I could not recover my self-possession for the next ten minutes.
Whenever Larry was on our side of the table I was afraid he was
coming to me with another agonised whisper. When he was opposite, I
could not but watch him as he hobbled in his misery. It was evident
that the boots were too tight for him, and had they been made
throughout of iron they could not have been less capable of yielding
to the feet. I pitied him from the bottom of my heart. And I pitied
myself also, wishing that I was well in bed upstairs with some
feigned malady, so that Larry might have had his own again.

And then for a moment I missed him from the room. He had doubtless
gone to relieve his tortured feet in the servants' hall, and as he
did so was cursing my cruelty. But what mattered it? Let him curse.
If he would only stay away and do that, I would appease his wrath
when we were alone together with pecuniary satisfaction.

But there was no such rest in store for me. "Larry, Larry," shouted
Mr. O'Conor, "where on earth has the fellow gone to?" They were all
cousins at the table except myself, and Mr. O'Conor was not therefore
restrained by any feeling of ceremony. "There is something wrong
with that fellow to-day; what is it, Jack?"

"Upon my word, sir, I don't know," said Jack.

"I think he must be tipsy," whispered Miss O'Conor, the maiden
sister, who always sat at her brother's left hand. But a whisper
though it was, it was audible all down the table.

"No, ma'am; it aint dhrink at all," said the coachman. "It is his