rmined on by the will of the president,
who announced at the hour of separation when they were to reassemble, and
as, since his niece's arrival, Kearney had almost totally forgotten his old
associates, the club-room ceased to be regarded as the holy of holies, and
was occasionally used by the landlord for the reception of such visitors as
he deemed worthy of peculiar honour.

It was on a very wet night of that especially rainy month in the Irish
calendar, July, that two travellers sat over a turf fire in this sacred
chamber, various articles of their attire being spread out to dry before
the blaze, the owners of which actually steamed with the effects of the
heat upon their damp habiliments. Some fishing-tackle and two knapsacks,
which lay in a corner, showed they were pedestrians, and their looks,
voice, and manner proclaimed them still more unmistakably to be gentlemen.

One was a tall, sunburnt, soldierlike man of six or seven-and-thirty,
powerfully built, and with that solidity of gesture and firmness of tread
sometimes so marked with strong men. A mere glance at him showed he was a
cold, silent, somewhat haughty man, not given to hasty resolves or in any
way impulsive, and it is just possible that a long acquaintance with him
would not have revealed a great deal more. He had served in a half-dozen
regiments, and although all declared that Henry Lockwood was an honourable
fellow, a good soldier, and thoroughly 'safe'--very meaning epithet--there
were no very deep regrets when he 'exchanged,' nor was there, perhaps,
one man who felt he had lost his 'pal' by his going. He was now in the
Carbineers, and serving as an extra aide-de-camp to the Viceroy.

Not a little unlike him in most respects was the man who sat opposite
him--a pale, finely-featured, almost effeminate-looking young fellow,
with a small line of dark moustache, and a beard _en Henri Quatre_, to
the effect of which a collar cut in Van Dyck fashion gave an especial
significance. Cecil Walpole was disposed to be pictorial in his get-up,
and the purple dye of his knickerbocker stockings, the slouching plumage
of his Tyrol hat, and the graceful hang of his jacket, had excited envy
in quarters where envy was fame. He too was on the viceregal staff, being
private secretary to his relative the Lord-Lieutenant, during whose absence
in England they had undertaken a ramble to the Westmeath lakes, not very
positive whether their object was to angle for trout or to f