The man rose to his feet, and, taking the lantern from Tony's hand, held it up to his face. “Don't you know me, sir,” cried he; “don't you remember me?” “I do, and I do not,” muttered Tony, still puzzled. “Don't you mind the day, sir, that you was near been run over in London, and a man pulled you out just as the horses was on top o' you?” “And are you the man? Are you the poor fellow whose bundle I carried off?”--but he stopped, and, grasping the man's hand, shook it cordially and affectionately. “By what chance do I find you here?” The man looked about, as if to see that he was not overheard; and Tony, marking the caution of the gesture, said, “None can understand us here. Don't be afraid to say what you like; but first of all, come and share my supper with me.” It was not without a modest reluctance that the poor fellow took his seat at the table; and, indeed, for some time so overcome was he by the honor accorded him, that he scarcely ate at all. If Tony Butler was no finished conversationalist, able to lead the talk of a dinner-table, yet in the tact that pertains to making intercourse with an inferior easy and familiar he had not many his equal; and before the meal was finished, he slapped him familiarly on the shoulder, and said, “Rory Quin, here's your health, and a long life to you!” “How did you know my name, sir?” asked the poor fellow, whose face glowed with delight at the flattery of such a recognition. “At first I did not trust my memory, Rory, for I wrote it down in a note-book I have; and after a while I learned to think of you so often, and to wish I might meet you, that I had no need of the writing. You don't seem to remember that I am in your debt, my good fellow. I carried off your bundle, and, what was worse, it fell overboard and was lost.” “It could n't have any but bad luck,” said Rory, thoughtfully; “and maybe it was just the best thing could happen it.” There was a touch of sorrow in what he said that Tony easily saw; a hidden grief had been removed, and after a little inducement he led him on to tell his story; and which, though, narrated in Rory's own words, it occupied hours, may, happily for my readers, be condensed into a very few sentences.