nstructions to me were, on my
arrival at Coleraine, to give myself out for a foreigner, and not to
speak English with any one. I have your note in my desk, and think there
can be no mistake about its meaning."

"Well, well; I know all that: go on," cried Maitland, impatiently.

M'Caskey smiled, half insolently, at this show of temper, and continued:
"It was, then, in my assumed character of Frenchman, Spaniard, Italian,
or whatever you wish,--for they are pretty much alike to me,--I was
standing at the door of the inn, when a rather pompous old fellow, with
two footmen after him, came up, and in some execrable French endeavored
to accost me, mingling your name in his jargon, and inviting me, as well
as his language would permit, to return with him to his house. What was
I to conclude but that the arrangement was yours? indeed, I never gave a
doubt to it."

"When he addressed you as the Count Caffarelli, you might have had such
a doubt," said Maitland, sneeringly.

"He called me simply Count," was the reply.

"Well; so far well: there was no assumption of a name, at least."

"None whatever; and if there had been, would the offence have seemed to
you so very--very unpardonable?" It is not easy to convey the intense
impertinence given to the delivery of this speech by the graduated
slowness of every word, and the insolent composure with which it was
spoken.

"What do you mean, sir, by this--this insinuation?" cried Maitland.

"Insinuation!--it's none. It is a mere question as to a matter of good
taste or good morals."

"I have no time for such discussions, sir," said Maitland, hotly. "I am
glad to find that the blunder by which you came here was not of your
own provoking, though I cannot see how it makes the explanation less
difficult to myself."

"What is your difficulty, may I ask?" cried M'Caskey, coolly.

"Is it no difficulty that I must explain how I know--" and he stopped
suddenly, just as a man might stop on the verge of a precipice, and
look horror-struck down into the depth below him. "I mean," said he,
recovering himself, "that to enter upon the question of our relations to
each other would open the discussion of matters essentially secret. When
I have said I know you, the next question will be, 'Who is he?'"

"Well, what is the difficulty there? I am Graf M'Caskey, in Bavaria;
Count of Serra-major, in Sicily; Commander of the Order of St. Peter
and St. Paul, and a Knight of Malta. I mention these,