“What means this insolence? Who is this fellow?—push him aside.”
“That's na sae easy to do,” replied Sandy, gravely; “and though I hae but one arm, ye 'll no be proud of yer-sel 'gin you try the game.”
“Who are you? By what right do you stop me here?” said Heffernan, who, contrary to his wont, was already in a passion.
“I'm Bagenal Daly's man; and there's himsel in the parlor, and he'll tell you mair, maybe.”
The mention of that name seemed to act like a spell upon Heffernan, and, without waiting for another word, he turned back hastily, and re-entered the house. He stopped as he laid his hand on the handle of the door, and his face, when the light fell on it, was pale as death; and although no other sign of agitation was perceptible, the expression of his features was very different from ordinary. The pause, brief as it was, seemed sufficient to rally him, for, opening the door with an appearance of haste, he advanced towards Daly, and, with an outstretched hand, exclaimed,—
“My dear Mr. Daly, I little knew who it was I declined to see. They gave me no name, and I was just stepping into my carriage when your servant told me you were here. I need not tell you that I would not deny myself to you.”
“I believe not, sir,” said Daly, with a strong emphasis on the words. “I have come a long journey to see and speak with you.”
“May I ask it, as a great favor, that you will let our interview be for to-morrow morning? You may name your hour, or as many of them as you like—or will you dine with me?”
“We 'll dine together to-day, sir,” said Daly.
“That's impossible,” said Heffernan, with a smile which all his tact could not make an easy one. “I have been engaged for four days to Lord Castlereagh,—a party which I had some share in assembling together,—and, indeed, already I am five-and-twenty minutes late.”