But of her real design the family at Neck-or-Nothing Hall had not the remotest notion. Of course, an old lady going about with a pistol, powder-flask, and bullets, and practising on the trunks of the trees in the park, could not pass without observation, and surmises there were on the subject; then her occasional exclamation of “Tremble, villain!” would escape her; and sometimes in the family circle, after sitting for a while in a state of abstraction, she would lift her attenuated hand armed with a knitting-needle or a ball of worsted, and assuming the action of poising a pistol, execute a smart click with her tongue, and say, “I hit him that time.”
These exclamations, indicative of vengeance, were supposed at length by the family to apply to Edward O'Connor, but excited pity rather than alarm. When, however, one morning, the dowager was nowhere to be found, and Ratty and the pistols had also disappeared, an inquiry was instituted as to the old lady's whereabouts, and Mount Eskar was one of the first places where she was sought, but without success; and all other inquiries were equally unavailing.
The old lady had contrived, with that cunning peculiar to insane people, to get away from the house at an early hour in the morning, unknown to all except Ratty, to whom she confided her intention, and he managed to get her out of the domain unobserved, and thence together they proceeded to Dublin in a post-chaise. It was the day after this secret expedition was undertaken that Mr. Furlong was sitting in his private apartment at the Castle, doing “the state some service” by reading the morning papers, which heavy official duty he relieved occasionally by turning to some scented notes which lay near a morocco writing-case, whence they had been drawn by the lisping dandy to flatter his vanity. He had been carrying on a correspondence with an anonymous fair one, in whose heart, if her words might be believed, Furlong had made desperate havoc.
It happened, however, that these notes were all fictitious, being the work of Tom Loftus, who enjoyed playing on a puppy as much as playing on the organ; and he had the satisfaction of seeing Furlong going through his paces in certain squares he had appointed, wearing a flower of Tom's choice and going through other antics which Tom had demanded under the signature of “Phillis,” written in a delicate hand on pink satin note-paper with a lace border; one of the last notes suggested the possibility of a visit from the lady, and, after assurances of “secrecy and honour” had been returned by Furlong, he was anxiously expecting “what would become of it;” and filled with pleasing reflections of what “a devil of a fellow” he was among the ladies, he occasionally paced the room before a handsome dressing-glass (with which his apartment was always furnished), and ran his fingers through his curls with a complacent smile. While thus occupied, and in such a frame of mind, the hall messenger entered the apartment, and said a lady wished to see him.
“A lady!” exclaimed Furlong, in delighted surprise.
“She won't give her name, sir, but—”
“Show her up! show her up!” exclaimed the Lothario, eagerly.
All anxiety, he awaited the appearance of his donna; and quite a donna she seemed, as a commanding figure, dressed in black, and enveloped in a rich veil of the same, glided into the room.
“How vewy Spanish!” exclaimed Furlong, as he advanced to meet his incognita, who, as soon as she entered, locked the door, and withdrew the key.
“Quite pwactised in such secwet affairs,” said Furlong slily. “Fai' lady, allow me to touch you' fai' hand, and lead you to a seat.”