"Not a bit, till you promise."

"Oh, fie, Maste' O'Gwady!" said Furlong.

"I'll scream, Ratty, if you don't let me out!" cried Augusta.

"If you screech, papa will hear you, and then he'll come up and kill that fellow there."

"Oh, don't squeam, Miss O'Gwady!" said Furlong, very vivaciously, from the bed-curtains; "don't squeam, pway!"

"I'm not squeamish, sir," said Miss Augusta; "but it's dreadful to be shut up with a man who has no clothes on him. Let me out, Ratty--let me out!"

"Well, will you tell on us?"

"No."

"'Pon your honour?"

"'Pon my honour, no! Make haste! Oh, if papa knew of this!"

Scarcely had the words been uttered, when the heavy tramp and gruff voice of O'Grady resounded in the pa.s.sage, and the boys scampered off in a fright, leaving the door locked.

"Oh, what will become of me!" said the poor girl, with the extremity of terror in her look--a terror so excessive, that she was quite heedless of the dishabille of Furlong, who jumped from the curtains, when he heard O'Grady coming.

"Don't be fwightened, Miss O'Gwady," said Furlong, half frightened to death himself. "When we explain the affair----"

"Explain!" said the girl, gasping. "Oh, you don't know papa!"

As she spoke, the heavy tramp ceased at the door--a sharp tap succeeded, and Furlong's name was called in the gruff voice of the Squire.

Furlong could scarcely articulate a response.

"Let me in," said O'Grady.

"I am not dwessed, sir," answered Furlong.

"No matter," said the Squire; "you're not a woman."

Augusta wrung her hands.

"I'll be down with you as soon as I am dwessed, sir," replied Furlong.

"I want to speak to you immediately--and here are letters for you--open the door."

Augusta signified by signs to Furlong that resistance would be vain; and hid herself under the bed.

"Come in, sir," said Furlong, when she was secreted.

"The door is fastened," said O'Grady.

"Turn the key, sir," said Furlong.

O'Grady unlocked the door, and was so inconsistent a person, that he never thought of the impossibility of Furlong's having locked it, but, in the richest spirit of bulls, asked him if he always fastened his door on the outside. Furlong said he always did.

"What's the matter with you?" inquired O'Grady. "You're as white as the sheet there;" and he pointed to the bed as he spoke.

Furlong grew whiter as he pointed to that quarter.

"What ails you, man?--Aren't you well?"

"Wather fatigued--but I'll be bette' pwesently. What do you wish with me, sir?"

"Here are letters for you--I want to know what's in them--Scatterbrain's come--do you know that?"

"No--I did not."

"Don't stand there in the cold--go on dressing yourself; I'll sit down here till you can open your letters: I want to tell you something besides." O'Grady took a chair as he spoke.

Furlong a.s.sumed all the composure he could; and the girl began to hope she should remain undiscovered, and most likely she would have been so lucky, had not the Genius of Disaster, with aspect malign, waved her sable wand, and called her chosen servant, Handy Andy, to her aid. He, her faithful and unfailing minister, obeyed the call, and at that critical juncture of time gave a loud knock at the chamber-door.

"Come in," said O'Grady.

Andy opened the door and popped in his head. "I beg your pardon, sir, but I kem for the jintleman's portmantle."

"What gentleman?" asked O'Grady.

"The Honourable, sir; I tuk his portmantle to the wrong room, sir; and I'm come for it now, bekase he wants it."

"There's no po'tmanteau here," said Furlong.

"O yis, sir," said Andy; "I put it undher the bed."

"Well, take it and be off," said O'Grady.

"No--no--no," said Furlong, "don't distu'b my woom, if you please, till I have done dwessing."

"But the Honourable is dhressing too, sir; and that's why he wants the portmantle."

"Take it, then," said the Squire.

Furlong was paralysed, and could offer no further resistance: Andy stooped, and lifting the valance of the bed to withdraw the portmanteau, dropped it suddenly, and exclaimed, "O Lord!"

"What's the matter?" said the Squire.

"Nothin', sir," said Andy, looking scared.

"Then take the portmanteau, and be hanged to you."

"Oh, I'll wait till the jintleman's done, sir," said Andy, retiring.