I awoke refreshed after half-an-hour's doze, and then every circumstance of the whole day was clear and palpable before me. I remembered each minute particular, and could bring to my mind all the details of the race itself, notwithstanding the excitement they had passed in, and the rapidity with which they succeeded one another.

My first thought was to visit poor Joe; and creeping stealthily to his room, I opened the door. The poor fellow was fast asleep. His features had already become coloured with fever, and a red hectic spot on either cheek told that the work of mischief had begun; yet still his sleep was tranquil, and a half smile curled; his bloodless lips. On his bed his old hunting-cap was placed, a bow of white and green ribbons—the colours I wore—fastened gaudily in the front; upon this, doubtless, he had been gazing to the last moment of his waking. I now stole noiselessly back, and began a letter to O'Grady, whose anxiety as to the result would, I knew, be considerable.

It was not without pride, I confess, that I narrated the events of the day; yet when I came to that part of my letter in which Joe was to be mentioned, I could not avoid a sense of shame in acknowledging the cruel contrast between my conduct and his gratitude. I did not attempt to theorise upon what he had done, for I felt that O'Grady's better knowledge of his countrymen would teach him to sound the depths of a motive, the surface of which I could but skim. I told him frankly that the more I saw of Ireland the less I found I knew about it; so much of sterling good seemed blended with unsettled notions and unfixed opinions; such warmth of heart, such frank cordiality, with such traits of suspicion and distrust, that I could make nothing of them. Either, thought I, these people are born to present the anomaly of all that is most opposite and contradictory in human nature, or else the fairest gifts that ever graced manhood have been perverted and abused by mismanagement and misguidance.

I had just finished my letter when Bob Mahon drove up, his honest face radiant with smiles and good-humour.

'Well, Hinton,' cried he, 'the whole thing is properly settled. The money is paid over; and if you are writing to O'Grady, you may mention that he can draw on the Limerick bank, at sight if he pleases. There's time enough, however, for all this; so get up beside me. We've only half an hour to do our five miles, and dress for dinner.'

I took my place beside the Major; and as we flew fast through the air, the cool breeze and his enlivening conversation rallied and refreshed me. Such was our pace that we had ten minutes to spare, as we entered a dark avenue of tall beech-trees, and a few seconds after arrived at the door of a large old-fashioned-looking manor-house, on the steps of which stood Hugh Dillon himself, in all the plenitude of a white waistcoat and black-silk tights. While he hurried me to a dressing-room, he overwhelmed me with felicitations on the result of the day.

'You'll think it strange, Mr. Hinton,' said he, 'that I should congratulate you, knowing that Mr. Burke is a kind of relation of mine; but I have heard so much of your kindness to my niece Louisa, that I cannot but rejoice in your success.'

'I should rather,' said I, 'for many reasons, had it been more legitimately obtained; and, indeed, were I not acting for another, I doubt how far I should feel justified in considering myself a winner.'

'My dear sir,' interrupted Dillon, 'the laws of racing are imperative in the matter; besides, had you waived your right, all who backed you must have lost their money.'

'For that matter,' said I, laughing, 'the number of my supporters was tolerably limited.'

'No matter for that; and even if you had not a single bet upon you, Ulick's conduct, in the beginning, deserved little favour at your hands.'

'I confess,' said I, 'that there you have touched on the saving clause to my feeling of shame. Had Mr. Burke conducted himself in a different spirit towards my friend and myself, I should feel sorely puzzled this minute.'

'Quite right, quite right,' said Dillon; 'and now try if you can't make as much haste with your toilette as you did over the clover-field.'

Within a quarter of an hour I made my appearance in the drawing-room, now crowded with company, the faces of many among whom I remembered having seen in the morning. Mr. Dillon was a widower, but his daughters—three fine, tall, handsome-looking girls—did the honours. While I was making my bows to them, Miss Bellew came forward, and with an eye bright with pleasure held out her hand towards me.

'I told you, Mr. Hinton, we should meet in the west. Have I been as good a prophetess in saying that you would like it?'

'If it afforded me but this one minute,' said I, in a half-whisper.

'Dinner!' said the servant, and at the same moment that scene of pleasant confusion ensued that preludes the formal descent of a party to the dining-room.

The host had gracefully tucked a large lady under his arm, beside whose towering proportions he looked pretty much like what architects call 'a lean-to,' superadded to a great building. He turned his eye towards me to go and do likewise, with a significant glance at a heaving mass of bugles and ostrich feathers that sat panting on a sofa. I parried the stroke, however, by drawing Miss Bellow's arm within mine, while I resigned the post of honour to my little friend the Major.

The dinner passed off like all other dinners. There was the same routine of eating and drinking, and pretty much the same ritual of table-talk. As a kind of commentary on the superiority of natural gifts over the affected and imitated graces of society, I could not help remarking that those things which figured on the table of homely origin were actually luxurious, while the exotic resources of the cookery were, in every instance, miserable failures. Thus the fish was excellent, and the mutton perfect, while the fricandeau was atrocious, and the petits pÂtÉs execrable.

