While the guests of the castle dispersed in different directions, Lord Adelm and General Fitzwalter proceeded arm in arm together across the castle court to a sort of terrace, once a rampart, which gave on the sea.

This rampart opened by a door upon the strand; and Lord Adelm, proposing / that they should direct their steps beyond the reach of intrusion or observation, was endeavouring to draw back the rusty bolt, and obtain egress, when O'Leary, with his hat squeezed between his hands, and his countenance distorted by agitation, caught the general's eye, as he followed him at a short distance.

‘What is the matter?’ asked the general, turning back on his steps, and meeting the approach of his host.

‘The matter, my lord! that's your honor, I mane now gineral, Sir, any how. Nothing is the matter, gineral, only great times, and great luck, Sir! and the young lord, the very moral of the honourable Gerald, his father: and the Crawley pirates foiled, Sir, for oncet: and I'd only crave a word with your honor, gineral, since it's a great gineral you are, Sir, and was a great gineral in the family an hundred years / back and more – that's the ould Brigadier, anno 1698, in armour this day at Court Fitzadelm, only no frame – but stopping a chimbley. And it's what I'd just make bould to ax your honor, and never will trouble you more, Sir, plaze Jasus! if you arn't the young lord that's laning over the battlement, waiting for you, gineral? that is Lord Fitzadelm, Sir?’

‘O'Leary,’ said General Fitzwalter, in a soothing voice, ‘O'Leary, put on your hat, and go home. My good O'Leary, I shall shortly follow you to the Friary to dress, and you may bespeak me a chaise to bring me here to dinner.