Colonel Sewell was well known in the city, and when he presented himself at the jail, was received by the deputy-governor with all fitting courtesy. “Your house is pretty full, I believe, Mr. Bland,” said Sewell, jocularly.

“Yes, sir; I never remember to have had so many prisoners in charge; and the Mountjoy Prison has sent off two drafts this morning to England, to make room for the new committals. The order is all right, sir,” said he, looking at the paper Sewell extended towards him. “The governor has given him a small room in his own house. It would have been hard to put him with the others, who are so inferior to him.”

“A man of station and rank, then?” asked Sewell.

“So they say, sir.”

“And his name?”

“You must excuse me, Colonel. It is a case for great caution; and we have been strictly enjoined not to let his name get abroad at present. Mr. Spencer's note—for he wrote to us last night—said, 'If it should turn out that Colonel Sewell is acquainted with the prisoner, as he opines, you will repeat the caution I already impressed upon him, not to divulge his name.' The fact is, sir,” said he, lowering his voice to a confidential tone, “I may venture to tell you that his diary contains so many names of men in high position, that it is all-important we should proceed with great secrecy, for we find persons involved whom nobody could possibly have suspected could be engaged in such a scheme.”

“It is not easy to believe men could be such asses,” said Sewell, contemptuously. “Is this gentleman Irish?”

“Not at liberty to say, sir. My orders are peremptory on the subject of his personality.”

“You are a miracle of discretion, Mr. Bland.”

“Charmed to hear you say so, Colonel Se well. There 's no one whose good word I 'd be more proud of.”

“And why is n't he bailed?” said Sewell, returning to the charge. “Had he no one to be his surety?”

“That 's strange enough, sir. Mr. Spencer put it to him that he 'd better have some legal adviser; and though he would n't go so far as to say they 'd take bail for him, he hinted that probably he would like to confer with some friend, and all the answer he got was, 'It's all a mistake from beginning to end. I 'm not the man you 're looking for; but if it gives the poor devil time to make his escape, perhaps he'll live to learn better; and so I'm at your orders.'”

“I suppose that pretext did not impose upon the magistrate?”

“Not for a moment, sir. Mr. Spencer is an old bird, and not to be caught by such chaff. He sent him off here at once. He tried the same dodge, though, when he came in. 'If I could have a quiet room for the few days I shall be here, it would be a great comfort to me,' said he to the governor. 'I have a number of letters to write; and if you could manage to give me one with a north light, it would oblige me immensely, for I'm fond of painting.' Not bad that, sir, for a man suspected of treason-felony,—a north light to paint by!”

“You need not announce me by name, Mr. Bland, for it's just as likely I shall discover that this gentleman and I are strangers to each other; but simply say, 'A gentleman who wishes to see you.'”

“Take Colonel Sewell up to the governor's corridor,” said he to a turnkey, “and show him to the small room next the chapel.”

Musing over what Mr. Bland had told him, Sewell ascended the stairs. His mission had not been much to his taste from the beginning. If it at first seemed to offer the probability of placing the old Judge in his power by some act of indiscretion, by some rash step or other, a little reflection showed that to employ the pressure such a weakness might expose him to, would necessitate the taking of other people into confidence. “I will have no accomplices!” muttered Sewell; “no fellows to dictate the terms on which they will not betray me! If I cannot get this old man into my power by myself alone, I 'll not do it by the help of another.”

“I shall have to lock you in, sir,” said the man, apologetically, as he proceeded to open the door.

“I suppose you will let me out again?” said Sewell, laughing.

“Certainly, sir. I'll return in half an hour.”

“I think you'd better wait and see if five minutes will not suffice.”

“Very well, sir. You 'll knock whenever you wish me to open the door.”

When Sewell entered the room, the stranger was seated at the window, with his back towards the door, and apparently so absorbed in his thoughts that he had not heard his approach. The noise of the door being slammed to and locked, however, aroused him, and he turned suddenly round, and almost as suddenly sprang to his feet. “What! Sir Brook Fossbrooke!” cried Sewell, falling back towards the door.

“Your surprise is not greater than mine, sir, at this meeting. I have no need to be told, however, that you did not come here to see me.”

“No; it was a mistake. The man brought me to the wrong room. My visit was intended for another,” muttered Sewell, hastily.

“Pray, sir, be seated,” said Fossbrooke, presenting a chair. “Chance will occasionally do more for us than our best endeavors. Since I have arrived in Ireland I have made many attempts to meet you, but without success. Accident, however, has favored me, and I rejoice to profit by my good luck.”

“I have explained, Sir Brook, that I was on my way to see a gentleman to whom my visit is of great consequence. I hope you will allow me to take another opportunity of conferring with you.”

“I think my condition as a prisoner ought to be the best answer to your request. No, sir. The few words we need say to each other must be said now. Sit there, if you please;” and as he placed a chair for Sewell towards the window, he took his own place with his back to the door.

“This is very like imprisonment,” said Sewell, with an attempt at a laugh.

“Perhaps, sir, if each of us had his due, you have as good a right to be here as myself; but let us not lose time in an exchange of compliments. My visit to this country was made entirely on your account.”

“On mine! How upon mine?”

