While he thus stood doubting and confused, his eyes suddenly met the black, searching, deep-set orbs that peered at him behind the grating; and without knowing how or why, he slowly approached him. “In what way can I be of any use to you, sir?” said Nelligan, in a tone which very palpably demanded the reason of his presence there. Jack Massingbred was eminently “cool,”--that is, he was possessed of that peculiar assurance which rarely suffers itself to be ruffled by a difficulty. In the intercourse of society, and with men of the world, he could have submitted to any test unabashed; and yet now, in presence of this shrewd-looking and very commonplace personage, he, somehow, felt marvellously ill at ease, and from the simple reason that the man before whom he stood was not of his “world,” but one of a set of whose habits and thoughts and ways he was in utter ignorance. Nelligan's question was a second time addressed to him, and in the same words, before he thought of framing a reply to it. For a second or two it occurred to him to say that he had strolled in, half inadvertently, and apologizing for the intrusion, to withdraw; but his pride was offended at the notion of defeat this conduct implied, and with an assumption of that conventional impudence far more natural to him, he said,-- “It was your name, sir, attracted me--the name 'Nelligan' which I read over your door--being that of a very dear and valued friend of mine, suggested to me to inquire whether you might not be relatives.” The cool indifference which accompanied these words, uttered as they were in a certain languid drawl, were very far from predisposing Nelligan in favor of the speaker; while the pretence of attaching any singularity to a name so common as his own, struck him at once as indicative of covert impertinence. “Nelligan is not a very remarkable name down here, sir,” dryly responded he. “Very possibly,” replied Jack, with all his accustomed ease. “I know little or nothing of Ireland. Your namesake, or your relative, perhaps, was a college friend of mine, but to what part of the country he belonged, I never knew.” The words, “a college friend,” roused the other's anxiety, and leaning forward eagerly, and dropping his voice to a whisper, he said,-- “Where? In what college, may I ask, sir?” “In Trinity, Dublin.” “The Medallist of this year, you mean?” said the other, almost breathless in his anxiety. “Just so. The same fellow who has been sweeping away all the honors of his day. You have heard of him, it would seem?” “He is my son, sir. I 'm Joe Nelligan's father!” Massingbred's astonishment did not betray itself by any change of feature; not a word escaped him; but his eye ranged over the scene around him, and came back to rest upon old Nelligan's face with an expression of the calmest meaning.