“I can imagine what that means,” said the Colonel, smiling. “Mr. Nelligan's relaxations would be the hard labor of less zealous students; but I will also say that upon other grounds this must be done with more consideration. The public interests, Mr. Nelligan,—the country, to whose service you will one day be called on to contribute those high abilities,—will not be satisfied to learn that their exercise should have been impaired by over-effort in youth.”
“You overrate me much, sir. I fear that you have been misled both as to my capacity and my objects.”
“Your capacity is matter of notoriety, Mr. Nelligan! your objects may be as high as any ambition can desire. But perhaps it is obtrusive in one so new to your acquaintance to venture on these topics; if so, pray forgive me, and set it down to the error I have fallen into of fancying that I know you as well personally as I do by reputation and character.”
Before Nelligan could summon words to reply to this complimentary speech, the door of his room was flung suddenly open, and a short, thickset figure, shrouded in a coarse shawl and a greatcoat, rushed towards him, exclaiming in a rich brogue,—
“Here I am, body and bones; just off the coach, and straight to your quarters.”
“What! Mr. Crow; is it possible?” cried Nelligan, in some confusion.
“Just himself, and no other,” replied the artist, disengaging himself from his extra coverings. “When you said to me, 'Come and see me when you visit Dublin,' I said to myself, 'There 's a trump, and I 'll do it;' and so here I am.”
“You left the country yesterday. Did you bring me any letters?” asked Nelligan; but in the uncertain tone of a man who talked merely to say something.
“Not a line,—not a word. Your father was over head and ears at work this week back about the election, and it was only the night before last it was over.”
“And is it over?” asked Nelligan, eagerly.