UC-NRLF 
 
 B 3 35M 5M7 
 
 RD'KiLGOBBiN. 
 
 
 CHARLES LEVER. 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 OF TH1 
 
 University of California. 
 
 GIFT O F 
 
 Accession 
 
 No. {fjJ^S"- Class No. OS'S*" 
 
 AfeTf 
 
 2 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN 
 
 5i Noucl. 
 
 By CHARLES LEVER, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 'CHARLES O'MALLEY," "THAT BOY OF NORCOTT'S," " BARRINGTON," "THE DALTONS, 
 "TONY BUTLER," &c. 
 
 WITH ILL USTRA TIONS. 
 
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 NEW YORK: 
 
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LORD KILGOBBIK 
 
 
 TO 
 
 THE MEMORY OF ONE 
 
 WHOSE COMPANIONSHIP MADE THE HAPPINESS OF A LONG LIFE, 
 
 AND WHOSE LOSS HAS LEFT ME HELPLESS, 
 
 3 Miwh ififjB Innk, 
 
 WRITTEN IN BREAKING HEALTH AND BROKEN SPIRITS. 
 
 THE TASK., THAT ONCE WAS MY JOY AND MY PRIDE, I HAVE LIVED TO FIND 
 
 ASSOCIATED WITH MY SORROW : 
 
 IT IS NOT, THEN, WITHOUT A CAUSE ! SAY, 
 
 I HOPE THIS EFFORT MAY BE MY LAST. 
 
 CHARLES LEVER. 
 
 Trieste^ January 20, 1S72. 
 
 ever — uui. very graiHiaiij — ine-proBpeci rmguienB. 1 111 uner nines, ttgniu, me neniireTu inuuini 
 Fields with incloeares, and a cabin or two, are to to the old faith of their fathers and followed the 
 be met with; a Bolitary tree, generally an ash, | fortunes of King James; one of them, Michael 
 
IFCS 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIK 
 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 KILGOBBIN CASTLE. 
 
 S. ime one has said that almost all that Ireland 
 possess s of picturesque beauty is to he found on, 
 or in the immediate neighborhood of, the sea- 
 board; and if we except some brief patches of 
 river scenery on the "Nore" and the "Blackwa- 
 ter,"' and a part of Lough Erne, the assertion is 
 not devoid of truth. The dreary expanse called 
 the Bog of Allen, which occupies a high table- 
 land in the centre of the island, stretches away 
 for miles tiat. Bad-Colored, and monotonous, fis- 
 sured in every direction by channels of dark-tint- 
 ed water, in which the very li-h take the same sad 
 color. This tract is almost without trace of hab- 
 itation, save where, at distant intervals, utter des- 
 titution has raised a mud-hovel (indistinguishable 
 from the hillocks of turf around it. 
 
 Fringing this broad waste, little patches of cul- 
 tivation are to be seen — -mall potato-gardens, as 
 they are called, or a few minis of oats, green even 
 in the late autumn ; bat, strangely enough, with 
 nothing to show where the humble tiller of tin 1 
 -oil was living, nor, often, any visible road to 
 these isolated spots of culture. Gradually, how- 
 ever — but very gradually — the prospect brightens. 
 Fields with inclosures. ami a cabin or two, are to 
 be met with; a solitary tree, generally an ash, 
 
 will be seen; some rude instrument of husband- 
 ry, or an ass-cart, will show that we arc emerg- 
 ing from the region of complete destitution ami 
 approaching a land of at least struggling civiliza- 
 tion. At last, and by a transition that is not al- 
 ways easy to mark, the scene glides into those 
 rich pasture lands and well-tilled farms that form 
 the wealth of the midland counties. Gentle- 
 men's seats and waving plantations succeed, and 
 we are in a country of comfort and abundance. 
 
 On this border land between fertility and des- 
 titution, and on a tract which had probably once 
 been part of the bog itself, there stood — there 
 stands still — a short, square tower, battlemented 
 at top, and surmounted with a pointed roof, which 
 seems to grow out of a cluster of farm-buildings, 
 so surrounded is its base by roofs of thatch and 
 slates. Incongruous, vulgar, and ugly in every 
 way, the old keep appears to look down on them 
 — time-worn and battered as it is — as might a re- 
 duced gentleman regard the unworthy associates 
 with whom an altered fortune had linked him. 
 This is all that remains of Kilgobbin Castle. 
 
 In the guide-books we read that it was once a 
 place of strength and importance, and that Hugh 
 de Lacy — the same bold knight "who had won 
 all Ireland for the English from the Shannon to 
 the sea" — had taken this castle from a native 
 chieftain called Neal O'Caharney, whose family 
 he had slain, all save one; and" then it adds: 
 "Sir Hugh came one day, with three English- 
 men, that he might show them the castle, when 
 there came to him a youth of the men of Meath 
 — a certain Gilla Naher O'Mahey, foster-brother 
 of O'Caharney himself — with his battle-axe con- 
 cealed beneath his cloak, and while De Lacy was 
 reading the petition he gave him, he dealt him 
 such a blow that his head flew oft" many yards 
 away, both head and body being afterward buried 
 in the ditch of the castle." 
 
 The annals of Kilronan farther relate that the 
 O'Caharneys became adherents of the English 
 — dropping their Irish designation, and calling 
 themselves Kearney ; and in this way were re- 
 stored to a part of the lands and the Castle of 
 Kilgobbin — "by favor of which act of grace," 
 says the chronicle, "they were bound to I 
 
 becoming monument over the brave knight, Hugh 
 de Lacy, whom their kinsman had bo treacherous- 
 ly slain ; but they did no more of this than one 
 large stone of granite, and no inscription there- 
 on ; thus showing that at all times, and with all 
 
 men, the O'Caharneys were false knaves, and on- 
 true to their word." 
 
 In later times, again, the Kearneys returned 
 to the old faith of their fathers and followed the 
 fortunes of King .fames; one of them, Michael 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 O'Keamey, having acted as aid-de-camp at the 
 "Boyne," and conducted the king to Kilgobbin, 
 where he passed the night after the defeat, and, 
 as the tradition records, held a court the next 
 morning, at which he thanked the owner of the 
 castle for his hospitality, and created him on the 
 spot a viscount by the style and title of Lord 
 Kilgobbin. 
 
 It is needless to say that the newly created 
 noble saw good reason to keep his elevation to 
 liimself. They were somewhat critical times just 
 then for the adherents of the lost cause, and the 
 followers of King William were keen at scenting 
 out any disloyalty that might be turned to good 
 account by a confiscation. The Kearneys, How- 
 ever, were prudent. They entertained a Dutch 
 officer, Van Straaten, on King William's staff, 
 and gave such valuable information besides, as to 
 the condition of the country, that no suspicions 
 of disloyalty attached to them. 
 
 To these succeeded more peaceful times, dur- 
 ing which the Kearneys were more engaged in 
 endeavoring to reconstruct the fallen condition of 
 their fortunes than in political intrigue. Indeed 
 a very small portion of the original estate now 
 remained to them ; and of what once had pro- 
 duced above four thousand a year, there was left 
 a property barely worth eight hundred. 
 
