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I had ridden down towards the castle for the purpose of visiting the O’Connors, and had nearly reached the avenue leading to the mansion, when I met my friend. He was also mounted; and having answered my inquiries respecting his mother, he easily persuaded me to accompany him in his ramble. We had chatted as usual for some time, when, after a pause, O’Connor said:

‘By the way, Purcell, you expressed some curiosity respecting the tall, handsome fellow to whom I spoke last night.’

‘I certainly did question you about a TALL gentleman, but was not aware of his claims to beauty,’ replied I.

‘Well, that is as it may be,’ said he; ‘the ladies think him handsome, and their opinion upon that score is more valuable than yours or mine. Do you know,’ he continued, ‘I sometimes feel half sorry that I ever made the fellow’s acquaintance: he is quite a marked man here, and they tell stories of him that are anything but reputable, though I am sure without foundation. I think I know enough about him to warrant me in saying so.’

‘May I ask his name?’ inquired I.

‘Oh! did not I tell you his name?’ rejoined he. ‘You should have heard that first; he and his name are equally well known. You will recognise the individual at once when I tell you that his name is–Fitzgerald.’

‘Fitzgerald!’ I repeated. ‘Fitzgerald! –can it be Fitzgerald the duellist?’

‘Upon my word you have hit it,’ replied he, laughing; ‘but you have accompanied the discovery with a look of horror more tragic than appropriate. He is not the monster you take him for–he has a good deal of old Irish pride; his temper is hasty, and he has been unfortunately thrown in the way of men who have not made allowance for these things. I am convinced that in every case in which Fitzgerald has fought, if the truth could be discovered, he would be found to have acted throughout upon the defensive. No man is mad enough to risk his own life, except when the doing so is an alternative to submitting tamely to what he considers an insult. I am certain that no man ever engaged in a duel under the consciousness that he had acted an intentionally aggressive part.’

‘When did you make his acquaintance?’ said I.

‘About two years ago,’ he replied. ‘I met him in France, and you know when one is abroad it is an ungracious task to reject the advances of one’s countryman, otherwise I think I should have avoided his society–less upon my own account than because I am sure the acquaintance would be a source of continual though groundless uneasiness to my mother. I know, therefore, that you will not unnecessarily mention its existence to her.’

I gave him the desired assurance, and added:

‘May I ask you. O’Connor, if, indeed, it be a fair question, whether this Fitzgerald at any time attempted to engage you in anything like gaming?’

This question was suggested by my having frequently heard Fitzgerald mentioned as a noted gambler, and sometimes even as a blackleg. O’Connor seemed, I thought, slightly embarrassed. He answered:

‘No, no–I cannot say that he ever attempted anything of the kind. I certainly have played with him, but never lost to any serious amount; nor can I recollect that he ever solicited me–indeed he knows that I have a strong objection to deep play. YOU must be aware that my finances could not bear much pruning down. I never lost more to him at a sitting than about five pounds, which you know is nothing. No, you wrong him if you imagine that he attached himself to me merely for the sake of such contemptible winnings as those which a broken-down Irish gentleman could afford him. Come, Purcell, you are too hard upon him–you judge only by report; you must see him, and decide for yourself.–Suppose we call upon him now; he is at the inn, in the High Street, not a mile off.’