Should my taste be criticised, that with a lovely girl beside me, for whom I already felt a strong attachment, I could thus set myself to criticise the cookery, in lieu of any other more agreeable occupation, let my apology be, that my reflection was an apropos, called forth by comparing Louisa Bellew with her cousins the Dillons. I have said they were handsome girls; they were more—they were beautiful. They had all that fine pencilling of the eyebrow, that deep, square orbit, so characteristically Irish, which gives an expression to the eye, whatever be its colour, of inexpressible softness; their voices too, albeit the accent was provincial, were soft and musical, and their manners quiet and ladylike—yet, somehow, they stood immeasurably apart from her.

I have already ventured on one illustration from the cookery, may I take another from the cellar? How often in wines of the same vintage, of even the same cask, do we find one bottle whose bouquet is more aromatic, whose flavour is richer, whose colour is more purely brilliant! There seems to be no reason why this should be so, nor is the secret appreciable to our senses; however, the fact is incontestable. So among women. You meet some half-dozen in an evening party, equally beautiful, equally lovely; yet will there be found one among the number towards whom, without any assignable cause, more eyes are turned, and more looks bent; around whose chair more men are found to linger, and in whose slightest word some cunning charm seems ever mingled. Why is this so? I confess I cannot tell you; but trust me for the fact. If, however, it will satisfy you that I adduce an illustration—Louisa Bellew was one of these. With all the advantages of a cultivated mind, she possessed that fearlessness that only girls really innocent of worldly trickery and deceit ever have; and thus, while her conversation ranged far beyond the limits the cold ordeal of fashion would prescribe to a London beauty, the artless enthusiasm of her manner was absolutely captivating.

In Dublin the most marked feature about her was an air of lofty pride and hauteur, by which, in the mixed society of Rooney's house, was she alone enabled to repel the obtrusive and impertinent attentions it was the habit of the place to practise. Surrounded by those who resorted there for a lounge, it was a matter of no common difficulty for her, a young and timid girl, to assert her own position, and exact the respect that was her due. Here, however, in her uncle's house, it was quite different. Relieved from all performance of a part, she was natural, graceful, and easy; and her spirits, untrammelled by the dread of misconstruction, took their own free and happy flight without fear and without reproach.

When we returned to the drawing-room, seated beside her, I entered into an explanation of all my proceedings since my arrival in the country, and had the satisfaction to perceive that not only did she approve of everything I had done, but, assuming a warmer interest than I could credit in my fortunes, she counselled me respecting the future. Supposing that my success might induce me to further trials of my horseman ship, she cautioned me about being drawn into any matches or wagers.

'My cousin Ulick,' said she, 'is one of those who rarely let a prey escape them. I speak frankly to you, for I know I may do so; therefore, I would beseech you to take care of him, and, above all things, do not come into collision with him. I have told you, Mr. Hinton, that I wish you to know my father. For this object, it is essential you should have no misunderstanding with my cousin; for although his whole conduct through life has been such as to grieve and afflict him, yet the feeling for his only sister's child has sustained him against all the rumours and reports that have reached him, and even against his own convictions.'

'You have, indeed,' said I, 'suggested a strong reason for keeping well with your cousin. My heart is not only bent on being known to your father, but, if I dare hope it, on being liked by him also.'

'Yes, yes,' said she quickly, blushing while she spoke, 'I am sure he'll like you—and I know you'll like him. Our house, perhaps I should tell you, is not a gay one. We lead a secluded and retired life; and this has had its effect upon my poor father, giving a semblance of discontent—only a semblance, though—to a nature mild, manly, and benevolent.'

She paused an instant, and, as if fearing that she had been led away to speak of things she should not have touched upon, added with a more lively tone—

'Still, we may contrive to amuse you. You shall have plenty of fishing and coursing, the best shooting in the west, and, as for scenery, I'll answer for it you are not disappointed.'

While we chatted thus, the time rolled on, and at last the clock on the mantel-piece apprised us that it was time to set out for the ball. This, as it may be believed, was anything but a promise of pleasure to me. With Louisa Bellew beside me, talking in a tone of confidential intimacy she had never ventured on before, I would have given worlds to have remained where I was. However, the thing was impossible; 'the ball! the ball!' passed from lip to lip, and already the carriages were assembled before the door, and cloaks, hoods, and mantles were distributed on all sides.

Resolving, at all events, to secure Miss Bellew as my fellow-traveller, I took her arm to lead her downstairs.

'Holloa, Hinton!' cried the Major, 'you 're coming with me, ain't you?'

I got up a tremendous fit of coughing, as I stammered out an apology about night-air, etc.

'Ah, true, my poor fellow,' said the simple-hearted Bob; 'you must take care of yourself—this has been a severe day's work for you.'

'With such a heavy cold,' said Louisa, laughing, as her bright eyes sparkled with fun, 'perhaps you 'll take a seat in our carriage.'

I pressed her arm gently and murmured my assent, assisted her in, and placed myself beside her.