Larry Toole was true to his word. Without turning from the direct course, or pausing on his way for one moment, he accomplished¹ the service which he had volunteered, and in an incredibly short time returned to the little inn, bringing Mr. Audley with him in a coach.

 

With an air of importance and mystery, suitable to the occasion, the little gentleman, followed by his attendant, proceeded to the chamber² where Miss Ashwoode and her maid were awaiting his arrival. Mary arose as he entered the room, and Larry, from behind, ejaculated, in a tone of pompous³ exultation⁴, "Here he is, Miss Mary—Mr. Audley himself, an' no mistake."

 

"Tut, tut, Larry," exclaimed the little gentleman, turning impatiently toward that personage, whose obstreperous⁶ announcement had disarranged his plans of approach; "hold your tongue, Larry, I say—ahem!"

 

"Mr. Audley," said Mary, "I hope you will pardon——"

 

"Not one word of the kind—excuse the interruption—not a word," exclaimed the little gentleman, gallantly⁷ waving his hand—"only too much honour—too proud, Miss Ashwoode, I have long known something of your family, and, strange as it may appear, have felt a peculiar⁸ interest in you—although I had not the honour of your acquaintance—for the sake of—of other parties. I have ever entertained a warm regard for your welfare, and although circumstances are much, very much changed, I cannot forget relations that once subsisted—ahem!" This was said diplomatically, and he blew his nose with a short decisive twang. "I understand, my poor young lady," he continued, relapsing into the cordial manner that was natural to him, "that you are at this moment in circumstances of difficulty, perhaps of danger, and that you have been disappointed in this emergency by the absence of your relative, Major O'Leary, with whose acquaintance, by-the-bye, I am honoured, and a more

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