 The present owner, with whose fortunes we 
 are more immediately concerned, was a widower. 
 Maurice Kearney's family consisted of a son and 
 a daughter, the former about two-and-twenty, the 
 latter four years younger, though, to all appear- 
 ance, there did not seem a year between them. 
 
 Maurice Kearney himself was a man of about 
 fifty-four or fifty-six — hale, handsome, and pow- 
 erful ; his snow-white hair and bright complex- 
 ion, with his full gray eyes and regular teeth, 
 giving him an air of genial cordiality at first sight 
 which was fully confirmed by farther acquaint- 
 ance. So long as the world went well with him, 
 Maurice seemed to enjoy life thoroughly ; and 
 even its rubs he bore with an easy jocularity that 
 showed what a stout heart he could oppose to 
 fortune. A long minority had provided him with 
 a considerable sum on his coming of age, but he 
 spent it freely, and, when it was exhausted, con- 
 tinued to live on at the same rate as before, till 
 at last, as creditors grew pressing, and mort- 
 gagees threatened foreclosure, he saw himself re- 
 duced to something less than one-fifth of his for- 
 mer outlay; and though he seemed to address 
 himself to the task with a bold spirit and a res- 
 olute mind, the old habits were too deeply root- 
 ed to be eradicated ; and the pleasant companion- 
 ship of his equals, his life at the club in Dublin, 
 his joyous conviviality, no longer possible., he suf- 
 fered himself to descend to an inferior rank, and 
 sought his associates among humbler men, whose 
 flattering reception of him soon reconciled him to 
 his fallen condition. His companions were now 
 the small farmers of the neighborhood and the 
 shop-keepers in the adjoining town of Moate, to 
 whose habits and modes of thought and expres- 
 sion he gradually conformed, till it became posi- 
 tively irksome to himself to keep the company of 
 his equals. Whether, however, it was that age 
 had breached the stronghold of his good spirits, 
 or that conscience rebuked him for having der- 
 ogated from his station, certain it is that all his 
 buoyancy failed him when away from society, 
 and that in the quietness of his home he was de- 
 
 pressed and dispirited to a degree ; and to that 
 genial temper, which once he could count on 
 against every reverse that befell him, there now 
 succeeded an irritable, peevish spirit that led 
 him to attribute every annoyance he met with to 
 some fault or shortcoming of others. 
 
 By his neighbors in the town and by his ten- 
 antry he was always addressed as "my lord," 
 and treated with all the deference that pertained 
 to such difference of station. By the gentry, 
 however, when at rare occasions he met them, 
 he was known as Mr. Kearney, and in the vil- 
 lage post-office the letters with the name Mau- 
 rice Kearney, Esq., were perpetual reminders of 
 what rank was accorded him by that wider sec- 
 tion of the world that lived beyond the shadow 
 of Kilgobbin Castle. 
 
 Perhaps the impossible task of serving two 
 masters is never more palpably displayed than 
 when the attempt attaches to a divided identity 
 — when a man tries to be himself in two distinct 
 parts in life, without the slightest misgiving of 
 hypocrisy while doing so. Maurice Kearney not 
 only did not assume any pretension to nobility 
 among his equals, but he would have felt that 
 any reference to his title from one of them would 
 have been an impertinence, and an impertinence 
 to be resented ; while, at the same time, had a 
 shop-keeper of Moate, or one of the tenants, ad- 
 dressed him as other than "my lord," he would 
 not have deigned him a notice. 
 
 Strangely enough, this divided allegiance did 
 not merely prevail with the outer world, it actu- 
 ally penetrated within his walls. By his son, 
 Richard Kearney j he was always called "my 
 lord ;" while Kate as persistently addressed and 
 spoke of him as papa. Nor was this difference 
 without signification as to their separate natures 
 and tempers. 
 
 Had Maurice Kearney contrived to divide the 
 two parts of his nature, and bequeathed all his 
 pride, his vanity, and his pretensions to his son, 
 while he gave his light-heartedness, his buoyan- 
 cy, and kindliness to his daughter, the partition 
 could not have been more perfect. Richard 
 Kearney was full of an insolent pride of birth. 
 Contrasting the position of his father with that 
 held by his grandfather, he resented the downfall 
 as the act of a dominant faction, eager to out- 
 rage the old race and the old religion of Ireland. 
 Kate took a very different view of their condi- 
 tion. She clung, indeed, to the notion of their 
 good blood, but as a thing that might assuage 
 many of the pangs of adverse fortune, not in- 
 crease nor imbitter them ; and ' ' if we are ever 
 to emerge," thought she, "from this poor state, 
 we shall meet our class without any of the shame 
 of a mushroom origin. It will be a restoration, 
 and not a new elevation." She was a fine, hand- 
 some, fearless girl, whom many said ought to 
 have been a boy ; but this was rather intended as 
 a covert slight on the narrower nature and pee- 
 vish temperament of her brother — another way, 
 indeed, of saying that they should have ex- 
 changed conditions. 
 
 The listless indolence of her father's life, and 
 the almost complete absence from home of her 
 brother, who was pursuing his studies at the 
 Dublin University, had given over to her charge 
 not only the household, but no small share of the 
 management of the estate — all, in fact, that an 
 old land steward, a certain Peter Gill, would per- 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 mit her to exercise; for Peter was a very abso- 
 lute and despotic grand vizier; ami if it bad nut 
 been thai he could neither read nor write, it would 
 have been utterly impossible to have wrested from 
 him a particle of power over the property. This 
 happy defect in his education — happy bo far as 
 Kate's rule W8S Concerned — gave her the one 
 
 chum she could prefer to any superiority over 
 him ; and his obstinacy could never he effectual- 
 ly overcome, except by confronting him with a 
 written document or a column of figures. Be- 
 fore these, indeed, he would stand crest-fallen 
 and abashed. Some strange terror seemed to 
 possess him as to the peril of opposing himself 
 to such inscrutable testimony— a fear, he it said, 
 he never felt in contesting an oral witness. 
 
 Peter had one resource, however; and I am 
 not sure that a similar stronghold has not secured 
 the power of greater men and in higher functions. 
 Peter's sway was of so varied and complicated a 
 kind: the duties he discharged were so various, 
 manifold, and conflicting ; the measures he took 
 with the people whose destinies were committed 
 to him were so thoroughly devised, by reference 
 to the peculiar condition of each man — what he 
 could do, or hear, or submit to, and not by any 
 sense of justice — that a sort of government grew 
 up over the property full of hitches, contingencies, 
 ami compensations, and of which none but he 
 who had invented the machinery could possibly 
 pretend to the direction. The estate being, to 
 use his own words, " so like the old coach-har- 
 ness, so full of knots, splices, and entanglements, 
 there was not another man in Ireland could make 
 it work: ami if another were to try it, it would 
 all come to pieces in his hands." 
 
