The reflection was scarcely uttered, when the quick tramp of a horse and the sound of wheels without startled him. He hastened to the window just in time to perceive a jaunting-car drive up to the wicket, from which three men descended. Two were common-looking fellows in dark upper coats and glazed hats; the third, better dressed, and with a half-gentlemanlike air, seemed the superior. He threw off a loose travelling-coat, and discovered, to Mr. Dempsey's horror, the features of his late patient at Larne, the sheriff's officer from Dublin. Yes, there was no doubt about it. That smart, conceited look, the sharp and turned-up nose, the scrubby whisker, proclaimed him as the terrible Anthony Nickie, of Jervas Street, a name which Mr. Dempsey had read on his portmanteau before guessing how its owner was concerned in his own interests. What a multitude of terrors jostled each other in his mind as the men approached the door, and what resolves did he form and abandon in the same moment! To escape by the rear of the house while the enemy was assailing the front, to barricade the premises and stand a siege, to arm himself--and there was a choice of weapons--and give battle, were all rapid impulses no sooner conceived than given up. A loud summons of the door-bell announced his presence; and ere the sounds died away, Tate's creaking footstep and winter cough resounded along the corridor. Mr. Dempsey threw a last despairing glance around, and the thought flashed across him, how happily would he exchange his existence with any of the grim images and uncouth shapes that grinned and glared on every side, ay, even with that saw-mouthed crocodile that surmounted the chimney! Quick as his eye traversed the chamber, he fancied that the savage animals were actually enjoying his misery, and Sandy's counterpart appeared to show a diabolical glee at his wretched predicament. It was at this instant he caught sight of the loose folds of the Indian blanket, which enveloped Bagenal Daly's image. The danger was too pressing for hesitation; he stepped into the canoe, and cowering down under the warlike figure, awaited his destiny. Scarcely had the drapery closed around him when Tate admitted the new arrival. “'The Corvy? '“ said Mr. Nickie to the old butler, who with decorous ceremony bowed low before him. “'The Corvy,' ain't it?” “Yes, sir,” replied Tate. “All right, Mac,” resumed Nickie, turning to the elder of his two followers, who had closely dogged him to the door. “Bring that carpet-bag and the small box off the car, and tell the fellow he 'll have time to feed his horse at that cabin on the road-side.” He added something in a whisper, too low for Tate to hear, and then, taking the carpet-bag, he flung it carelessly in a corner, while he walked forward and deposited the box on the table before the fire.