e of his manly voice, the affectionate grasp of his
strong hand, rallied me at once, and I cared little for the looks of
king or kaiser at that moment. He drew his arm within mine, and led me
through the rooms to a small boudoir, where a party at cards were the
only occupants.

'Here we shall be tolerably alone for a little while, at least,' said
he; 'and now, my lad, tell me everything about you.*

In less than half an hour I ran over the principal events of my life in
Ireland, omitting only those in which Miss Bellew bore a part. On this
account my rupture with Lord de Vere was only imperfectly alluded to;
and I could perceive that my father's brow became contracted, and his
look assumed a severer expression at this part of my narrative.

'You have not been very explicit, Jack, about this business; and this it
is which I am really uneasy about. I have never known you do a mean or
a shabby thing; I will never suspect you of one. So, now, let me clearly
understand the ground of this quarrel.'

There was a tone of command in his voice as he said this which decided
me at once, and without further hesitation I resolved on laying
everything before him. Still, I knew not how to begin; the mention of
Louisa's name alone staggered me, and for a second or two I stammered
and looked confused.

Unlike his wonted manner, my father looked impatient, almost angry. At
last, when seeing that my agitation only increased upon me, and that my
difficulty grew each moment greater, he looked me sternly in the face,
and with a voice full of meaning, said--

'Tell me everything! I cannot bear to doubt you. Was this a play
transaction?'

'A play transaction! No, sir, nothing like it.'

'Was there not a bet--some disputed wager---mixed up in it?'

'Yes, there was a wager, sir; but----'

Before I could conclude, my father pressed his hand against his eyes,
and a faint sigh broke from him.

'But hear me out, sir. The wager was none of mine.' In a few moments I
ran over the whole circumstances of De Vere's bet, his conduct to Miss
Bellew, and my own subsequent proceedings; but when I came to the
mention of O'Grady's name, he stopped me suddenly, and said--

'Major O'Grady, however, did not approve of your conduct in the affair.'

'O'Grady! He was my friend all through it!'

My father remained silent for a few minutes, and then in a low voice
added--

'There has been misrepresentation here.'

The words were not well spoken when