Was it not provoking, townfolk thought, that such a splendid opportunity for invective and commiseration should be wholly wasted? Who could throw stones at Lavirotte if young O'Donnell did not? Who could pity young O'Donnell if he consented to receive the friendly overtures of Lavirotte. The whole thing was an abominable conspiracy against comfortable living in Glengowra. There was something to be grateful for, no doubt, in the first blush of that event at the cove, but it had led to nothing worthy of its parts; and a circumstance which had gone up the very largest of rockets, seemed destined to come down the most insignificant of sticks. When Lionel Crawford and Dora Harrington arrived in Glengowra and went to Maher's hotel, a new fillip was given to public curiosity. It was known by the speech of the grandfather and his grand-daughter that they were not of Irish bringing up. There was, of course, no reason why they should be in any way connected with the great event of that week. Yet, still it had been noised abroad that Lavirotte had telegraphed to a Miss Harrington in London, and here now had arrived an old man and a young girl with unfamiliar accents. The shrewd people of Glengowra made a connection between these facts, and came, in about ten minutes, to the conclusion that the young girl was Miss Harrington. In the back room of the Confectionery Hall, a man who had come out by the same train with the newly-arrived pair brought all news and surmises concerning them; and here, out of gratitude for small mercies, the company were for a time solaced by the fact that no one could offer a rational explanation of who the old man was. When Crawford and Dora were safely inside Maher's hotel, the old man asked to be shown to a private sitting-room. "For," said he to Dora, "I have been so long accustomed to the solitude of St. Prisca's Tower, that I cannot endure the company or curious gaze of strangers." He had no means of knowing up to this that Lavirotte's illness was not a natural one, or that he and his grand-daughter were the subjects of peculiar interest to the good folk of Glengowra. He rang the bell, and when the waiter came, said: "I should very much like to see the landlord, if you think he would oblige me by coming here." In a few minutes the proprietor entered the room. The old man lost no time in stating his case. He said: "We have come a long journey, and are tired. We are both deeply interested in a gentleman who is now lying ill here, Mr. Lavirotte, and are most anxious to know his present condition." The landlord looked from one to the other in some perplexity. "May I ask," said he, "the nature of the interest you take in Mr. Lavirotte?" The old man smiled, and said: "An Irishman's answer." "An Irishman's answer," said Maher, "is often kindly meant." He glanced significantly, first at the old man, and then at the young girl.