The unhappy event which so suddenly interrupted the conviviality of the party scarcely made a more than momentary impression. Altercations which ended most seriously were neither rare nor remarkable at the dinner-tables of the country gentlemen, and if the present instance caused an unusual interest, it was only because one of the parties was an Englishman. As for Forester himself, his first burst of anger over, he forgot all in his astonishment that the host was not “the Knight” himself, but only his representative and friend, Bagenal Daly. “Come, Captain Forester,” said he, “I owe you an _amende_ for the mystification I have practised upon you. You shall have it. Your travelling acquaintance at Kilbeggan was the 'Knight of Gwynne;' and the few lines he sent through your hands contained an earnest desire that your stay here might be sufficiently prolonged to admit of his meeting you at his return.” “I shall be extremely sorry,” said Forester, in a low voice, “if anything that has occurred to-night shall deprive me of that pleasure.” “No, no--nothing of the kind,” said Daly, with a significant nod of his head. “Leave that to me.” Then, raising his voice, he added: “What do you say to that claret, Conolly?” “I agree with you,” replied a rosy-cheeked old squire in a hunting-dress, “it 's too old,--there's little spirit left in it.” “Quite true, Tom. Wine has its dotage, like the rest of us. All that the best can do is to keep longest; and, after all, we scarcely can complain of the vintage that has a taste of its once flavor at our age. It's a long time since we were schoolfellows.” “It is not an hour less than--” “Stop, Tom,--no more of that. Of all scores to go back upon, that of years past is the saddest.” “By Jove! I don't think so,” said the hearty old squire, as he tossed off a bumper. “I never remember riding better than I did to-day. Ask Beecham O'Reilly there which of us was first over the double ditch at the red barn.” “You forget, sir,” said the young gentleman referred to, “that I was on an English-bred mare, and she doesn't understand these fences.” “Faith, she wasn't worse off, in that respect, than the man on her back,” said old Conolly, with a hearty chuckle. “If to look before you leap be wisdom, you ought to be the shrewdest fellow in the country.” “Beecham, I believe, keeps a good place in Northamptonshire,” said his father, half proudly. “Another argument in favor of the Union, I suppose,” whispered a guest in Conolly's ear. “Well, well,” sighed the old squire, “when I was a young man, we 'd have thought of bringing over a dromedary from Asia as soon as an English horse to cross the country with.” “Dick French was the only one I ever heard of backing a dromedary,” said a fat old farmer-like man, from the end of the table. “How was that, Martin?” said Daly, with a look that showed he either knew the story or anticipated something good.