Mr. Balfour returned to Ireland a greater man than he left it. He had been advanced to the post of Chief Secretary, and had taken his seat in the House as member for Muddle-port. Political life was, therefore, dawning very graciously upon him, and his ambition was budding with every prospect of success.

The Secretary's lodge in the Phoenix Park is somewhat of a pretty residence, and with its gardens, its shrubberies, and conservatory, seen on a summer's day when broad cloud-shadows lie sleeping on the Dublin mountains, and the fragrant white thorn scents the air, must certainly be a pleasant change from the din, the crush, and the turmoil of “town” at the fag end of a season. English officials call it damp. Indeed, they have a trick of ascribing this quality to all things Irish; and national energy, national common-sense, and national loyalty seem to them to be ever in a diluted form. Even our drollery is not as dry as our neighbors'.

In this official residence Mr. Balfour was now installed, and while Fortune seemed to shower her favors so lavishly upon him, the quid amarum was still there,—his tenure was insecure. The party to which he belonged had contrived to offend some of its followers and alienate others, and, without adopting any such decided line as might imply a change of policy, had excited a general sense of distrust in those who had once followed it implicitly. In the emergencies of party life, the manouvre known to soldiers as a “change of front” is often required. The present Cabinet were in this position. They had been for some sessions trading on their Protestantism. They had been Churchmen pur sang. Their bishops, their deans, their colonial appointments, had all been of that orthodox kind that defied slander; and as it is said that a man with a broad-brimmed hat and drab gaiters may indulge unsuspected in vices which a more smartly got-up neighbor would bring down reprobation upon his head for practising, so may a Ministry under the shadow of Exeter Hall do a variety of things denied to less sacred individuals. “The Protestant ticket” had carried them safely over two sessions, but there came now a hitch in which they needed that strange section called “the Irish party,” a sort of political flying column, sufficiently uncertain always to need watching, and if not very compact or highly disciplined, rash and bold enough to be very damaging in moments of difficulty. Now, as Private Secretary, Balfour had snubbed this party repeatedly. They had been passed over in promotion, and their claims to advancement coldly received. The amenities of the Castle—that social Paradise of all Irish men and women—had been denied them. For them were no dinners, no mornings at the Lodge, and great were the murmurs of discontent thereat. A change, however, had come; an English defection had rendered Irish support of consequence, and Balfour was sent over to, what in the slang of party is called, conciliate, but which, in less euphuistic phrase, might be termed to employ a system of general and outrageous corruption.

Some averred that the Viceroy, indignantly refusing to be a party to this policy, feigned illness and stayed away; others declared that his resignation had been tendered and accepted, but that measures of state required secrecy on the subject; while a third section of guessers suggested that, when the coarse work of corruption had been accomplished by the Secretary, his Excellency would arrive to crown the edifice.

At all events, the Ministry stood in need of these “free lances,” and Cholmondely Balfour was sent over to secure them. Before all governmental changes there is a sort of “ground swell” amongst the knowing men of party that presages the storm; and so, now, scarcely had Balfour reached the Lodge than a rumor ran that some new turn of policy was about to be tried, and that what is called the “Irish difficulty” was going to be discounted into the English necessity.

The first arrival at the Lodge was Pemberton. He had just been defeated at his election for Mallow, and ascribed his failure to the lukewarmness of the Government, and the indifference with which they had treated his demands for some small patronage for his supporters. Nor was it mere indifference; there was actual reason to believe that favor was shown to his opponent, and that Mr. Heffernan, the Catholic barrister of extreme views, had met the support of more than one of those known to be under Government influence. There was a story of a letter from the Irish Office to Father O'Hea, the parish priest. Some averred they had read it, declaring that the Cabinet only desired to know “the real sentiments of Ireland, what Irishmen actually wished and wanted,” to meet them. Now, when a Government official writes to a priest, his party is always in extremis.