 Kate was shrewd enough to see this ; and in 
 the same way that she had admiringly watched 
 Peter as he knotted a trace here and supplemented 
 a strap there, strengthening a weak point, and 
 providing for casualties, even the least likely, she 
 saw him dealing with the tenantry on the proper- 
 ty ; and in the same spirit that he made allow- 
 ance for sickness here and misfortune there, he 
 would be as prompt to screw up a lagging tenant 
 to the last penny, and secure the landlord in the 
 share of any season of prosperity. 
 
 Had the Government Commissioner, sent to 
 report on the state of land tenure in Ireland, con- 
 fined himself to a visit to the estate of Lord Kil- 
 gobbin — for so we like to call him — it is just pos- 
 sible that the Cabinet would have found the task 
 of legislation even more difficult than they have 
 already admitted it to be. First of all, not a 
 tenant on the estate had any certain knowledge 
 of how much land he held. There had been 
 no survey of the property for years. 
 
 "It will be made up to you," was Gill's 
 phrase about every thing. " What matters if you 
 have an acre more or an acre less?" Neither 
 had any one a lease, or, indeed, a writing of any- 
 kind. 'Gill settled that on the 25th .March anil 
 i_'.->th September a certain sum was to he forth- 
 coming, and that was all. When the lord want- 
 ed them they were always to give him a hand, 
 which often "meant with their carts and horses, 
 especially in harvest-time. Not that they were a 
 hard-worked or hard-working population : they 
 took life very easy, seeing that by no possible ex- 
 ertion could they materially better themselves ; 
 and even when they hunted a neighbor's cow out 
 of their wheat, they would execute the eviction 
 
 ' with a buy indolence and slnggishneBS that took 
 away from the SCI all semhlance of ungeneroiis- 
 
 ness. 
 They were very poor, their hovels were wretched, 
 
 [ their clothes ragged, and their food scanty: but, 
 with all that, they were not discontented, and very 
 far from unhappy. There was no prosperity at 
 hand to contrast with their poverty. The world 
 was, on the whole, pretty much as they always 
 remembered it. They would have liked to be 
 •' better off" if they knew how. but they did not 
 know if there was a " better off"' — much less how 
 to come at it ; and if there were, Peter Gill cer- 
 tainly did not tell them of it. 
 
 If a stray visitor to fair or market brought 
 back the news that there was an agitation abroad 
 for a new settlement of the land, that popular or- 
 ators were proclaiming the poor mans rights and 
 denouncing the cruelties of the landlord, if they 
 heard that men were talking of repealing the laws 
 which secured property to the owner and only ad- 
 mitted him to a sort Of partnership with the tiller 
 of the soil, old Gill speedily assured them that 
 these were changes only to be adopted in Ulster, 
 where the tenants were rack-rented and treated 
 like slaves. "Which of you here," would he 
 say, "can come forward and say he was ever 
 evicted?" Now as the teim was one of which 
 none had the very vaguest conception — it might, 
 for aught they knew, have been an operation in 
 surgery — the appeal was an overwhelming suc- 
 cess. " Sorra doubt of it, but ould Peter's right, 
 and there's worse places to live in, and worse 
 landlords to live under than the lord." Not but 
 it taxed Gills skill and cleverness to maintain 
 this quarantine against the outer world ; and he 
 often felt like Prince Metternich in a like strait — 
 that it would only be a question of time, and, in 
 the long run, the newspaper fellows must win. 
 
 From what has been said, therefore, it may be 
 imagined that Kilgobbin was not a model estate, 
 nor Peter Gill exactly the sort of witness from 
 which a select committee would have extracted 
 any valuable suggestions for the construction of 
 a land code. 
 
 Any thing short of Kate Kearney's fine temper 
 and genial disposition would have broken down 
 by daily dealing with this cross-grained, wrong- 
 headed, and obstinate old fellow, whose ideas of 
 management all centred in craft and subtlety — 
 outwitting this man, forestalling that — doing 
 every thing by halves, so that no boon came un- 
 asBOciated with some contingency or other by 
 which he secured to himself unlimited power and 
 uncontrolled tyranny. 
 
 A- <;ill was in perfect possession of her father's 
 confidence, to oppose him in any thing was a task 
 of no mean difficulty : and the mere thought that 
 the old fellow should feel offended and throw up 
 his charge — a threat he had more than (.nice half 
 hinted — was a terror Kilgobbin could not have 
 faced. Nor was this her only care. There was 
 
 i Dick continually dunning her for remittances, 
 and importuning her for means to supply his cx- 
 
 . travagances. " I suspected how it would be," 
 wrote he once, "with a lady paymaster. And 
 when my father told me I was to look to you for 
 
 , my allowance, I accepted the information as a 
 heavy percentage taken off my beggarly income. 
 What could you— what could any young girl- 
 know of the requirements of a man going out 
 
 ! into the best society of a capital ? To derive any 
 
LORD KILGOBBLN. 
 
 benefit from associating with these people, I must 
 at least seem to live like them. I am received as 
 the son of a man of condition and property, and 
 you want to bound my habits by those of my 
 chum, Joe Atlee, whose* father is starving some- 
 where on the pay of a Presbyterian minister. 
 Even Joe himself laughs at the notion of gauging 
 my expenses by his. 
 
 " If tins is to go on — I mean if you intend to 
 persist in this plan — be frank enough to say so at 
 once, and I will either take pupils, or seek a clerk- 
 ship, or go off to Australia ; and I care precious 
 little which of the three. 
 
 "I know what a proud thing it is for whoever 
 manages the revenue to come forward and show 
 a surplus. Chancellors of the Exchequer make 
 great reputations in that fashion ; but there are 
 certain economies that lie close to revolutions. 
 Now don't risk this, nor don't be above taking a 
 hint from one some years older than you, though 
 he neither rules his father's house nor metes out 
 his pocket-money." 
 
 Such, and such like, were the epistles she re- 
 ceived from time to time ; and though frequency 
 blunted something of their sting, and their injus- 
 tice gave her a support against their sarcasm, she 
 read and thought over them in a spirit of bitter 
 mortification. Of course she showed none of 
 these letters to her father. He, indeed, only asked 
 if Dick were well, or if he were soon going up for 
 that scholarship or fellowship — he did not know 
 which, nor was he to blame — "which, after all, it 
 was hard on a Kearney to stoop to accept, only 
 that times were changed with us, and we weren't 
 what we used to be" — a reflection so overwhelm- 
 ing that he generally felt unable to dwell on it. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE PRINCE KOSTALERGI. 
 
 Maurice Kearney had once a sister whom he 
 dearly loved, and whose sad fate lay very heavily 
 on his heart, for he was not without self-accusings 
 on the score of it. Matilda Kearney had been a 
 belle of the Irish court and a toast at the club 
 when Maurice was a young fellow in town ; and 
 he had been very proud of her beauty, and tasted 
 a full share of those attentions which often fall to 
 the lot of brothers of handsome girls. 
 
