“Well, what is to be done? where can I be accommodated?” broke in Repton, hastily. “Isn't Mr. Massing-bred in the house?” “No, sir, he had to move out, too; but, sure enough, he left a bit of a note for you in the bar.” And he hastened off at once to fetch it. Repton broke open the seal impatiently, and read:-- “My dear Mr. Repton,--I regret that you 'll find the inn full on your arrival; they turned me out yesterday to make room for Mr. Merl and his followers. Happily, Mr. Nelligan heard of my destitution, and offered me a quarter at his house. He also desires me to say that he will deem it a very great favor if you will accept the shelter of his roof, and in hopeful anticipation of your consenting, he will wait dinner for your arrival. From my own knowledge, I can safely assure you that the offer is made in a spirit of true hospitality, and I sincerely wish that you may accept it. “Yours very faithfully, “J. Massingbred.” “Where does Mr. Nelligan live?” asked Repton, as he refolded the letter. “Just across the street, sir. There it is.” “Set me down there, then,” said Repton. And the next moment he was at Nelligan's door. “This is a very great honor, sir,” said old Dan, as he appeared in a suit of decorous black. “It is, indeed, a proud day that gives me the pleasure of seeing you here.” “My dear sir, if you had no other distinction than being the father of Joseph Nelligan, the honor and the pride lie all in the opposite scale. I am sincerely glad to be your guest, and to know you where every true Irishman is seen to the greatest advantage,--at the head of his own board.” While Nelligan conducted his guest to his room, he mentioned that Massingbred had ridden over to Cro' Martin early in the morning, but would be certainly back for dinner. “And what 's the news of Miss Martin? Is she better?” “They say not, sir. The last accounts are far from favorable.” “Sir Henry Laurie saw her, did n't he?” “Yes, sir; he passed all Sunday here, and only returned to town yesterday. He spoke doubtfully,--I might even say, gloomily. He said, however, that we cannot know anything for certain before Friday or, perhaps, Saturday.” “It is fever, then?” “Yes, he told my wife, the worst character of typhus.” “Brought on, as I've been told, by exposure to wet and cold on that night at sea. Is n't that the case?” “I believe so. Mrs. Nelligan went over the next morning to the cottage. She had heard of poor Mr. Martin's death, and thought she might be of some use to Miss Mary; but when she arrived, it was to find her in fever, talking wildly, and insisting that she must be up and away to Kyle-a-Noe to look after a poor sick family there.” “Has Mrs. Nelligan seen her since that?” “She never left her,--never quitted her. She relieves Henderson's daughter in watching beside her bed; for the old housekeeper is quite too infirm to bear the fatigue.”