“It may be a weakness,” said the other, “but before we go further, I make it a personal request, that you won’t use Fitzy to me, and above all things, in the presence of strangers.  I entrate and implore that you won’t.”

“Very well, then—­a bargain be it—­but I must insist that you never call me Mat, or anything but Mr. Purcel, again.”

“Why, but you know you are not a magistrate, Mat.”

“Never mind, Fitzy—­hem—­never mind, your worship, call me whatever you like—­unless a rogue—­ha! ha! ha! well, but to business—­what is this you want with me?”

“A business that, if well managed, may be a beneficial one to you and me both.”

“Out with it, though—­you know I’m in a hurry.”

“Why now,” proceeded the little man, relapsing unconsciously into a sense of his violated dignity,—­“curse me, if I’d for fifty—­no, not for a hundred, that the Castle should come to know that I was addressed as Fitzy.”

The proctor’s mirth was again renewed, but after a moment or two, the serious part of the conversation was resumed by the magistrate.

“Your son John, the other morning,” he proceeded, in a low and confidential tone, “hinted to me that you had partly discovered—­hem—­ahem—­a very important circumstance—­in short, that you had partly, if not altogether, discovered a—­a conspiracy.”

The proctor stared at him with unaffected surprise, which, by the way, did not escape the magistrate’s notice.  “A conspiracy!” he added, “and did John tell you this?”

“Why, not exactly,” replied O’Driscol, fearing that the young man, as we have already hinted, had been indiscreet, and consequently wished to keep him as much out of blame as possible; “not exactly, my dear Mat—­hem—­my dear Mr. Purcel, but you know that I am rather sharp—­a penetratin’ fellow in my way, or I would not be of the commission to-day—­he seemed merely to drop the expression accidentally only.”

“I pledge my honor to you,” replied the proctor, who at once saw through the hoax that his son had played off upon him, “that the young rascal had no authority from me for mentioning a single syllable about it.”

“Well, but, I trust, my dear Ma—­Mr; Purcel, that you are not angry with him, especially for having mentioned it to me at any rate.”

“Why, my dear friend,” said the other, “if the time were come, you are the first man to whom I would disclose the circumstance, but the fact simply is, that it is not ripe yet.”

“Even so; you will have no objection, I trust, to let me know something of the nature of it—­even now.”

“It is impossible!” replied the proctor, “quite out of my power; if I breathe a syllable about it, the whole matter must be blown before the proper time, and then—­”

“Well, and what then?—­proceed.”

“Why, neither you nor I would be one moment safe; and in that case, it is much more prudent that you should not know it—­God forbid that I, above all men, should be the person to involve you in risk and danger.  Your own ardor and excessive loyalty expose you—­to dangers enough, and too many.”