now that all seemed safe, I had no excuse for
lingering. I therefore bade farewell to my
happy valley, and started for Paris, purporting to
stop a day or two at St. B——, the town to
which my letters had been addressed.

It was, I think, on the third evening of my
stay, that the servant handed me a visiting
card, adding that a gentleman was below, who
earnestly entreated a few minutes' private
conversation—

"Colonel Austin Dolmage,
87th Royal Irish,
Scallabogue."

An Irishman! I had no acquaintance bearing
that name. What could his visit mean? My
heart began to palpitate; strange misgivings
came upon me.

'"What sort of a gentleman, Marie? Is—is
he—he—tall?"

Not remarkably tall in Marie's opinion, but
well-mannered, genteel, amiable.

"Alone, Marie? Did he desire to see me
alone?"

Marie's belief was, that he made that request.
She would fly and learn. Back she came
breathless.

The colonel truly desired to see madame
alone, but would not venture to make conditions.
As madame pleased.

I directed Marie to show him up, and to
remain—a sort of compromise, since Marie knew
no word of English.

The gentleman who presented himself was all
that Marie had described him: with the addition
of a singularly frank and handsome countenance,
and most winning smile. He looked, nevertheless,
pale and anxious; and, in a somewhat hurried
manner, began to apologise for his intrusion:

"It is," he went on, "a matter so delicate,
that nothing short of the painful and urgent
circumstances of the case could have induced
me to accept a mission, which (first earnestly
bespeaking your kind indulgence) I will unfold
as briefly as possible. You have been, I think,
within these few months at M——?"

I bowed.

"And there became acquainted with a—a
gentleman—whose unusual stature may
possibly, independent of other reasons, suffice to
recal him to your recollection?"

My lips faltered a faint admission that the little
peculiarity referred to, had not wholly escaped me.

"Dermot O'Leary is a connexion of mine—
and—" Colonel Dolmage added, with some
emotion, "my most intimate and confidential friend."

Even at that agitated moment it occurred to
me that the selection was inconvenient: since,
unless the giant sat down, or his friend mounted
a table, there could be little interchange of
"confidence."

"He is dangerously ill—reduced, by several
weeks' severe sickness, to a degree of prostration,
from which his medical advisers deem it
impossible he can recover. Poor Dermot is
greatly beloved by us at home, and, hearing
of his sad condition, I obtained leave of
absence, and hurried hither. Now, my dear madam,
comes the most difficult part of my embassy.
My poor friend, whose nature is most susceptible,
and responds readily, almost too readily, to the
slightest demonstration of interest, touched to
the heart by some expression of yours, conceived
a strong attachment to the kind speaker. The
discovery he subsequently made, or fancied he
made, that your affections were already engaged,
brought on his fatal illness. He is dying, but
hearing that you had followed him hither——"

"'Followed,' sir? Allow me to assure you
that to you alone am I indebted for the information
that the g——that Mr. O'Leary—is here."

The colonel looked surprised, but bowed
politely:

"At all events, he is aware of your arrival
in this rather out-of-the-way spot, and, to be
brief, adjured me by every tie of friendship
to seek you out, and entreat you to vouchsafe
him one minute's interview. He has that
to say to you which may materially affect your
future happiness. Permit me, my dear madam,"
concluded the colonel, "to add my petition to
that of my generous-hearted cousin; let me hope
that you will not refuse this solace to his dying
hour."

What could I say? For an instant I tried to
frame some form of refusal, but speak it I could
not. Go I must. A few minutes found me
actually on my way to the giant's lodging, leaning
on Colonel Dolmage's arm, and attended by
Marie.

My heart throbbed almost audibly as I
ascended the stair, and I was glad to sit down
for a moment in the ante-chamber, while the
colonel went to announce my arrival to his friend.

He returned on tiptoe; in the way in which
men usually walk in a sick-room, to the great
derangement of invalid nerves.

"He wanders a little. Don't be alarmed; he
is too weak to speak above a whisper, and can
with difficulty move hand or foot. He is a little
flighty; but on the one subject I think you will
find him perfectly clear. Shall we go in?"

I trembled in every joint as I approached the
four beds which, placed together, formed a
sufficient cot for the poor giant. Alas! how
changed! All my fears, all my old antipathies,
were at once swallowed up in a sense of
profound pity for the noble form, now reduced
to a wreck with which a child might cope. The
large sunken eyes turned on me with a look of
gratitude I shall never forget. His lips moved;
he beckoned me to the bedside. The colonel
stood opposite.

Then, with all his remaining strength, the
giant took my hand in one of his, and with the
other clasped his friend's. He signed to me to
put down my head. I obeyed, listening eagerly.

"I—know—your—secret," faltered the poor
giant; "take—my—b-blessing."

To my inexpressible amazement, he then
joined my hand with that of Colonel Dolmage,
and, exhausted with the effort, sank back
unconscious on the pillow.

The colonel coloured, and bit his lip, hardly
able to repress a smile.