e or not," observed the stranger, "the mention of my
name at present would place me in both difficulty and danger; so that I
hope you'll keep it secret."

She threw the slip of paper into the fire. "There it lies," she replied,
"and you might as well read it in those white ashes as extract it from
me until the proper time comes. But with respect to it, there is one
thing I must tell you before you go."

"What is that, pray?"

"It is a name you will not carry long. Ask me no more questions. I have
already said you will succeed in the object of your pursuit, but not
without difficulty and danger. Take my advice, and never go anywhere
without a case of loaded pistols. I have good reasons for saying so. Now
pass on, for I am silent."

There was an air of confidence and superiority about her as she uttered
these words--a sense, as it were, of power--of a privilege to command,
by which the stranger felt himself involuntarily influenced. He once
more offered her money, but, with a motion of her hand, she silently,
and somewhat indignantly refused it.

Whilst this singular exhibition took place, the stranger observed the
very remarkable and peculiar expression of the old man's countenance.
It is indeed very difficult to describe it. He seemed to experience a
feeling of satisfaction and triumph at the revelations the woman
had made; added to which was something that might be termed shrewd;
ironical, and derisive. In fact, his face bore no bad resemblance to
that of Mephistopheles, as represented in Retsch's powerful conception
and delineation of it in his illustration of Goethe's "Faust," so
inimitably translated by our admirable countryman, Anster.

The stranger now looked at his watch, bade them good day, and took his
leave.

CHAPTER XV. Interview between Lady Gourlay and the Stranger

--Dandy Dulcimer makes a Discovery--The Stranger receives Mysterious
Communications.

From Constitution Hill our friend drove directly to Merrion square, the
residence of Lady Gourlay, whom he found alone in the drawing-room. She
welcomed him with a courtesy that was expressive at once of anxiety,
sorrow, and hope. She extended her hand to him and said, after the usual
greetings were over:

"I fear to ask what the result of your journey has been--for I cannot,
alas! read any expression of success in your countenance."

"As yet," replied the stranger, "I have not been successful, madam; but
I do not despair. I am, and have b