If anything could have disarmed the wrath of this Holy Alliance, the manner in which these words were uttered might have done so. Far from it, however. When the softer sex are deficient in breeding, mercy is scarcely one of their social attributes. Had Lady Eleanor assumed towards them the manner with which in other days she had repelled vulgar attempts at familiarity, they would in all probability have shrunk back, abashed and ashamed; but her yielding suggested boldness, and they advanced, with something like what in Cossack warfare is termed a “Hurra,” an indiscriminate clang of voices being raised in reprobation of every supposed outrage the unhappy strangers had inflicted on the company. Amid this Babel of accusation Lady Eleanor could distinguish nothing, and while, overwhelmed by the torrent, she was preparing to take her daughter's arm and withdraw, the door which led into the dining-room was suddenly thrown open, and the convivial party entered _en masse_. [Illustration: 280] “Here's a shindy, by George!” cried Mr. M'Farland,--the Pickle, and the wit of the Establishment,--“I say, see how the new ones are getting it!” While Mr. Dempsey hurried away to seek Mrs. Fumbally herself, the confusion and uproar increased; the loud, coarse laughter of the “Gentlemen” being added to the wrathful violence of the softer sex. Lady Eleanor, how-ever, had drawn her daughter to her side, and without uttering a word, proceeded to leave the room. To this course a considerable obstacle presented itself in the shape of the Collector, who, with expanded legs, and hands thrust deep into his side-pockets, stood against the door. “Against the ninth general rule, ma'am, which you may read in the frame over the chimney!” exclaimed he, in a voice somewhat more faltering and thicker than became a respectable official. “No lady or gentleman can leave the room while any dispute in which they are concerned remains unsettled. Isn't that it, M'Farland?” cried he, as the young gentleman alluded to took down the law-table from its place. “All right,” replied M'Farland; “the very best rule in the house. Without it, all the rows would take place in private! Now for a court of inquiry. Mr. Dunlop, you are for the prosecution, and can't sit.” “May I beg, sir, you will permit us to pass out?” said Lady Eleanor, in a voice whose composure was slightly shaken. “Can't be, ma'am; in contravention of all law,” rejoined the Collector. “Where is Mr. Dempsey?” whispered Helen, in her despair; and though the words were uttered in a low voice, one of the ladies overheard them. A general titter ran immediately around, only arrested by the fat lady exclaiming aloud, “Shameless minx!” A very loud hubbub of voices outside now rivalled the tumult within, amid which one most welcome was distinguished by Helen. “Oh, mamma, how fortunate! I hear Tate's voice.” “It's me,--it's Mrs. Fumbally,” cried that lady, at the same moment tapping sharply at the door.