“He's bringing it now, sir,” cried the waiter, stepping hastily out of the room, to avoid further questioning. Forester, whose impatience had now been carried beyond endurance, paced the room with hurried strides, muttering, between his teeth, every possible malediction on the whole race of innkeepers, barmaids, waiters,--even down to Boots himself. These imprecating expressions had gradually assumed a louder and more vehement tone, of which he was by no means aware, till the old gentleman, at the pause of a somewhat wordy denunciation, gravely added,-- “Insert a clause upon postboys, sir, and I 'll second the measure.” Forester wheeled abruptly round. He belonged to a class, a section of society, whose cherished prestige is neither to address nor be addressed by an unintroduced stranger; and had the speaker been younger, or of any age more nearly his own, it is more than likely a very vague stare of cool astonishment would have been his only acknowledgment of the speech. The advanced age, and something in the very accent of the stranger, were, however, guarantees against this conventional rudeness, and he remarked, with a smile, “I have no objection to extend the provisions of my bill in the way you propose, for perhaps half an hour's experience may teach me how much they deserve it.” “You are fortunate, however, to have secured horses. I perceive that the stables are empty.” “If you are pressed for time, sir,” said Forester, on whom the quiet, well-bred manners of the stranger produced a strong impression, “it would be a very churlish thing of me to travel with four horses while I can spare a pair of them.” “I am really very grateful,” said the old gentleman, rising, and bowing courteously; “if this be not a great inconvenience--” “By no means; and if it were,” rejoined Forester, “I have a debt to acquit to my own heart on this subject. I remember once, when travelling down to the west of Ireland, I reached a little miserable country town at nightfall, and, just as here, save that then there was no storm--” The entrance of the long-expected landlord, with his bill, here interrupted Forester's story. As he took it, and thus afforded time for the stranger to fix his eyes steadfastly upon him, unobserved, Forester quickly resumed: “I was remarking that, just as here, there were only four post-horses to be had, and that they had just been secured by another traveller a few moments before my arrival. I forget the name of the place--” “Perhaps I can assist you,” said the other, calmly. “It was Kilbeggan.” Had a miracle been performed before his eyes, Forester could not have been more stunned; and stunned he really was, and unable to speak for some seconds. At length, his surprise yielding to a vague glimmering of belief, he called out, “Great heavens! it cannot be--it surely is not--”