“On yours, Colonel Sewell. You may remember at our last conversation—it was at the Chief Baron's country-house—you made me a promise with regard to Miss Lendrick—”

“I remember,” broke in Sewell, hastily, for he saw in the flush of the other's cheek how the difficulty of what he had to say was already giving him a most painful emotion. “You stipulated something about keeping my wife apart from that young lady. You expressed certain fears about contamination—”

“Oh, sir, you wrong me deeply,” said the old man, with broken utterance.

“I'd be happy to think I had misunderstood you,” said Sewell, still pursuing his advantage. “Of course, it was very painful to me at the time. My wife, too, felt it bitterly.”

Fossbrooke started at this as if stung, and his brow darkened and his eyes flashed as he said: “Enough of this, sir. It is not the first time I have been calumniated in the same quarter. Let us talk of something else. You hold in your hand certain letters of Major Trafford,—Lionel Trafford,—and you make them the ground of a threat against him. Is it not so?”

“I declare, Sir Brook, the interest you take in what relates to my wife somewhat passes the bounds of delicacy.”

“I know what you mean. I know the advantage you would take of me, and which you took awhile ago; but I will not suffer it. I want these letters,—what's their price?”

“They are in the hands of my solicitors, Kane & Kincaid; and I think it very unlikely they will stay the proceedings they have taken on them by any demand of yours.”

“I want them, and must have them.”

Sewell shrugged his shoulders, and made a gesture to imply that he had already given him his answer.

“And what suit would you pretend—But why do I ask you? What is it to me by what schemes you prosecute your plans? Look here, sir; I was once on a time possessed of a document which would have subjected you to the fate of a felon; it was the forgery of my name—”

“My dear Sir Brook, if your memory were a little better you would remember that you had once to apologize for that charge, and avow it was totally unfounded.”

“It is untrue, sir; and you know it is untrue. I declared I would produce a document before three or four of your brother officers, and it was stolen from me on the night before the meeting.”

“I remember that explanation, and the painful impression your position excited at the time; but really I have no taste for going back over a long-past period. I 'm not old enough, I suppose, to care for these reminiscences. Will you allow me to take my leave of you?”

“No, sir; you shall hear me out: It may possibly be to your own advantage to bestow a little time upon me. You are fond of compromises,—as you ought to be, for your life has been a series of them: now I have one to propose to you. Let Trafford have back his letters, and you shall hear of this charge no more.”

“Really, sir, you must form a very low estimate of my intelligence, or you would not have made such a proposition; or probably,” added he, with a sneer, “you have been led away by the eminence of the position you occupy at this moment to make this demand.”

Fossbrooke started at the boldness of this speech, and looked about him, and probably remembered for the first time since the interview began that he was a prisoner. “A few days—a few hours, perhaps—will see me free,” said the old man, haughtily. “I know too well the difficulties that surround men in times like these to be angry or impatient at a mistake whose worst consequences are a little inconvenience.”

“I own, sir, I was grieved to think you could have involved yourself in such a scheme.”

“Nothing of the kind, sir. You were only grieved to think that there could be no solid foundation for the charge against me. It would be the best tidings you could hear to learn that I was to leave this for the dock, with the convict hulk in the distance; but I forget I had promised myself not to discuss my own affairs with you. What say you to what I have proposed?”

“You have proposed nothing, Sir Brook,—at least nothing serious, since I can scarcely regard as a proposition the offer not to renew a charge which broke down once before for want of evidence.”

“What if I have that evidence? What if I am prepared to produce it? Ay, sir, you may look incredulous if you like. It is not to a man of your stamp I appeal to be believed on my word; but you shall see the document,—you shall see it on the same day that a jury shall see it.”

“I perceive, Sir Brook, that it is useless to prolong this conversation. Your old grudge against me is too much even for your good sense. Your dislike surmounts your reason. Yes, open the door at once. I am tired waiting for you,” cried he, impatiently, as the turnkey's voice was heard without.

“Once more I make you this offer,” said Fossbrooke, rising from his seat. “Think well ere you refuse it.”

“You have no such document as you say.”

“If I have not, the failure is mine.”

The door was now open, and the turnkey standing at it.

“They will accept bail, won't they?” said Sewell, adroitly turning the conversation. “I think,” continued he, “this matter can be easily arranged. I will go at once to the Head Office and return here at once.”

“We are agreed, then?” said Fossbrooke, in a low voice.

“Yes,” said Sewell, hastily, as he passed out and left him.

The turnkey closed and locked the door, and overtook Sewell as he walked along the corridor. “They are taking information this moment, sir, about the prisoner. The informer is in the room.”

“Who is he? What's his name?”

“O'Reardon, sir; a fellow of great 'cuteness. He's in the pay of the Castle these thirty years.”

“Might I be present at the examination? Would you ask if I might hear the case?”

The man assured him that this was impossible; and Sewell stood with his hand on the balustrade, deeply revolving what he had just heard.

“And is O'Reardon a prisoner here?”

“Not exactly, sir; but partly for his own safety, partly to be sure he 's not tampered with, we often keep the men in confinement till a case is finished.”

“How long will this morning's examination last? At what hour will it probably be over?”

“By four, sir, or half-past, they'll be coming out.”

“I'll return by that time. I 'd like to speak to him.”