overtaking him. “To a dinner-party, sir, at Lord Castlereagh's,” said the servant. “At Lord Castlereagh's!” And nothing but the presence of the man repressed the passionate exclamation that quivered on his lip. “Yes, sir, his Lordship and Mr. Heffernan called here--” “Mr. Heffernan,--Mr. Con Heffernan do you mean?” interrupted he, quickly. “Ah! I have it now. And when was this visit?” “On Monday last, sir.” “On Monday,” said Daly to himself. “The very day the letter was written to me: there's something in it, after all. Drive to Kildare Place, and as fast as you can,” said he, aloud, as he sprang into the chaise. The steps were up, the door banged to, the horses lashed into a gallop, and the next moment saw the chaise at the end of the street. Short as the distance was,--scarcely a mile to Heffer-nan's house,--Daly's impatient anxiety made him think it an eternity. His object was to reach the house before Heffernan started; for he judged rightly that not only was the Secretary's dinner planned by that astute gentleman, but that its whole conduct and machinery rested on his dexterity. “I know the fellow well,” muttered Daly,--“ay, and, by Heaven! he knows _me_. His mock candor and his counterfeit generosity have but a bad chance with such men as myself; but Darcy's open, unsuspecting temperament is the very metal he can weld and fashion to his liking.” It was in the midst of reflections like these, mingled with passionate bursts of impatience at the pace, which was, notwithstanding, a sharp gallop, that they dashed up to Heffer-nan's door. To make way for them, a chariot that stood there was obliged to move on. “Whose carriage is this?” said Daly, as, without waiting for the steps to be lowered, he sprang to the ground. “Mr. Heffernan's, sir.” “He is at home, then?” “Yes, sir; but just about to leave for a dinner-party.” “Stand by that chariot, Sandy, and take care that no one enters it till I come back,” whispered Daly in his servant's ear. And Sandy took up bis post at the door like a sentinel on duty. “Tell your master,” said Daly to the servant, who stood at the open hall-door, “that a gentleman desires to speak with him.” “He's just going out, sir.” “Give my message,” said Daly, sternly. “With what name, sir?” “Repeat the words as I have given them to you, and don't dictate to me how I am to announce myself,” said he, harshly, as he opened the door and walked into the parlor.