“Heaven knows, my Lord. Sometimes I fancy that I ought not to quit my post here, even for a day; then again I begin to fear lest the new officials may see things in a different light, and that I may be thrown aside as the propagator of antiquated notions.” “Mere modesty, Heffernan,” said Lord Castlereagh, with a look of the most comic gravity. “You ought to know by this time that no government can go on without you. You are the fly-wheel that regulates motion and perpetuates impulse to the entire machine. I 'd venture almost to declare that you stand in the inventory of articles transmitted from one viceroy to another; and as we read of 'one throne covered with crimson velvet, and one state couch with gilt supporters,' so we might chance to fall upon the item of 'one Con Heffernan, Kildare Place.'” “In what capacity, my Lord?” said Heffernan, endeavoring to conceal his anger by a smile. “Your gifts are too numerous for mention. They might better be summed up under the title of 'State Judas.'” “You forget, my Lord, that he carried the bag. Now I was never purse-bearer even to the Lord Chancellor. But I can pardon the simile, coming, as I see it does, from certain home convictions. Your Lordship was doubtless assimilating yourself to another historical character of the same period, and, would, like him, accept the iniquity, but 'wash your hands' of its consequences.” “Do you hear that, my Lord?” said Lord Castlereagh, turning round, and addressing the Bishop of Kilmore. “Mr. Heffernan has discovered a parallel between my character and that of Pontius Pilate.” A look of rebuking severity from the prelate was directed towards Heffernan, who meekly said,-- “I was only reproving his Lordship for permitting me to discharge _all_ the duties of Secretary for Ireland, and yet receive none of the emoluments.” “But you refused office in every shape and form,” said Lord Castlereagh, hastily. “Yes, gentlemen, as the last act of my official life amongst you,”--here he raised his voice, and moved into the centre of the room,--“I desire to make this public declaration, that as often as I have solicited Mr. Heffernan to accept some situation of trust and profit under the Crown, he has as uniformly declined; not, it is needless to say, from any discrepancy in our political views, for I believe we are agreed on every point, but upon the ground of maintaining his own freedom of acting and judging.” The declamatory tone in which he spoke these words, and the glances of quiet intelligence that were exchanged through the assembly, were in strong contrast with the forced calmness of Heffernan, who, pale and red by turns, could barely suppress the rage that worked within him; nor was it without an immense effort he could mutter a feigned expression of gratitude for his Lordship's panegyric, while he muttered to himself,-- “You shall rue this yet!” CHAPTER VIII. THE FIRE.