Pemberton reached the Lodge feverish, irritated, and uneasy. He had, not very willingly, surrendered a great practice at the Bar to enter life as a politician, and now what if the reward of his services should turn out to be treachery and betrayal? Over and over again had he been told he was to have the Bench; but the Chief Baron would neither die nor retire, nor was there any vacancy amongst the other courts. Nor had he done very well in Parliament; he was hasty and irritable in reply, too discursive in statement, and, worse than these, not plodding enough nor sufficiently given to repetition to please the House; for the “assembled wisdom” is fond of its ease, and very often listens with a drowsy consciousness that if it did not catch what the orator said aright, it was sure to hear him say it again later on. He had made no “hit” with the House, and he was not patient enough nor young enough to toil quietly on to gain that estimation which he had hoped to snatch at starting.

Besides all these grounds of discontent, he was vexed at the careless way in which his party defended him against the attacks of the Opposition. Nothing, probably, teaches a man his value to his own set so thoroughly as this test; and he who is ill defended in his absence generally knows that he may retire without cause of regret. He came out, therefore, that morning, to see Balfour, and, as the phrase is, “have it out with him.” Balfour's instructions from the “other side,” as Irishmen playfully denominate England, were to get rid of Pemberton as soon as possible; but, at the same time, with all the caution required, not to convert an old adherent into an enemy.

Balfour was at breakfast, with an Italian greyhound on a chair beside him, and a Maltese terrier seated on the table, when Pemberton was announced. He lounged over his meal, alternating tea with the “Times,” and now and then reading scraps of the letters which lay in heaps around him.

After inviting his guest to partake of something, and hearing that he had already breakfasted three hours before, Balfour began to give him all the political gossip of town. This, for the most part, related to changes and promotions,—how Griffith was to go to the Colonial, and Haughton to the Foreign Office; that Forbes was to have the Bath, and make way for Betmore, who was to be Under-Secretary. “Chadwick, you see, gets nothing. He asked for a com-missionership, and we offered him the governorship of Bermuda; hence has he gone down below the gangway, and sits on the seat of the scornful.”

“Your majority was smaller than I looked for on Tuesday night. Couldn't you have made a stronger muster?” said Pemberton.

“I don't know: twenty-eight is not bad. There are so many of our people in abeyance. There are five fighting petitions against their return, and as many more seeking re-election, and a few more, like yourself, Pem, 'out in the cold.'”

“For which gracious situation I have to thank my friends.”

“Indeed! how is that?”

“It is somewhat cool to ask me. Have you not seen the papers lately? Have you not read the letter that Sir Gray Chadwell addressed to Father O'Hea of Mallow?”

“Of course I have read it—an admirable letter—a capital letter. I don't know where the case of Ireland has been treated with such masterly knowledge and discrimination.”

“And why have my instructions been always in an opposite sense? Why have I been given to believe that the Ministry distrusted that party and feared their bad faith?”

“Have you ever seen GrÜnzenhoff's account of the battle of Leipsic?”

“No; nor have I the slightest curiosity to hear how it applies to what we are talking of.”

“But it does apply. It's the very neatest apropos I could cite for you. There was a moment, he says, in that history, when Schwarzenberg was about to outflank the Saxons, and open a terrific fire of artillery upon them; and either they saw what fate impended over them, or that the hour they wished for had come, but they all deserted the ranks of the French and went over to the Allies.”

“And you fancy that the Catholics are going to side with you?” said Pemberton, with a sneer.

“It suits both parties to believe it, Pem.”

“The credulity will be all your own, Mr. Balfour. I know my countrymen better than you do.”

“That's exactly what they won't credit at Downing Street, Pem; and I assure you that my heart is broken defending you in the House. They are eternally asking about what happened at such an assize, and why the Crown was not better prepared in such a prosecution; and though I am accounted a ready fellow in reply, it becomes a bore at last. I 'm sorry to say it, Pem, but it is a bore.”

“I am glad, Mr. Balfour, exceedingly glad, you should put the issue between us so clearly; though I own to you that coming here this morning as the plaintiff, it is not without surprise I find myself on my defence.”

“What's this, Banks?” asked Balfour, hastily, as his private secretary entered with a despatch. “From Crew, sir; it must be his Excellency sends it.”

Balfour broke it open, and exclaimed: “In cipher too! Go and have it transcribed at once; you have the key here.”

“Yes, sir; I am familiar with the character, too, and can do it quickly.” Thus saying, he left the room.

While this brief dialogue was taking place, Pemberton walked up and down the room, pale and agitated in features, but with a compressed lip and bent brow, like one nerving himself for coming conflict.

