“Did it for the best! Fired a loaded blunderbuss into a fellow-creature for the best!” “To be sure he did,” broke in Mark, with an imperious look and tone. “There's no harm done, and you need not make such a work about it.” “Where's the pony and the gig, then?” called out Roach, suddenly remembering the last sight he had of them. “I heard the old beast clattering down the glen, as if he had fifty kettles at his tail. They'll stop him at last; and if they shouldn't, I don't suppose it matters much: the whole yoke wasn't worth a five pound note--no, even giving the owner into the bargain,” muttered he, as he turned away. [Illustration: 132] The indignity of this speech acted like a charm upon Roach; as if galvanised by the insult, he sat bolt upright on the sofa, and thrust his hands down to the deepest recesses of his breeches pockets, his invariable signal for close action. “What, sir, do you tell me that my conveniency, with the pony, harness and all--” “Have patience, Roach,” interposed the old man; “Mark was but jesting. Come over and join us here.” At the same instant the door was flung suddenly wide, and Sir Archy rushed in, with a speed very unlike his ordinary gait. “There's a change for the better,” cried he, joyfully; “the boy has made a rally, and if we could overtake that d----d auld beestie, Roach, and bring him back again, we might save the lad.” “The d----d auld beestie,” exclaimed Roach, as he sprung from the sofa and stood before him, “is very much honoured by your flattering mention of him.” Then turning towards the O'Donoghue, he added--“Take your turn out of me now, when you have me; for, by the Father of Physic, you'll never see Denis Roach under this roof again.” The O'Donoghue laughed till his face streamed with the emotion, and he rocked in his chair like one in a convulsion. “Look, Archy,” cried he--“see now!--hear me, Roach,” were the only words he could utter between the paroxysms, while M'Nab, the very picture of shame and confusion, stood overwhelmed with his blunder, and unable to say a word. “Let us not stand fooling here,” said Mark, gruffly, as he took the Doctor's arm; “come and see my brother, and try what can be done for him.” With an under-growl of menace and rage, old Roach suffered himself to be led away by the young man, Sir Archy following slowly, as they mounted the stairs. Although alone, the O'Donoghue continued to laugh over the scene he had just witnessed; nor did he know which to enjoy more--the stifled rage of the Doctor, or the mingled shame and distress of M'Nab. It was, indeed, a rare thing to obtain such an occasion for triumph over Sir Archy, whose studied observance of all the courtesies and proprieties of life, formed so strong a contrast with his own careless and indifferent habits.