_Catty._ Is it who told me? No--I won't mintion a sintence of your name.

But let me by--I won't be put off now I've got the scent. I'll hunt 'em out, and drag her to shame, if they're above ground, or my name's not Catty Rooney! Mick! Mick! little Mick! (_calling at the cottage door_) bring my blue _jock_ up the road after me to Ballynavogue. Don't let me count three till you're after me, or I'll bleed ye! (_Exit CATTY, shaking her closed hand, and repeating_) I'll expose Honor McBride--I'll expose Honor! I will, by the blessing!

_Pat._ (_alone_) Now, if Randal Rooney would hear, he'd make a jelly of me, and how I'd trimble; or the brother, if he comed across me, and knewed. But they'll niver know. Oh, Catty won't say a sintence of my name, was she carded! No, Catty's a scould, but has a conscience. Then I like conscience in them I have to dale with sartainly. [_Exit._

SCENE V.

_Mrs. CARVER'S Dressing-room, HONOR McBRIDE and MISS BLOOMSBURY discovered._

_Honor._ How _will_ I know, Miss Bloomsbury, when it will be twelve o'clock?

_Bloom._ You'll hear the clock strike: but I suspect you'se don't understand the clock yet--well, you'll hear the workmen's bell.

_Honor._ I know, ma'am, oh, I know, true--only I was flurried, so I forgot.

_Bloom._ Flurried! but never be flurried. Now mind and keep your head upon your shoulders, while I tell you all your duty--you'll just ready this here room, your lady's dressing-room; not a partical of dust let me never find, petticlarly behind the vindor shuts.

_Honor._ Vindor shuts!--where, ma'am?

_Bloom._ The _shuts_ of the _vindors_--did you never hear of a vindor, child?

_Honor._ Never, ma'am.

_Bloom._ (_pointing to a window_) Don't tell me! why, your head is a wool-gathering! Now, mind me, pray--see here, always you put that there,--and this here, and that upon that,--and this upon this, and this under that,--and that under this--you can remember that much, child, I supposes?

_Honor._ I'll do my endeavour, ma'am, to remember all.

_Bloom._ But mind, now, my good girl, you takes _petticlar_ care of this here pyramint of j.a.panned china--and _very_ petticlar care of that there great joss--and the _very most petticularest_ care of this here right reverend Mandolin. (_Pointing to, and touching a Mandarin, so as to make it shake. HONOR starts back._)

_Bloom._ It i'n't alive. Silly child, to start at a Mandolin shaking his head and beard at you. But, oh! mercy, if there i'n't enough to make him shake his head. Stand there!--stand here!--now don't you see?

_Honor._ _Which_, ma'am?

_Bloom._ "_Which, ma'am!_" you're no _witch_, indeed, if you don't see a cobweb as long as my arm. Run, run, child, for the pope's head.

_Honor._ Pope's head, ma'am?

_Bloom._ Ay, the pope's head, which you'll find under the stairs. Well, a'n't you gone? what do you stand there like a stuck pig, for?--Never see a pope's head?--never 'ear of a pope's head?

_Honor._ I've heard of one, ma'am--with the priest; but we are protestants.

_Bloom._ Protestants! what's that to do? I do protest, I believe that little head of yours is someway got wrong on your shoulders to-day.

[_The clock strikes_--HONOR, _who is close to it, starts._

_Bloom._ Start again!--why, you're all starts and fits. Never start, child! so ignoramus like! 'tis only the clock in your ear,--twelve o'clock, hark!--The bell will ring now in a hurry. Then you goes in there to my lady--stay, you'll never be able, I dare for to say, for to open the door without me; for I opine you are not much usen'd to bra.s.s locks in Hirish cabins--can't be expected. See here, then! You turns the lock in your hand this'n ways--the lock, mind now; not the key nor the bolt for your life, child, else you'd bolt your lady in, and there'd be my lady in Lob's pound, and there'd be a pretty kettle, of fish!--So you keep, if you can, all I said to you in your head, if possible--and you goes in there--and I goes out here.

[_Exit BLOOMSBURY._

_Honor._ (curtsying) Thank ye, ma'am. Then all this time I'm sensible I've been behaving and looking little better than like a fool, or an _innocent._--But I hope I won't be so bad when the lady shall speak to me. (_The bell rings._) Oh, the bell summons me in here.--(_Speaks with her hand on the lock of the door_) The lock's asy enough--I hope I'll take courage--(_sighs_)--Asier to spake before one nor two, any way--and asier tin times to the mistress than the maid. [_Exit HONOR._

ACT II.

SCENE I.

_GERALD O'BLANEY'S Counting-house._

_O'BLANEY alone._

_O'Bla._ Then I wonder that ould Matthew McBride is not here yet. But is not this Pat c.o.xe coming up yonder? Ay. Well, Pat, what success with Catty?

_Enter PAT c.o.xE, panting._

Take breath, man alive--What of Catty?

_Pat._ Catty! Oh, murder! No time to be talking of Catty now! Sure the shupervizor's come to town.

_O'Bla._ Blood!--and the malt that has not paid duty in the cellar! Run, for your life, to the back-yard, give a whistle to call all the boys that's ricking o' the turf, away with 'em to the cellar, out with every sack of malt that's in it, through the back-yard, throw all into the middle of the turf-stack, and in the wink of an eye build up the rick over all, snoog (snug).

_Pat._ I'll engage we'll have it done in a crack. [_Exit PAT._

_O'Bla._ (_calling after him_) Pat! Pat c.o.xe! man!

_Re-enter PAT._

_O'Bla._ Would there be any fear of any o' the boys _informin_?

_Pat._ Sooner cut their ears off! [_Exit PAT._

_Enter Old McBRIDE, at the opposite side._

_Old McB._ (_speaking in a slow, drawling brogue_) Would Mr. Gerald O'Blaney, the counsellor, be within?

_O'Bla._ (_quick brogue_) Oh, my best friend, Matthew McBride, is it you, dear? Then here's Gerald O'Blaney, always at your sarvice. But shake hands; for of all men in Ireland, you are the man I was aching to lay my eyes on. And in the fair did ye happen to meet Carver of Bob's Fort?

_Old McB._ (_speaking very slowly_) Ay. did I--and he was a-talking to me, and I was a-talking to him--and he's a very good gentleman, Mr.

Carver of Bob's Fort--so he is--and a gentleman that knows how things should be; and he has been giving of me, Mr. O'Blaney, a great account of you, and how you're thriving in the world--and so as that.

_O'Bla._ n.o.body should know that better than Mr. Carver of Bob's Fort--he knows all my affairs. He is an undeniable honest gentleman, for whom I profess the highest regard.