“I hope we 're not out,” said Balfour, with a laugh of assumed indifference. “He rarely employs a cipher; and it must be something of moment, or he would not do so now.”

“It is a matter of perfect indifference to me,” said Pemberton. “Treated as I have been, I could scarcely say I should regret it.”

“By Jove! the ship must be in a bad way when the officers are taking to the boats,” said Balfour. “Why, Pem, you don't really believe we are going to founder?”

“I told you, sir,” said he, haughtily, “that it was a matter of the most perfect indifference to me whether you should sink or swim.”

“You are one of the crew, I hope, a'n't you?”

Pemberton made no reply, and the other went on: “To be sure, it may be said that an able seaman never has long to look for a ship; and in these political disasters, it's only the captains that are really wrecked.”

“One thing is certainly clear,” said Pemberton, with energy, “you have not much confidence in the craft you sail in.”

“Who has, Pem? Show me the man that has, and I 'll show you a consummate ass. Parliamentary life is a roadstead with shifting sands, and there's no going a step without the lead-line; and that's one reason why the nation never likes to see one of your countrymen as the pilot,—you won't take soundings.”

“There are other reasons, too,” said Pemberton, sternly, “but I have not come here to discuss this subject. I want to know, once for all, is it the wish of your party that I should be in the House?”

“Of course it is; how can you doubt it?”

“That being the case, what steps have you taken, or what steps can you take, to secure me a seat?”

“Why, Pem, don't you know enough of public life to know that when a Minister makes an Attorney-General, it is tacitly understood that the man can secure his return to Parliament? When I order out a chaise and pair, I don't expect the innkeeper to tell me I must buy breeches and boots for the postilion.”

“You deluge me with figures, Mr. Balfour, but they only confuse me. I am neither a sailor nor a postboy; but I see Mr. Banks wishes to confer with you—I will retire.”

“Take a turn in the garden, Pern, and I will be with you in a moment. Are you a smoker?”

“Not in the morning,” said the other, stiffly, and withdrew.

“Mr. Heffernan is here, sir; will you see him?” asked the Secretary.

“Let him wait; whenever I ring the bell you can come and announce him. I will give my answer then. What of the despatch?”

“It is nearly all copied out, sir. It was longer than I thought.”

“Let me see it now; I will read it at once.”

The Secretary left the room, and soon returned with several sheets of note-paper in his hand.

“Not all that, Banks?”

“Yes, sir. It was two hundred and eighty-eight signs,—as long as the Queen's Speech. It seems very important too.”

“Read,” said Balfour, lighting his cigar.

“To Chief Secretary Balfour, Castle, Dublin.—What are your people about? What new stupidity is this they have just accomplished? Are there law advisers at the Castle, or are the cases for prosecution submitted to the members of the police force? Are you aware, or is it from me you are to learn, that there is now in the Richmond Jail, under accusation of “Celtism,” a gentleman of a loyalty the equal of my own? Some blunder, if not some private personal malignity, procured his arrest, which, out of regard for me as an old personal friend, he neither resisted nor disputed, withholding his name to avoid the publicity which could only have damaged the Government. I am too ill to leave my room, or would go over at once to rectify this gross and most painful blunder. If Pemberton is too fine a gentleman for his office, where was Hacket, or, if not Hacket, Burrowes? Should this case get abroad and reach the Opposition, there will be a storm in the House you will scarcely like to face. Take measures—immediate measures—for his release, by bail or otherwise, remembering, above all, to observe secrecy. I will send you by post to-night the letter in which F. communicates to me the story of his capture and imprisonment. Had the mischance befallen any other than a true gentleman and an old friend, it would have cost us dearly. Nothing equally painful has occurred to me in my whole official life.

“'Let the case be a warning to you in more ways than one. Your system of private information is degenerating into private persecution, and would at last establish a state of things perfectly intolerable. Beg F. as a great favor to me, to come over and see me here, and repeat that I am too ill to travel, or would not have delayed an hour in going to him. There are few men, if there be one, who would in such a predicament have postponed all consideration of self to thoughts about his friends and their interest, and in all this we have had better luck than we deserved.

