Such was one of the narratives his reappearance in Dublin again brought up; and, singular enough, by the respect shown him by the mob, derived much of its source in that same feeling of awe and dread they manifested towards one they believed privileged to do whatever he pleased. Alas for human nature! the qualities which find favor with the multitude are never the finer and better traits of the heart, but rather the sterner features that emanate from a strong will and firm purpose. [Illustration: 229] If the voices of the closely compacted mass which filled the streets and avenues of Dublin on that day could have been taken, it would have been found that Bagenal Daly had an overwhelming majority; while, on a converse scrutiny, it would appear that not a gentleman in Ireland entertained for that mob sentiments of such thorough contempt as he did. Nor was the sentiment concealed by him. The crowd which, growing as it went, followed him from place to place throughout the city, would break forth at intervals into some spontaneous shout of admiration, and a cheer for Bagenal Daly, commanded by some deep throat, would be answered in a deafening roar of voices. Then would Daly turn, and, as the moving mass fell back, scowl upon their unwashed faces with such a look of scorn that even they half felt the insult. In such wise was his progress through the streets of Dublin, now moving slowly onward, now turning to confront the mob that in slavish adulation still tracked his steps. It was at a moment like this, when, standing at bay, he scowled upon the dense throng, Heffernan's carriage drove slowly past, and Con, leaning from the window, called out in a dramatic tone, “Thy friends, Siccius Dentatus, thy friends!” Daly started, and as his cheek reddened, answered, “Ay, and by my soul, for the turning of a straw, I 'd make them your enemies.” And as if responsive to the threat, a groan for “the Castle hack, three groans for Con Heffernan,” were shouted out in tones that shook the street. For a second or two Daly's face brightened, and his eyes sparkled with the fire of enterprise, and he gazed on the countless mass with a look of indecision; but, suddenly folding his arms, he dropped his head, and muttered, “No, no, it would n't do; robbery and pillage would be the whole of it;” and, without raising his eyes again, walked slowly homewards. The hours wore on, and six o'clock came, but no sign of Gleeson, nor had Sandy returned with any answer. “And yet I am positive he is not from home,” said Darcy. “He pledged himself not to leave this until the whole business was completed. Honest Tom Gleeson is a man to keep to the strictest letter of his word.” “I 'd not think that less likely,” said Daly, sententiously, “if the world had spared him the epithet. I hate the cant of calling a man by some title that should be common to all men,--at least, to all gentlemen.”