 Then Matty was an heiress — that is, she had 
 twelve thousand pounds in her own right; and 
 Ireland was not such a California as to make a 
 very pretty girl with twelve thousand pounds an 
 every-day chance. She had numerous offers of 
 marriage, and, with the usual luck in such cases, 
 there w^ere commonplace, unattractive men with 
 good means, and there were clever and agreeable 
 fellows without a sixpence, all alike ineligible. 
 Matty had that infusion of romance in her nature 
 that few, if any, Irish girls are free from, and 
 which made her desire that the man of her choice 
 should be something out of the common. She 
 would have liked a soldier who had won distinc- 
 tion in the field. The idea of military fame was 
 very dear to her Irish heart, and she fancied with 
 what pride she would hang upon the arm of one 
 whose gay trappings and gold embroidery emblem- 
 atized the career he followed. If not a soldier, 
 she would have liked a great orator, some leader 
 in debate that men would rush down to hear, and 
 
 ! whose glowing words would be gathered up and 
 repeated as though inspirations : after that a poet, 
 and perhaps — not a painter — a sculptor, she 
 thought, might do. 
 
 With such aspirations as these, it is not sur- 
 prising that she rejected the offers of those com- 
 fortable fellows in Meath, or Louth, whose mili- 
 tary glories were militia drills, and whose elo- 
 quence was confined to the bench of magistrates. 
 At three-and-twenty she was in the full blaze 
 of her beauty ; at three-and-thirty she was still 
 unmarried ; her looks on the wane, but her ro- 
 mance stronger than ever, not untinged, perhaps, 
 
 j with a little bitterness toward that sex which had 
 not afforded one man of merit enough to woo and 
 win her. Partly out of pique with a land so bar- 
 ren of all that could minister to imagination, 
 partly in anger with her brother who had been 
 
 1 urging her to a match she disliked, she went 
 abroad to travel, wandered about for a year or 
 two, and at last found herself one winter at Na- 
 ples. 
 
 There was at that time, as secretary to the 
 Greek legation, a young fellow whom repute 
 called the handsomest man in Europe. He was 
 a certain Spiridion Kostalergi, whose title was 
 Prince of Delos ; though whether there was such 
 a principality, or that he was its representative, 
 society was not fully agreed upon. At all events, 
 Miss Kearney met him at a court ball, when he 
 wore his national costume, looking, it must be 
 owned, so splendidly handsome that all thought 
 of his princely rank was forgotten in presence of 
 a face and figure that recalled the highest tri- 
 umphs of ancient art. It was Antinous come 
 to life in an embroidered cap and a gold-worked 
 jacket, and it was Antinous with a voice like 
 Mario, and who waltzed in perfection. This 
 splendid creature, a modern Akibiades in gifts 
 of mind and graces, soon heard, among his other 
 triumphs, how a rich and handsome Irish girl 
 had fallen in love with him at first sight. He 
 had himself been struck by her good looks and 
 her stylish air ; and learning that there could be 
 
 ! no doubt about her fortune, he lost no time in 
 
 [ making his advances. Before the end of the first 
 week of their acquaintance he proposed. She 
 referred him to her brother before she could 
 consent ; and though, when Kostalergi inquired 
 among her English friends, none had ever heard 
 of a Lord Kilgobbin, the fact of his being Irish 
 explained their ignorance, not to say that Kear- 
 ney's reply being a positive refusal of consent, so 
 fully satisfied the Greek that it was "a good 
 thing," he pressed his suit with a most passion- 
 ate ardor ; threatened to kill himself if she per- 
 sisted in rejecting him, and so worked upon her 
 heart by his devotion, or on her pride by the 
 thought of his position, that she yielded, and 
 within three weeks from the day they first met 
 she became the Princess of Delos. 
 
 When a Greek, holding any public employ, 
 marries money, his government is usually pru- 
 dent enough to promote him. It is a recogni- 
 tion of the merit that others have discovered, 
 and a wise administration marches with the in- 
 ventions of the age it lives in. Kostalergi's chief 
 was consequently recalled, suffered to fall back 
 upon his previous obscurity — he had been a com- 
 mission agent for a house in the Greek trade — 
 and the Prince of Delos gazetted as Minister 
 Plenipotentiary of Greece, with the first class of 
 
LORD KDLGOBBIN. 
 
 St. Salvador, in recognition of his services to the 
 state; no one being indiacreel enough to add that 
 the aforesaid services were comprised in marry- 
 ing an irishwoman witha dowry of -to quote 
 the Athenian Hemera — " three hundred and fifty 
 thousand drachmas." 
 
 For ii while — it was a very brief while — the 
 romantic mind of the Irish girl was raised to a 
 sort of transport of enjoyment Here was every 
 thing — more than every thing— her most glow- 
 ing imagination had ever conceived. Love, am- 
 bition, station, all gratified, though, to he sure, 
 she hail quarreled with her brother, who had re- 
 turned her last letters unopened. Maurice, she 
 
 thought, was too good-hearted to hear a long 
 grudge : he would see her happiness, lie would 
 
 hear what a devoted and good husband her dear 
 S| livid ion had proved himself, and he would for- 
 give her at last. 
 
 Though, as was well known, the Greek envoy 
 received but a very moderate salary from his gov- 
 ernment, and even that not paid with a strict 
 punctuality, the legation was maintained with a 
 splendor that rivaled, if not surpassed, those of 
 France, England, or Russia. The Prince of De- 
 1.'- led the fashion in equipage, as did the Frineess 
 in toilet : their dinners, their balls, their fetes at- 
 tracted the curiosity of even the highest to wit- 
 ness them : and to such a degree of notoriety had 
 the Greek hospitality attained, that Naples at last 
 admitted that without the Fala/./.o Kostalergi 
 there would be nothing to attract strangers to the 
 capital. 
 
 Flay, so invariably excluded from the habits 
 of an embassy, was carried on at this legation to 
 such an excess that the clubs were completely 
 deserted, and all the young men of gambling 
 tastes flocked here each night, sure to find lans- 
 quenet or faro, and for stakes which no public 
 table could possibly supply. It was not alone 
 that this life of a gambler estranged Kostalergi 
 from his wife, but that the scandal of his infidel- 
 ities had reached her also, just at the time when 
 some vague glimmering suspicions of his utter 
 worthlessness were breaking on her mind. The 
 birth of a little girl did not seem in the slightest 
 degree to renew the ties between them ; on the 
 contrary, the embarrassment of a baby and the 
 cost it "must entail were the only considerations 
 he would entertain, and it was a constant question 
 of his — uttered, too, with a tone of sarcasm that 
 tut her to the heart — "Would not her brother — 
 the Lord Irlandais — like to have that baby? 
 "Would she not write and ask him?" Unpleas- 
 ant stories had long been rife about the play at 
 the Greek legation, when a young Russian secre- 
 tary, of high family and influence, lost an im- 
 mense Bum under circumstances which deter- 
 mined him to refuse payment. Kostalergi. who 
 had been tin' child' winner, refused every thing 
 like inquiry or examination — in fact, he made in- 
 vestigation impossible; for the cards, which the 
 Russian had declared to he marked, the Greek 
 gathered up slowly from the table and threw them 
 into the lire, pressing his foot upon them in the 
 flames, and then calmly returning to where the 
 Other Stood, he struck him across the face with 
 his open hand. Baying, as he did it. '• Here is an- 
 other debt to repudiate, and before the same wit- 
 nesses also !" 
 