“'Wilmington'”

“Go over it again,” said Balfour, as he lit a cigar, and, placing a chair for his legs, gave himself up to a patient rehearing of the despatch. “I wonder who F. can be that he is so anxious about. It is a confounded mess, there's no doubt of it; and if the papers get hold of it, we're done for. Beg Pemberton to come here, and leave us to talk together.”

“Read that, Pem,” said Balfour, as he smoked on, now and then puffing a whiff of tobacco at his terrier's face,—“read that, and tell me what you say to it.”

Though the lawyer made a great effort to seem calm and self-possessed, Balfour could see that the hand that held the paper shook as he read it. As he finished, he laid the document on the table without uttering a word.

“Well?” cried Balfour, interrogatively,—“well?”

“I take it, if all be as his Excellency says, that this is not the first case in which an innocent man has been sent to jail. Such things occur now and then in the model England, and I have never heard that they formed matter to impeach a Ministry.”

“You heard of this committal, then?”

“No, not till now.”

“Not till now?”

“Not till now. His Excellency, and indeed yourself, Mr. Balfour, seem to fall into the delusion that a Solicitor-General is a detective officer. Now, he is not,—nor any more is he a police magistrate. This arrest, I suppose,—I know nothing about it, but I suppose,—was made on certain sworn information. The law took its ordinary course; and the man who would neither tell his name nor give the clew to any one who would answer for him went to prison. It is unfortunate, certainly; but they who made this statute forgot to insert a clause that none of the enumerated penalties should apply to any one who knew or had acquaintance with the Viceroy for the time being.”

“Yes, as you remark, that was a stupid omission; and now, what 's to be done here?”

“I opine his Excellency gives you ample instructions. You are to repair to the jail, make your apologies to F.—whoever F. may be,—induce him to let himself be bailed, and persuade him to go over and pass a fortnight at Crew Keep. Pray tell him, however, before he goes, that his being in prison was not in any way owing to the Solicitor-Genera's being a fine gentleman.”

“I 'll send for the informations,” said Balfour, and rang his bell. “Mr. Heffernan, sir, by appointment,” said the private secretary, entering with a card in his hand.

“Oh, I had forgotten. It completely escaped me,” said Balfour, with a pretended confusion. “Will you once more take a turn in the garden, Pem?—five minutes will do all I want.”

“If my retirement is to facilitate Mr. Heffernan's advance, it would be ungracious to defer it; but give me till to-morrow to think of it.”

“I only spoke of going into the garden, my dear Pem.”

“I will do more,—I will take my leave. Indeed, I have important business in the Rolls Court.”

“I shall want to see you about this business,” said the other, touching the despatch.

“I'll look in on you about five-at the office, and by that time you'll have seen Mr. F.”

“Mr. Heffernan could not wait, sir,—he has to open a Record case in the Queen's Bench,” said the Secretary, entering, “but he says he will write to you this evening.”

The Solicitor-General grinned. He fancied that the whole incident had been a most unfortunate malapropos, and that Balfour was sinking under shame and confusion.

“How I wish Baron Lendrick could be induced to retire!” said Balfour; “it would save us a world of trouble.”

“The matter has little interest for me personally.”

“Little interest for you?—how so?”

“I mean what I say; but I mean also not to be questioned upon the matter,” said he, proudly. “If, however, you are so very eager about it, there is a way I believe it might be done.”

“How is that?”

“I had a talk, a half-confidential talk, last night with Sewell on the subject, and he distinctly gave me to understand it could be negotiated through him.”

“And you believed him?”

“Yes, I believed him. It was the sort of tortuous, crooked transaction such a man might well move in. Had he told me of something very fine, very generous or self-devoting, he was about to do, I 'd have hesitated to accord him my trustfulness.”

“What it is to be a lawyer!” said Balfour, with affected horror.

“What it must be if a Secretary of State recoils from his perfidy! Oh, Mr. Balfour, for the short time our official connection may last let us play fair! I am not so coldblooded, nor are you as crafty, as you imagine. We are both of us better than we seem.”

“Will you dine here to-day, Pem?”

“Thanks, no; I am engaged.”

“To-morrow, then?—I'll have Branley and Keppel to meet you.”

“I always get out of town on Saturday night. Pray excuse me.”

“No tempting you, eh?”

“Not in that way, certainly. Good-bye till five o'clock.”