The rambling opening of this brief speech was quite forgotten in the enthusiasm that greeted its close. In every respect it was a happy diversion. It relieved the company from a discussion that promised but gloomily. It brought back their minds to a pleasant theme, and enabled them, so to say, to pay off in grateful cheers to their host his own hospitable reception of them. As for Nelligan himself, he was sincerely, deeply affected; and though he twice essayed to speak, he could get no further than “My son Joe”--“my boy”--and sat down murmuring--“Thank you--God bless you for it”--and covered his face with his hands. Awkward as was the moment, it was relieved by the company filling their glasses and nodding in most friendly fashion to Massingbred as they drank his health; while a low murmur of approbation went round the table, of which he was most unmistakably the object. “Are you fond of shooting, sir?” asked Brierley. “Well, then, I hope you'll not leave the country without giving me a day or two up at my little place in the mountains: There's some snipe left; and, upon my conscience, I'll be proud to see you at Kilmaccud.” “And there's worse quarters, too!” broke in Magennis. “My 'august leader' spent a day and a half there.” “I'll drive you over there myself,” whispered Father Neal, “if you'll finish the week at the 'Rookery,'--that's what they call the priest's house.” Massingbred accepted everything, and shook hands across the table in ratification of half a dozen engagements. “You don't think I'll let you cheat me out of my guest so easily,” said Nelligan. “No, gentlemen. This must be Mr. Massingbred's head-quarters as long as he stays here, for, faith, I 'd not give him up to Mr. Martin himself.” “And who may he be?” asked Jack. “Martin of Cro' Martin.” “The owner of half the county.” “Of the town you 're in, this minute.” “The richest proprietor in the West.” Such were the pattering replies that poured in upon him, while words of intense astonishment at his ignorance were exchanged on all sides. “I believe I have given you a fair guarantee for my ignorance, gentlemen,” said Jack, “in confessing that I never so much as heard of Martin of Cro' Martin. Does he reside on his estate here?” “Yes, sir,” said Nelligan, “he lives at Cro' Martin Castle, about sixteen miles from this; and certainly, while in this part of the country, you ought to pay the place a visit. I have never been there myself, but I hear the most astonishing accounts of the splendor of the furniture and the magnificence of the whole establishment.” “There's pictures there,” said the priest, “that cost the grandfather of the present man a quarter of a million sterling.” “Why, the three statues in the hall, they say, are worth ten thousand pounds,” said Brierley.