“Well, Mr. Hickman,” said Heffernan, as he arose to take leave, “I have neither the right nor the inclination to pry into any man's secrets. This affair of Gleeson's will be sifted to the bottom one day or other, and that small transaction of the ten thousand pounds as well as the rest. It was not to discuss him or his fortunes I came here. I hoped to have seen Mr. O'Reilly, and explained away a very serious misconception. Lord Castlereagh regrets it, not for the sake of the loss of Mr. O'Reilly's support, valuable as that unquestionably is, but because a wrong interpretation would seem to infer that the conduct of the Treasury bench was disingenuous. You will, I trust, make this explanation for me, and in the name of his Lordship.” “Faith, I won't promise it,” said old Hickman, looking up from a long column of figures which he was for some minutes poring over; “I don't understand them things at all; if Bob wanted to be a lord, 't is more than ever I did,--I don't see much pleasure there is in being a gentleman. I know, for my part, I 'd rather sit in the back parlor of my little shop in Loughrea, where I could have a chat over a tumbler of punch with a neighbor, than all the grandeur in life.” “These simple, unostentatious tastes do you credit before the world, sir,” said Heffernan, with a well put-on look of admiration. “I don't know whether they do or not,” said Hickman, “but I know they help to make a good credit with the bank, and that's better--ay!” Heffernan affected to relish the joke, and descended the stairs, laughing as he went; but scarcely had he reached his carriage, however, than he muttered a heavy malediction on the sordid old miser whose iniquities were not less glaring because Con had utterly failed to unravel anything of his mystery. “To Lord Castlereagh's,” said he to the footman, and then lay back to ponder over his late interview. The noble Secretary was not up when Con arrived, but had left orders that Mr. Heffernan should be shown up to his room whenever he came. It was now about five o'clock in the afternoon, and Lord Castlereagh, wrapped up in a loose morning-gown, lay on the bed where he had thrown himself, without undressing, on reaching home. A debate of more than fifteen hours, with all its strong and exciting passages, had completely exhausted his strength, while the short and disturbed sleep had wearied rather than refreshed him. The bed and the table beside it were covered with the morning papers and open letters and despatches, for, tired as he was, he could not refrain from learning the news of the day. “Well, my Lord,” said Heffernan, with his habitual smile, as he stepped noiselessly across the floor, “I believe I may wish you joy at last,--the battle is gained now.” “Heigho!” was the reply of the Secretary, while he extended two fingers of his hand in salutation. “What hour is it, Heffernan?”