 The outrage did not admit of delay, the ar- 
 rangements were made in an instant, and within 
 
 half an hour— merely time enough to send for a 
 surgeon— they met at the end of tin' garden of 
 the legation. The Russian tired first, and. though 
 
 a consummate pistol-shot, agitation at the insult 
 so unnerved him that he missed : his ball (ait 
 
 the knot of Kostalergi's cravat. The Greek took 
 
 a calm and deliberate aim. and sent his bullet 
 through the other's forehead, lie fell without a 
 word, stone dead. 
 | Though the duel had been a fair one. and the 
 prooes verbal drawn up and agreed on both sides 
 showed that all had been done loyally, tic friends 
 
 of the young Russian had influence to make the 
 Greek government not only recall the envoy, but 
 actually the mission itself. 
 
 For some years the Kostalergis lived in retire- 
 ment at Falermo, not knowing, nor known to, 
 any one. Their means were now so reduced 
 that they had barely sufficient for daily lite, and 
 though the Greek prince — as he was called— con- 
 stantly appeared on the public promenade well 
 dressed, and in all the pride of his handsome 
 figure, it was currently said that his wife was lit- 
 erally dying of want. 
 
 It was only after long and agonizing suffering 
 that she ventured to write to her brother, and ap- 
 peal to him for advice and assistance. But at 
 last she did so, and a correspondence grew up 
 which, in a measure, restored the affection be- 
 tween them. When Kostalergi discovered the 
 source from which his wretched wife now drew 
 
 ! her consolation and her courage, he forbade her 
 to write more, and himself addressed a letter to 
 Kearney so insulting and offensive — charging 
 him even with causing the discord of his home, 
 and showing the letter to his wife before sending 
 it — that the poor woman, long failing in health 
 and broken down, sank soon after, and died BO 
 destitute that the very funeral was paid for by a 
 subscription among her countrymen. Kostalergi 
 had left her some days before her death, carrying 
 the girl along with him, nor was his whereabout a 
 learned for a considerable time. 
 
 When next he emerged into the world it was 
 at Rome, where he gave lessons in music and 
 modern languages, in many of which he was a pro- 
 ficient. His splendid appearance, his captivating 
 address, his thorough familiarity with the modes 
 of society, gave him the entrie to many houses, 
 
 ' where his talents amply requited the hospitality he 
 received. He possessed, among his other gifts, an 
 immense amount of plausibility, and people found 
 
 j it, besides, very difficult to believe ill of that well- 
 bred, somewhat retiring, man, who, in circum- 
 stances of the very narrowest fortune-, not only 
 looked and dressed like a gentleman, but actual- 
 ly brought up a daughter with a degree of care 
 and an amount of regard to her education that 
 made him appear a model parent. 
 
 Nina Kostalergi was then about seventeen, 
 though she looked at least three year> older. She 
 
 was a tall. Blight, pale girl, with perfectly regular 
 
 features — so classic in the mould, and BO devoid of 
 
 any expression, that -he recalled the fac 
 
 on a cameo. Her hair was of wondrous beauty — 
 
 that rich gold-color which has " reflets" through 
 
 it, as the light fall- full or faint, and of an abun- 
 dance that taxed her ingenuity to dre— it. They 
 gave her the sobriquet of the Titian Girl at 
 Rome whenever -he appeared abroad. 
 In the only letter Kearney bad received from 
 
 hi- brother-in-law after hi- sister's death was an 
 
Ill 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 insolent demand for a sum of money, which he 
 alleged that Kearney was unjustly withholding, 
 and which he now threatened to enforce by 
 law. "I am well aware," wrote he, "what 
 measure of honor or honesty I am to expect from 
 a man whose very name and designation are a 
 deceit. But probably prudence will suggest how 
 much better it would be on this occasion to simu- 
 late rectitude than risk the shame of an open ex- 
 posure." 
 
 To this gross insult Kearney never deigned any 
 reply ; and now more than two years passed with- 
 out "any tidings of his disreputable relation, when 
 there came one morning a letter with the Roman 
 post-mark, and addressed, "a Monsieur le Vi- 
 comte de Kilgobbin, a son Chateau de Kilgobbin, 
 en Irlande." To the honor of the officials in the 
 Irish post-office, it was forwarded to Kilgobbin 
 with the words, "Try Maurice Kearney, Esq.," 
 in the corner. 
 
 A glance at the writing showed it was not in 
 Kostalergi's hand, and, after a moment or two 
 of hesitation, Kearney opened it. He turned at 
 once for the writer's name, and read the words, 
 " Nina Kostalergi" — his sister's child ! " Poor 
 Matty, "was all he could say for some minutes. 
 He remembered the letter in which she told him of 
 her little girl's birth, and implored his forgiveness 
 for herself and his love for her baby. "I want 
 both, my dear brother," wrote she ; "for though 
 the bonds we make for ourselves by ourpassions — " 
 And the rest of the sentence was erased — she 
 evidently thinking she had delineated all that 
 could give a clew to a despondent reflection. 
 
 The present letter was written in English, but in 
 that quaint peculiar hand Italians often write in. 
 It begun by asking forgiveness for daring to write 
 to him, and recalling the details of the relation- 
 ship between them, as though he could not have 
 remembered it. "I am, then, in my right," 
 wrote she, "when I address you as my dear, 
 dear uncle, of whom I have beard so much, and 
 whose name was in my prayers ere I knew why 
 I knelt to pray." 
 
 Then followed a piteous appeal — it was actual- 
 ly aery for protection. Her father, she said, had 
 determined to devote her to the stage, and al- 
 ready had taken steps to sell her— she said she 
 used the word advisedly — for so many years to 
 the impresario of the Fenice at Venice, her voice 
 and musical skill being such as to give hope of 
 her becoming a prima donna. She had, she said, 
 frequently sung at private parties at Rome, but 
 only knew within the last few days that she had 
 been, not a guest, but a paid performer. Over- 
 whelmed with the shame and indignity of this 
 false position, she implored her mother's brother 
 to compassionate her. " If I could not become a 
 governess, I could be your servant, dearest uncle, " 
 she wrote. ' ' I only ask a roof to shelter me and 
 a refuge. May I go to you? I would beg my 
 way on foot, if I only knew that at the last your 
 heart and your door would be open tome, and, as 
 I fell at your feet, knew that I was saved." 
 
 Until a few days ago, she said, she had by her 
 some little trinkets her mother had left her, and 
 on which she counted as a means of escape ; but 
 her father had discovered them, and taken them 
 from her. 
 
 " If you answer this — and oh, let me not doubt 
 you will — write to me to the care of the Signori 
 Cayani and Battistella, bankers, Rome. Do not 
 
 delay, but remember that I am friendless, and, 
 but for this chance, hopeless. Your niece, 
 
 "Nina Kostalergi." 
 
