now my Banquo had come to disturb me at my feast.

“What is it he says to you?” asked Fanny.

“Oh nothing,” I answered, once more in my misery.

“There seems to be some point of confidence between you and our Larry,” she remarked.

“Oh no,” said I, quite confused; “not at all.”

“You need not be ashamed of it.  Half the gentlemen in the county have their confidences with Larry;—and some of the ladies too, I can tell you.  He was born in this house, and never lived anywhere else; and I am sure he has a larger circle of acquaintance than any one else in it.”

I could not recover my self-possession for the next ten minutes.  Whenever Larry was on our side of the table I was afraid he was coming to me with another agonised whisper.  When he was opposite, I could not but watch him as he hobbled in his misery.  It was evident that the boots were too tight for him, and had they been made throughout of iron they could not have been less capable of yielding to the feet.  I pitied him from the bottom of my heart.  And I pitied myself also, wishing that I was well in bed upstairs with some feigned malady, so that Larry might have had his own again.

And then for a moment I missed him from the room.  He had doubtless gone to relieve his tortured feet in the servants’ hall, and as he did so was cursing my cruelty.  But what mattered it?  Let him curse.  If he would only stay away and do that, I would appease his wrath when we were alone together with pecuniary satisfaction.

But there was no such rest in store for me.  “Larry, Larry,” shouted Mr. O’Conor, “where on earth has the fellow gone to?”  They were all cousins at the table except myself, and Mr. O’Conor was not therefore restrained by any feeling of ceremony.  “There is something wrong with that fellow to-day; what is it, Jack?”

“Upon my word, sir, I don’t know,” said Jack.

“I think he must be tipsy,” whispered Miss O’Conor, the maiden sister, who always sat at her brother’s left hand.  But a whisper though it was, it was audible all down the table.

“No, ma’am; it aint dhrink at all,” said the coachman.  “It is his feet as does it.”

“His feet!” shouted Tom O’Conor.

“Yes; I know it’s his feet,” said that horrid Tizzy.  “He’s got on great thick nailed shoes.  It was that that made him tumble down in the hall.”

I glanced at each side of me, and could see that there was a certain consciousness expressed in the face of each of my two neighbours;—on Kate’s mouth there was decidedly a smile, or rather, perhaps, the slightest possible inclination that way; whereas on Fanny’s part I thought I saw something like a rising sorrow at my distress.  So at least I flattered myself.

“Send him back into the room immediately,” said Tom, who looked at me as though he had some consciousness that I had introduced all this confusion into his household.  What should I do?  Would it not be best for me to make clean breast of it before them all?  But alas!  I lacked the courage.

The coachman went out, and we were left for five minutes without any servant, and Mr. O’Conor the while became more and more savage.  I attempted to say a word to Fanny, but failed.  Vox faucibus haesit.

“I don’t think he has got any others,” said Tizzy—“at least none others left.”

On the whole I am glad I did not marry into the family, as I could not have endured that girl to stay in my house as a sister-in-law.

“Where the d— has that other fellow gone to?” said Tom.  “Jack, do go out and see what is the matter.  If anybody is drunk send for me.”

“Oh, there is nobody drunk,” said Tizzy.

Jack went out, and the coachman returned; but what was done and said I hardly remember.  The whole room seemed to swim round and round, and as far as I can recollect the company sat mute, neither eating nor drinking.  Presently Jack returned.

“It’s all right,” said he.  I always liked Jack.  At the present moment he just looked towards me and laughed slightly.

“All right?” said Tom.  “But is the fellow coming?”

“We can do with Richard, I suppose,” said Jack.

“No—I can’t do with Richard,” said the father.  “And will know what it all means.  Where is that fellow Larry?”

Larry had been standing just outside the door, and now he entered gently as a mouse.  No sound came from his footfall, nor was there in his face that look of pain which it had worn for the last fifteen minutes.  But he was not the less abashed, frightened and unhappy.

“What is all this about, Larry?” said his master, turning to him.  “I insist upon knowing.”

“Och thin, Mr. Green, yer honer, I wouldn’t be afther telling agin yer honer; indeed I wouldn’t thin, av’ the masther would only let me hould my tongue.”  And he looked across at me, deprecating my anger.

“Mr. Green!” said Mr. O’Conor.

“Yes, yer honer.  It’s all along of his honer’s thick shoes;” and Larry, stepping backwards towards the door, lifted them up from some corner, and coming well forward, exposed them with the soles uppermost to the whole table.

“And that’s not all, yer honer; but they’ve squoze the very toes of me into a jelly.”

There was now a loud laugh, in which Jack and Peter and Fanny and Kate and Tizzy all joined; as too did Mr. O’Conor—and I also myself after a while.

“Whose boots are they?” demanded Miss O’Conor senior, with her severest tone and grimmest accent.

“’Deed then and the divil may have them for me, Miss,” answered Larry.  “They war Mr. Green’s, but the likes of him won’t wear them agin afther the likes of me—barring he wanted them very particular,” added he, remembering his own pumps.

I began muttering something, feeling that the time had come when I must tell the tale.  But Jack with great good nature, took up the story and told it so well, that I hardly suffered in the telling.

“And that’s it,” said Tom O’Conor, laughing till I thought he would have fallen from his chair.  “So you’ve got Larry’s shoes on—”

“And very well he fills them,” said Jack.

“And it’s his honer that’s welcome to ’em,” said Larry, grinning from ear to ear now that he saw that “the masther” was once more in a good humour.

“I hope they’ll be nice shoes for dancing,” said Kate.

“Only there’s one down at the heel I know,” said Tizzy.

“The servant’s shoes!”  This was an exclamation made by the maiden lady, and intended apparently only for her brother’s ear.  But it was clearly audible by all the party.

“Better that than no dinner,” said Peter.

“But what are you to do about the dancing?” said Fanny, with an air of dismay on her face which flattered me with an idea that she did care whether I danced or no.

In the mean time Larry, now as happy as an emperor, was tripping round the room without any shoes to encumber him as he withdrew the plates from the table.

“And it’s his honer that’s welcome to ’em,” said he again, as he pulled off the table-cloth with a flourish.  “And why wouldn’t he, and he able to folly the hounds betther nor any Englishman that iver war in these parts before,—anyways so Mick says!”

Now Mick was the huntsman, and this little tale of eulogy from Larry went far towards easing my grief.  I had ridden well to the hounds that day, and I knew it.

There was nothing more said about the shoes, and I was soon again at my ease, although Miss O’Conor did say something about the impropriety of Larry walking about in his stocking feet.  The ladies however soon withdrew,—to my sorrow, for I was getting on swimmingly with Fanny; and then we gentlemen gathered round the fire and filled our glasses.

In about ten minutes a very light tap was heard, the door was opened to