“It is near five; but really there 's not a creature to be seen in the streets, and, except old Killgobbin airing his pocket-handkerchief at the fire, not a soul at the Club. Last night's struggle has nearly killed every one.” “Who is this Mr. Gleeson that has run off with so much money,--did you know him?” “Oh, yes, we all knew 'honest Tom Gleeson.'” “Ah! that was his sobriquet, was it?” said the Secretary, smiling. “Yes, my Lord, such was he,--or such, at least, was he believed to be, till yesterday evening. You know it's the last glass of wine always makes a man tipsy.” “And who is ruined, Heffernan,--any of our friends?” “As yet there's no saying. Drogheda will lose something considerable, I believe; but at the banks the opinion is that Darcy will be the heaviest loser of any.” “The Knight?” “Yes, the Knight of Gwynne.” “I am sincerely sorry to hear it,” said Lord Castlereagh, with an energy of tone he had not displayed before; “if I had met half-a-dozen such men as he is, I should have had some scruples--” He paused, and at the instant caught sight of a very peculiar smile on Heffernan's features; then, suddenly changing the topic, he said, “What of Nickolls,--is he shot?” “No, my Lord, there was no meeting. Bagenal Daly, so goes the story, proposed going over to the Isle of Man in a row-boat.” “What, last night!” said the Secretary, laughing. “Yes, when it was blowing the roof off the Custom House; he offered him his choice of weapons, from a blunderbuss to a harpoon, and his own distance, over a handkerchief, or fifty yards with a rifle.” “And was Nickolls deaf to all such seductions?” “Quite so, my Lord; even when Daly said to him, 'I think it a public duty to shoot a fellow like you, for, if you are suffered to live, the Government will make a judge of you one of these days.'” “What profound solicitude for the purity of the judgment seat!” “Daly has reason to think of these things; he has been in the dock already, and perhaps suspects he may be again.” “Poor Darcy!” said Lord Castlereagh to himself, in a half whisper, “I wish I knew you were not a sufferer by this fellow's flight. By the bye, Heffernan, sit down and write a few lines to Forester; say that Lord Cornwallis is greatly displeased at his protracted absence. I am tired of making excuses for him, and as I dine there to-day, I shall be tormented all the evening.” “Darcy's daughter is very good-looking, I hear,” said Heffernan, smiling slyly, “and should have a large fortune if matters go right.”