 While Kearney gave this letter to his daughter 
 to read, he walked up and down the room with 
 his head bent and his hands deep in his pockets. 
 
 " I think I know the answer you'll send to this, 
 papa," said the girl, looking up at him with a 
 glow of pride and affection in her face. "I do 
 not need that you should say it." 
 
 " It will take fifty — no, not fifty, but five-and- 
 thirty pounds to bring her over here, and how is 
 she to come all alone ?" 
 
 Kate made no reply; she knew the danger 
 sometimes of interrupting his own solution of a 
 difficulty. 
 
 " She's a big girl, I suppose, by this — fourteen 
 or fifteen ?" 
 
 " Over nineteen, papa." 
 
 "So she is — I was forgetting. That scoun- 
 drel, her father, might come after her ; he'd have 
 the right, if lie wished to enforce it, and what a 
 scandal he'd bring upon us all ! " 
 
 " But would he care to do it ? Is he not 
 more likely to be glad to be disembarrassed of 
 her charge ?" 
 
 "Not if he was going to sell her — not if he 
 could convert her into money." 
 
 " He has never been in England ; he may not 
 know how far the law would give him any power 
 over her." 
 
 "Don't trust that, Kate ; a blackguard always 
 can find out how much is in his favor every where. 
 If he doesn't know it now, he'd know it the day aft- 
 er he landed." He paused an instant, and then 
 said : " There will be the devil to pay with old 
 Peter Gill, for he'll want all the cash I can scrape 
 together for Loughrea fair. He counts on having 
 eighty sheep down there at the long crofts, and a 
 cow or two besides. That's money's worth, girl !" 
 
 Another silence followed, after which he said, 
 " And I think worse of the Greek scoundrel than 
 all the cost." 
 
 "Somehow, I have no fear that he'll come 
 here." 
 
 "You'll have to talk over Peter, Kitty" — he 
 always said Kitty when he meant to coax her. 
 " He'll mind you, and at all events you don't 
 care about his grumbling. Tellium it's a sud- 
 den call on me for railroad shares, or" — and here 
 he winked knowingly — "say, it's going to Rome 
 the money is, and tor the Pope!" 
 
 "That's an excellent thought, papa," said she, 
 laughing; "I'll certainly tell him the money is 
 going to Rome, and you'll w r rite soon — you see 
 with what anxiety she' expects your answer." 
 
 " I'll write to-night when the house is quiet, 
 and there's no racket nor disturbance about me." 
 Now, though Kearney said this with a perfect con- 
 viction of its truth and reasonableness, it would 
 have been very difficult for any one to say in 
 what that racket he spoke of consisted, or where- 
 in the quietude of even midnight was greater than 
 that which prevailed there at noonday. Never, 
 perhaps, were lives more completely still or mo- 
 notonous than theirs. People who derive no in- 
 terests from the outer world, who know nothing 
 of what goes on in life, gradually subside into a 
 condition in which reflection takes the place of 
 conversation, and lose all zest and all necessity for 
 that small-talk which serves, like the changes of 
 
1.0111) KILliOHHIN. 
 
 11 
 
 a game, to while away time, and by the aid of 
 which, if we do no more, we often delude the 
 cares and worries of existence. 
 
 A kind good-morning when they met, ami a 
 few words during the day — some mention of this 
 or that e\ent of the farm or the laborers, and rave 
 enough, too — some little incident that happened 
 among the tenants, made all the materials of their 
 intercourse, and tilled up lives which either would 
 very freely have owned were tar from unhappy. 
 
 Dick, indeed, when he came home and was 
 weather-hound for a day. did lament his sad des- 
 tine, and mutter half-intelligible nonsense of what 
 he 'would not rather do than descend to such a 
 melancholy existence ; but in all his complainings 
 he never made Kate discontented with her lot. or 
 desire any thing beyond it. 
 
 "It's Idl very well." he would say, "till you 
 know something better." 
 " But I want no better!" 
 " Do you mean you'd like to go through life in 
 this fashion?" 
 
 ••I can't pretend to say what I may feel as I 
 grow older: but if I could be sure to be as I am 
 now. I could ask nothing better." 
 
 "I must say, it's a very inglorious life," said 
 he. with a sneer. 
 
 ••So it is, but how many, may I ask, are there 
 who lead glorious lives ? " Is there any glory in 
 dining out, in dancing, visiting, and picnicking? 
 Where is the great glory of the billiard-table or the 
 croquet-lawn ? No, no, my dear Dick, the only 
 glory that falls to the share of such humble folks 
 a- we are is to have something to do, and to do it." 
 Such were the sort of passages would now and 
 then occur between them — little contests, he it 
 said, in which she usually came off the conqueror. 
 If she were to have a wish gratified, it would 
 have been a few more books — something besides 
 those odd volumes of Scott's novels. '•Zeluco" by 
 Doctor Moore, and "Florence M'Carthy," which 
 comprised her whole library, and which she read 
 over and over unceasingly. She was now in her 
 usual place — a deep window-seat — intently occu- 
 pied with Amy Robsart's sorrows, when her fa- 
 ttier came to read what he had written in answer 
 to Nina. If it was very brief, it was very affec- 
 tionate. II told her in a few words that she had 
 no need to recall the ties of their relationship ; 
 that his heart never ceased to remind him of 
 them : that his home was a very dull one, but 
 that her cousin Kate would try and make it a 
 happy one to her; entreated her to confer witli 
 the banker, to whom he remitted forty pounds, in 
 what way she could make the journey, since he 
 was too broken in health himself to go and fetch 
 her. " It is a bold step I am counseling you to 
 take. It is no light thing to quit a father's home, 
 and I have my misgivings how far I am a wise 
 adviser in recommending it. There is, however, 
 a present peril, and I must try. if 1 can. to save 
 
 von from it. Perhaps, in my Old-World notions, 
 
 I attach to the thought of the stage ideas that 
 you would only smile at ; but none of our race, 
 so far as I know, fell to that condition — nor must 
 you, while I have a roof to shelter you. 
 
 "If you would write, and say about what time 
 I might expect you, I would try to meet you on 
 your landing in England at Dover. 
 
 "Kate sends you her warmest love, and longs 
 to see you." 
 
 This was the whole of it. But a brief line to 
 
 the bankers said that am expense they judged 
 
 needful to her safe convoy across Europe would 
 be gratefully repaid by him. 
 
 ••Is it all right, dear? Have 1 forgotten any 
 
 thing?" asked he. as Kate read it oxer. 
 
 "It's every thing, papa— ever] thing. And I 
 
 do long to see her." 
 
 "I hope she's like .Mattie -if she's only like 
 her poor mother, it will make my heart young 
 again to look at her." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "the chums." 
 
 In- that old square of Trinity College, Dublin, 
 one side of which fronts the Park, and in cham- 
 bers on the ground-floor, an oak door bore the 
 names of " Kearney and At lee." 
 
