"Great deal of damage done last night—great deal," said the old man, speaking rapidly, as was his custom: "one or two of the fishermen's huts down by the shore washed completely away. Yes, sir—r! Careless fools! Served 'em right. Always said it would happen—I knew it. 'Coming events cast their shadows afore,' as Solomon says."
The young stranger stepped forward and stood before him.
"Beg pardon, sir," he said, with a slight bow; "have I the honor of addressing Squire Erliston?"
"Yes, yes—to be sure you have; that's me. Yes, sir. Who're you, eh?—who're you?" said the squire, staring at him with his round, bullet eyes.
"If Squire Erliston will glance over this, it will answer his question," said the young man, presenting a letter.
The squire held the letter in his hand, and stared at him a moment longer; then wiped his spectacles and adjusted them upon his nose, opened the letter, and began to read.
The stranger stood, in his usual careless manner, leaning against the counter, and watched him during its perusal.
"Lord bless me!" exclaimed the squire, as he finished the letter. "So you're the son of my old friend, Oranmore? Who'd think it? You weren't the size of a well-grown pup when I saw you last. And you're his son? Well, well! Give us your hand. 'Who knows what a day may bring forth?' as Solomon says. I'd as soon have thought of seeing the Khan of Tartary here as you. Oranmore's son! Well, well, well! You're his very image—a trifle better-looking. And you're Barry Oranmore? When did you come, eh?—when did you come?"
"Last night, sir."
"Last night, in all the storm? Bless my soul! Why didn't you come up to Mount Sunset? Eh, sir? Why didn't you come?"