“Thank your honor kindly,” said Lanty, with a bow; but still making no sign of leaving the room, where he stood, changing from one foot to the other, in an attitude of bashful diffidence. “There was another little matter, sir, but I'd be sorry to trouble you about it--and sure you couldn't help it, besides.” “And that is--Let us hear it, Lanty.” “Why, sir, it's the horse--the mare with the one white fetlock. They say, sir, that she was left at Moran's stables by the man that robbed Mr. Moore of Moorecroft. Deaf Collison, the post-boy, can swear to her; and as I bought her myself at Dycer's, they are calling me to account for when I sold her, and to whom.” “Why, there's no end to your trouble about that unlucky beast, Lanty,” said Talbot, laughing; “and I confess it's rather hard, that you are not only expected to warrant your horse sound, but must give a guarantee that the rider is honest.” “Devil a lie in it, but that's just it,” said Lanty, who laughed heartily at the notion. “Well, we must look to this for you, Lanty; for although I have no desire to have my name brought forward, still you must not suffer on that account. I remember paying my bill at Rathmallow with that same mare. She made an overreach coming down a hill, and became dead lame with me; and I gave her to the landlord of the little inn in the square, in lieu of my score.” “See now, what liars there's in the world!” said Lanty, holding up his hands in pious horror. “Ould Finn of the Head Inn tould me she ate a feed of oats at the door, and started again for Askeaton, with a gentleman just like your honor, the night after I sold her. He knew the mare well; and by the same token he said she was galled on the shoulder with holsters that was fixed to the saddle. Now, think of that, and he after buying her! Is it early in the morning I'm to come to your honor?” said he, moving towards the door. “Yes--that is--no, Lanty, no--about twelve o'clock. I'm a late riser. Wait a moment, Lanty; I have something more to say to you, if I could only remember it.” He passed his hand across his brow as he spoke, and looked like one labouring to recall some lost thought. “No matter,” said he, after a pause of some minutes; “I shall perhaps recollect it before to-morrow.” “Good night to you, then, sir,” said Lanty, with a most obsequious bow, as he opened the door. Their eyes met: it was only for a moment; but with such intelligence did each glance read the other, that they both smiled significantly. Talbot moved quickly forward at the instant, and closing the door with one hand, he laid the other gently on Lanty's shoulder. “Come, Lanty,” said he, jocularly, “I can afford to sport ten pounds for a whim. Tell me who it was sent you after me this evening, and I'll give you the money.” “Done, then!” cried Lanty, grasping his hand; “And you'll ask no more than his name?” “Nothing more. I pledge my word; and here's the money.”