 Kearney was the son of Lord Kilgobhin ; Atlee, 
 his chum, the son of a Presbyterian minister in 
 the north of Ireland, had been four years in the 
 university, but was still in his freshman period, 
 not from any deficiency of scholar-like ability to 
 push on, but that, as the poet of the "Seasons'' 
 lay in bed because he "had no motive for ris- 
 ing," Joe Atlee felt that there need be no ur- 
 gency about taking a degree which, when he had 
 got, be should be sorely- puzzled to know what 
 to do with. He was a clever, ready-witted, but 
 capricious fellow, fond of pleasure, and self-in- 
 dulgent to a degree that ill suited his very small- 
 est of fortunes ; for his father was a poor man, 
 with a large family, and had already embarrassed 
 himself heavily by the cost of sending his eldest 
 son to the university. Joe's changes of purpose 
 — for he had in succession abandoned law for 
 medicine, medicine for theology, and theology for 
 civil engineering, and, finally, gave them all up 
 — had so outraged his father that he declared he 
 would not continue any allowance to him beyond 
 the present year; to which Joe replied by the 
 same post, sending back the twenty pounds in- 
 closed him, and saying : "The only amendment 
 I would make to your motion is as to the date 
 — let it begin from to-day. I suppose I shall 
 have to swim without corks some time. I may 
 as well try now as later on." 
 
 The first experience of his " swimming without 
 »corks" was to lie in bed two days and smoke ; 
 the next was to rise at daybreak and set out on 
 a long walk into the country, from which he re- 
 turned late at night, wearied and exhausted, hav- 
 ing eaten but once during the day. 
 
 Kearney, dressed for an evening party, re- 
 splendent with jewelry, essenced and curled, was 
 about to issue forth, when Atlee, dusty and way- 
 worn, entered and threw himself into a chair. 
 
 " What lark have you been on. Master Joe?" 
 he said. " I have not seen you for three days, 
 if not four." 
 
 "No; I've begun to train," said be, gravely. 
 " I want to see how long a fellow could hold on 
 to life, on three pipes of Cavrndi-h per diem. 1 
 take it that the absorbents won't be more Crn< 1 
 than a man's creditors, ami will not issue a dis- 
 traint where there are no assets, so that probably 
 by the time I shall have brought myself down 
 to, let us say, seven stone weight, 1 shall have 
 
 reached the goal." 
 
 This speech he delivered slowly and calmly, 
 as though enunciating a very grave proposition. 
 
12 
 
 " What new nonsense is this? Don't you 
 think health worth something ?" 
 
 "Next to life, unquestionably : but one condi- 
 tion of health is to be alive, and I don't see how 
 to manage that. Look here, Dick, I have just 
 had a quarrel with my father ; he is an excellent 
 man and an impressive preacher, but he fails in 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 way they neglect arithmetic in our modern 
 
 schools ! " 
 
 " Has he reduced your allowance ?" 
 
 " He has done more, he has extinguished it." 
 
 " Have you provoked him to this ?" 
 
 "I have provoked him to it." 
 
 "But is it not possible to accommodate mat- 
 
 the imaginative qualities. Nature has been a 
 niggard to him in inventiveness. He is the 
 minister of a little parish called Aghadoe, in the 
 North, where they give him two hundred and 
 ten pounds per annum. They are eight in fam- 
 ily, and he actually doesn't see his way to allow 
 me one hundred and fifty out of it. That's the 
 
 ters ? It should not be very difficult, surely, tc 
 show him that once you are launched in life — " 
 
 "And when will that be, Dick?" broke in the 
 other. "I have been on the stocks these four 
 years, and that launching process you talk of 
 looks just as remote as ever. No, no ; let us be 
 fair. He has all the right on his side ; all the 
 
LORD KDLGOBBIN. 
 
 13 
 
 wrong is on mine. Indeed, so far as conscience 
 goes, I have always felt it so; Imt ours con- 
 science, like one's boots, gets so pliant from 
 
 wear that it ceases to give pain. Still, on my 
 honor, I never hip-hurrahed to a toast that I did 
 not feel, there goes broken boots to one of the 
 boys, or, worse again, the cost of a cotton dress 
 
 for one of the si-ters. Whenever I took a sher- 
 ry-cobbler, I thought of suicide after it. Self-in- 
 dulgence and self-reproach got linked in my na- 
 ture mi inseparably it was hopeless to summon 
 one without the other, till at last I grew to be- 
 lieve it was very heroic in me to deny myself 
 nothing, seeing how sorry I should be for it aft- 
 erward. But come, old fellow, don't lose your 
 evening : well have time enough to talk over 
 these things — where are you going?" 
 
 "To the Clancy.-'." 
 
 " To be sure ; what a fellow I am to forget it 
 was Letty's birthday, and 1 was to have brought 
 her a bouquet ! Dick, be a good fellow, and tell 
 her some lie or other — that I was sick in bed. or 
 a'way to see an aunt or a grandmother, and that 
 I had a splendid bouquet for her, but wouldn't 
 let it reach her through other hands than my own, 
 hut to-morrow — to>-morrow she shall have it." 
 
 '• You know well enough you don't mean any 
 thing of the sort." 
 
 "On my honor, I'll keep my promise. I've 
 an old silver watch yonder — I think it knows the 
 way to the pawn-office by itself. There, now be 
 oft'; for if I begin to think of all the fun you're 
 going to. I shall just dress and join you." 
 
 "No, I'd not do that," said Dick, gravely; 
 "nor shall I stay long myself. Don't go to bed, 
 Joe, till I come back. Good-by." 
 
 "Say all good and sweet things to Letty for 
 me. Tell her — " Kearney did not wait for his 
 message, but hurried down the steps and drove 
 
 oft. 
 
 Joe sat down at the fire, filled his pipe, looked 
 steadily at it, and then laid it on the mantel- 
 piece. "Mb, no. Master Joe. You must be 
 thrifty now. You have smoked twice since — I 
 can afford to say — since dinner-time, for you 
 haven't dined. It is strange, that now the sense 
 of hunger has passed off. what a sense of excite- 
 ment I feel. Two hours back I could have been 
 a cannibal. I believe I could have eaten the 
 vice-provost — though I should have liked him 
 strongly deviled — and now I feel stimulated. 
 Hence it is, perhaps, that so little wine is enough 
 to affect the heads of starving people — almost 
 maddening them. Perhaps Dick suspected some- 
 thing of this, for he did not care that I should go 
 along with him. Who knows but he may have 
 thought the sight of a supper might have over- 
 come me? If he knew but all. I'm much more 
 disposed to make love to Lctty Clancy than to go 
 in for galantine and Champagne. By-the-way, 
 I wonder if the physiologists are aware of that ? 
 It is, perhaps, what constitutes the ethereal con- 
 dition of love. I'll write an essay on that, or, 
 better still, I'll write a review of an imaginary 
 
 French essay. Frenchmen arc permitted to say 
 so much more than we are. and I'll be rebukeful 
 on the score of his excesses. The bitter way in 
 which a Frenchman always visits his various in- 
 capacities — whether it be to know something, or 
 to do something, or to be something — on the 
 species he belongs to; the way in which be sug- 
 gests that, had he been consulted on the matte*. 
 
