"Yeth," said f.a.n.n.y, with admirable readiness; "but whithper." And as Furlong inclined his head towards her, she whispered in his ear, "You muthn't mind him--he's mad, poor man!--that is, a _little_ inthane--and thinks every lady is Mrs. Egan. An unhappy pathion, poor fellow!--but _quite harmleth_."

Furlong uttered a very prolonged "Oh!" at f.a.n.n.y's answer to his inquiry, and looked sharply round the table, for there was an indefinable something in the conduct of every one at the moment of Mr. Bermingham's entrance that attracted his attention, and the name "Egan," and everybody's _fidgetiness_ (which is the only word I can apply), roused his suspicion. f.a.n.n.y's answer only half satisfied him; and looking at Mrs. Egan, who could not conquer her confusion, he remarked "How _vewy_ wed Mistwess O'Gwady gwew!"

"Oh! thee can't help bluthing, poor soul! when he thays 'Egan' to her, and thinks her his _furth_ love."

"How _vewy_ widiculous to be sure," said Furlong.

"Haven't you innothent mad people thumtimes in England?" said f.a.n.n.y.

"Oh _vewy_" said Furlong, "but this appea's to me so wema'kably stw.a.n.ge an abbewation."

"Oh," returned f.a.n.n.y, with quickness, "I thuppose people go mad on their ruling pathion, and the ruling pathion of the Irish, you know, is love."

The conversation all this time was going on in other quarters, and Furlong heard Mr. Bermingham talking of his having preached last Sunday in his new church.

"Suwely," said he to f.a.n.n.y, "they would not pe'mit an insane gle'gyman to pweach?"

"Oh," said f.a.n.n.y, almost suffocating with laughter, "he only _thinkth_ he's a clergyman."

"How vewy dwoll you are!" said Furlong.

"Now you're only quithing me," said f.a.n.n.y, looking with affected innocence in the face of the unfortunate young gentleman she had been quizzing most unmercifully the whole day.

"Oh, Miste' O'Gwady," said Furlong, "we saw them going to dwown a man to-day."

"Indeed!" said the Squire, reddening, as he saw Mr. Bermingham stare at his being called O'Grady; so, to cover the blot, and stop Furlong, he asked him to take wine.

"Do they often dwown people here?" continued Furlong, after he had bowed.

"Not that I know of," said the Squire.

"But are not the lowe' o'ders wather given to what Lo'd Bacon calls----"

"Who cares about Lord Bacon?" said Murphy.

"My dear sir, you supwise me!" said Furlong, in utter amazement. "Lord Bacon's sayings----"

"'Pon my conscience," said Murphy, "both himself and his sayings are very _rusty_ by this time."

"Oh, I see, Miste' m.u.f.fy. You neve' will be sewious."

"Heaven forbid!" said Murphy--"at least at dinner, or _after_ dinner. Seriousness is only a morning amus.e.m.e.nt--it makes a very poor figure in the evening."

"By-the-bye," said Mr. Bermingham, "talking of drowning, I heard a very odd story to-day from O'Grady. You and he, I believe," said the clergyman, addressing Egan, "are not on as good terms as you were."

At this speech Furlong did _rather_ open his eyes, the Squire hummed and hawed, Murphy coughed, Mrs. Egan looked into her plate, and d.i.c.k, making a desperate rush to the rescue, asked Furlong which he preferred, a single or a double barrelled gun.

Mr. Bermingham, perceiving the sensation his question created, thought he had touched upon forbidden ground, and therefore did not repeat his question, and f.a.n.n.y whispered Furlong that one of the stranger's mad peculiarities was mistaking one person for another; but all this did not satisfy Furlong, whose misgivings as to the real name of his host were growing stronger every moment. At last, Mr. Bermingham, without alluding to the broken friendship between Egan and O'Grady, returned to the "odd story" he had heard that morning about drowning.

"'T is a strange affair," said he, "and our side of the country is all alive about it. A gentleman who was expected from Dublin last night at Neck-or-Nothing Hall, arrived, as it is ascertained, at the village, and thence took a post-chaise, since which time he has not been heard of; and as a post-chaise was discovered this morning sunk in the river, close by Ballysloughgutthery bridge, it is suspected the gentleman has been drowned either by accident or design. The postilion is in confinement on suspicion, and O'Grady has written to the Castle about it to-day, for the gentleman was a government agent."

"Why, sir," said Furlong, "that must be me!"

"_You_, sir!" said Mr. Bermingham, whose turn it was to be surprised now.

"Yes, sir," said Furlong, "I took a post-chaise at the village last night, and I'm an agent of the gove'ment."

"But you're not drowned, sir--and he was," said Bermingham.

"To be su'e I'm not dwowned; but I'm the pe'son."

"Quite impossible, sir," said Mr. Bermingham. "You can't be the person."

"Why, sir, do you expect to pe'suade me out of my own ident.i.ty!"

"Oh," said Murphy, "there will be no occasion to prove ident.i.ty till the body is found, and the coroner's inquest sits; that's the law, sir--at least, in Ireland."

Furlong's bewildered look at the unblushing impudence of Murphy was worth anything. While he was dumb from astonishment, Mr. Bermingham, with marked politeness, said, "Allow me, sir, for a moment to explain to you. You see, it could not be you, for the gentleman was going to Mr. O'Grady's."

"Well, sir," said Furlong, "and here I am."

The wide stare of the two men as they looked at each other was killing; and while Furlong's face was turned towards Mr. Bermingham, f.a.n.n.y caught the clergy-man's eye, tapped her forehead with the fore-finger of her right hand, shook her head, and turned up her eyes with an expression of pity, to indicate that Furlong was not quite right in his mind.

"Oh, I beg pardon, sir," said Mr. Bermingham. "I see it's a mistake of mine."

"There certainly is a vewy gweat mistake somewhere," said Furlong, who was now bent on a very direct question. "Pway, Miste' O'Gwady," said he, addressing Egan, "that is, if you _are_ Miste' O'Gwady, will you tell me, _are_ you Miste' O'Gwady?"

"Sir," said the Squire, "you have chosen to call me O'Grady ever since you came here, but my name is Egan."

"What!--the member for the county?" cried Furlong, horrified.

"Yes," said the Squire, laughing; "do you want a frank?"

"'T will save your friends postage," said d.i.c.k, "when you write to them to say you're safe."

"Miste' Wegan," said Furlong, with an attempt at offended dignity, "I conside' myself vewy ill used."

"You're the first man I ever heard of being ill used at Merryvale House," said Murphy.

"Sir, it's a gwievous w'ong!"

"What _is_ all this about?" asked Mr. Bermingham.

"My dear friend," said the Squire, laughing--though, indeed, that was not peculiar to _him_, for every one round the table, save the victim, was doing the same thing (as for f.a.n.n.y, she _shouted_),--"My dear friend, this gentleman came to my house last night, and _I_ took him for a friend of Moriarty's, whom I have been expecting for some days. _He_ thought, it appears, this was Neck-or-Nothing Hall, and thus a mutual mistake has arisen. All I can say is, that you are most welcome, Mr.

Furlong, to the hospitality of this house as long as you please."

"But, sir, you should not have allowed me to wemain in you' house,"

said Furlong.