"For two whole days the thought never left my mind; and on the evening of the second day, I sat moodily over my pint of port, in the Clonbrock Arms, with my friend Timothy Casey, Captain in the North Cork Militia, for my companion.
"'Dick,' said Tim, 'take off your wine, man. When does this confounded trial come on?'
"'Well, well, and if it does, what matter?' he said; 'you'll do well enough, never be afraid.'
"'Alas!' said I, 'you don't understand the cause of my depression.' I here entered upon an account of my sorrows, which lasted for above an hour, and only concluded just as a tremendous noise in the street without announced an arrival. For several minutes such was the excitement in the house, such running hither and thither, such confusion, and such hubbub, that we could not make out who had arrived.
"At last a door opened quite near us, and we saw the waiter assisting a very portly-looking gentleman off with his great-coat, assuring him the while that if he would only walk into the coffee-room for ten minutes, the fire in his apartment should be got ready. The stranger accordingly entered and seated himself at the fireplace, having never noticed that Casey and myself, the only persons there, were in the room.
"'I say, Phil, who is he?' inquired Casey of the waiter.
"'Counsellor Mills, Captain,' said the waiter, and left the room.
"'I see,' said I; 'and I wish with all my heart he was at home with his pretty wife, in Leeson Street.'
"'Devil a better,' said I; 'and he's as jealous as old Nick.'
"'Hem,' said Tim, 'mind your cue, and I'll give him a start.' Here he suddenly changed his whispering tone for one in a louder key, and resumed: 'I say, Power, it will make some work for you lawyers. But who can she be? that's the question.' Here he took a much crumpled letter from his pocket, and pretended to read: '"A great sensation was created in the neighborhood of Merrion Square, yesterday, by the sudden disappearance from her house of the handsome Mrs. ------." Confound it!--what's the name? What a hand he writes! Hill, or Miles, or something like that,--"the lady of an eminent barrister, now on circuit. The gay Lothario is, they say, the Hon. George ------."' I was so thunderstruck at the rashness of the stroke, I could say nothing; while the old gentleman started as if he had sat down on a pin. Casey, meanwhile, went on.