A roving vagabond life gave him a certain free-and-easy air, which, among the majority of his associates, was a great source of his popularity; but he well knew when to lay this aside, and assume the exact shade of deference and respect his company might require. If then with O'Donoghue himself, he would have felt perfectly at ease, the presence of Sir Archy, and his taciturn solemnity, was a sad check upon him, and mingled the freedom he felt with a degree of reserve far from comfortable. However, he had come for a purpose, and, if successful, the result would amply remunerate him for any passing inconvenience he might incur; and with this thought he armed himself, as he entered the room some ten minutes before. “So you are looking for Mark,” said the O'Donoghue to Lanty. “You can't help hankering after that grey mare of his.” “Sure enough, sir, there's no denying it. I'll have to give him the forty pounds for her, though, as sure as I'm here, she's not worth the money; but when I've a fancy for a beast, or take a conceit out of her--it's no use, I must buy her--that's it!” “Well, I don't think he'll give her to you now, Lanty; he has got her so quiet--so gentle--that I doubt he'll part with her.” “It's little a quiet one suits him; faix, he'd soon tire of her if she wasn't rearing or plunging like mad! He's an elegant rider, God bless him. I've a black horse now that would mount him well; he's out of 'Divil-may-care,' Mooney's horse, and can take six foot of a wall flying, with fourteen stone on his back; and barring the least taste of a capped hock, you could not see speck nor spot about him wrong.” “He's in no great humour for buying just now,” interposed the O'Donoghue, with a voice to which some suddenly awakened recollection imparted a tone of considerable depression. “Sure we might make a swop with the mare,” rejoined Lanty, determined not to be foiled so easily; and then, as no answer was forthcoming, after a long pause, he added, “and havn't I the elegant pony for Master Herbert there; a crame colour--clean bred--with white mane and tail. If he was the Prince of Wales he might ride her. She has racing speed--they tell me, for I only have her a few days; and, faix, ye'd win all the county stakes with her.” The youth looked up from his book, and listened with glistening eyes and animated features to the description, which, to one reared as he was, possessed no common attraction. “Sure I'll send over for her to-morrow, and you can try her,” said Lanty, as if replying to the gaze with which the boy regarded him. “Ye mauna do nae sich a thing,” broke in M'Nab. “Keep your rogueries and rascalities for the auld generation ye hae assisted to ruin; but leave the young anes alane to mind ither matters than dicing and horse-racing.”