 'humanity hail been a much more perfect organi- 
 zation, and able to sustain a great ileal more of 
 
 wickedness without disturbance, is great fun. 
 
 I'll certainly invent a Frenchman and make him 
 an author, and then demolish him. What it I 
 
 make him die of hunger, having tasted nothing 
 
 tor eight days but the proof-sheets of his great 
 work— the work I am then reviewing. For four 
 days — but stay ; — if I starve him to death, I can 
 not tear his work to pieces. No; he shall he 
 alive, living in splendor and honor, a frequenter 
 of the Tuileries, a favored guest at Compiegne." 
 Without perceiving it, he had now taken hi. 
 pipe, lighted it, and was smoking away. " l!v- 
 the-way. how those same Imperialists have played 
 
 the game! the two or three middle-aged men. that 
 Kinglake says 'Put their heads together to plan 
 
 for a livelihood,' I wish they had taken me into 
 the partnership. It's the sort of thing I'll have 
 liked well ; ay, and I could have done it too! I 
 wonder," said he, aloud — " I wonder, if I were an 
 emperor, should I marry Lctty Clancy ? I sus- 
 pect not. Letty would have been flippant as an 
 empress, and her cousins would have made atro- 
 cious princes of the imperial family, though, for 
 the matter of that — Halloo! Here have I been 
 smoking without knowing it ! Can any one tell 
 us whether the sins we do inadvertently count as 
 sins, or do we square them off by our inadvertent 
 good actions? I trust I shall not be called on 
 to catalogue mine. There, my courage is out!" 
 As he said this he emptied the ashes of his pipe, 
 i and gazed sorrowfully at the empty bowl. 
 
 "Now, if I were the son of some good house, 
 with a high-sounding name and well-to-do rela- 
 tions, I'd soon bring them to terms if they dared 
 to cast me off. I'd turn milk or muffin man, 
 and serve the street they lived in. I'd sweep the 
 crossing in front of their windows, or I'd com- 
 mit a small theft, and call on my high connections 
 for a character — but being who and what I am, 
 I might do any or till of these, and shock nobody. 
 
 •"Now, to take stock of my effects. Let me 
 see what my assets will bring when reduced to 
 cash, for this time it shall be a sale." And he 
 turned to a table where paper and pens were ly- 
 ing, and proceeded to write. '• Personal, sworn 
 under, let us say, ten thousand pounds. Litera- 
 ture first. To divers worn copies of 'Virgil,' 
 'Tacitus,' 'Juvenal,' and 'Ovid,' 'Caesar's Com- 
 mentaries,' and 'Catullus;' to ditto ditto of 
 'Homer,' 'Lucian.' 'Aristophanes,' 'Balzac,! 
 'Anacreon,' Bacon's 'Essays,' and Moore's 
 ' Melodies ;' to D wight's 'Theology'— uncut copy, 
 I bane's ' Poems' — very much thumbed. ' Saint Si- 
 mon' — very ragged, two volumes of 'Les Causes 
 < Vlrbres,' Tone's 'Memoirs,' and Be anger's 
 'Songs;' to ('uvier's 'Comparative Anatomy,' 
 'Shroaderon Shakspeare,' Newman's 'Apology,' 
 Archbold's 'Criminal Law,' and 'Songs of the 
 Nation :' tot lolenso, 'East's Cases for the Crown.' 
 Carte's 'Ormonde,' and 'Pickwick.' I'm why 
 
 g ? Let u- call it the small but well-selecte 1 
 
 library of a distressed gentleman, whose cultivated 
 mind i- reflected in the marginal notes with which 
 these volumes abound. Will any gentleman Bay, 
 
 ' £10 for the lot ?' Why. the very eritici-nis are 
 worth — I mean to a man of literary taste 
 
 tine- the amount, No offer at fin? Who is 
 
 that says 'five?' I trust my ear- have deceived 
 me. You repeat the insulting proposal ? Well, 
 Sir, on your own head be it ! Mr. Atlee's libra- 
 
u 
 
 LOED KILGOBBIN. 
 
 ry — or the Atlee collection is better — was yester- 
 day disposed of to a well-known collector of rare 
 books, and, if we are rightly informed, for a mere 
 fraction of its value. Never mind, Sir, I bear 
 you no ill-will ! I was irritable ; and to show you 
 my honest animus in the matter, I beg to present 
 you, in addition, with this, a handsomely bound 
 and gilt copy of a sermon by the Kev. Isaac 
 Atlee, on the opening of the new meeting-house 
 in Coleraine- — a discourse that cost my father 
 some sleepless nights, though I have heard the 
 etfect on the congregation was dissimilar. 
 
 ' ' The pictures are few. Cardinal Cullen, I 
 believe, is Kearney's ; at all events, he is the 
 worse for being made a target for pistol-firing, 
 and the archiepiscopal nose has been sorely dam- 
 aged. Two views of Killarney in the weather 
 of the period — that means July — and raining in 
 torrents, and consequently the scene, for aught 
 discoverable, might be the Gaboon. Portrait of 
 Joe Atlee, aetatis four years, with a villainous 
 squint, and something that looks like a plug in 
 the left jaw. A Skye terrier, painted, it is sup- 
 posed, by himself; not to recite unframed prints 
 of various celebrities of the ballet, in accustomed 
 attitudes ; with the Rev. Paul Bloxham blessing 
 some children — though, from the gesture and the 
 expression of the juveniles, it might seem cuffing 
 them — on the inauguration of the Sunday-school 
 at Kilmurry Macmacmahon. 
 
 " Lot three, interesting to anatomical lecturers 
 and others, especially those engaged in paleontol- 
 ogy. The articulated skeleton of an Irish giant, 
 representing a man who must have stood in his 
 no-stockings eight feet four inches. This, I may 
 add, will be warranted as authentic, in so far that 
 I made him myself out of at least eighteen or 
 twenty big specimens, with a few slight ' diver- 
 gencies,' I may call them, such as putting in 
 eight more dorsal vertebrae than the regulation, 
 and that the right femur is two inches longer 
 than the left. The inferior maxillary too was 
 stolen from a 'Pithacus Satyrus,' in the Cork 
 museum, by an old friend, since transported for 
 Fenianism. These blemishes apart, he is an ad- 
 mirable giant, and fully as ornamental and use- 
 ful as the species generally. 
 
 "As to my wardrobe, it is less costly than 
 curious. An alpaca paletot of a neutral tint, 
 which I have much affected of late, having indis- 
 posed me to other wear. For dinner and even- 
 ing duty I usually wear Kearney's, though too 
 tight across the chest, and short in the sleeves. 
 These, with a silver watch which no pawnbroker 
 — and I have tried eight — will ever advance more 
 on than seven-and-six. I once got the figure up 
 to nine shillings by supplementing an umbrella 
 which was Dick's, and which still remains, ' un- 
 claimed and unredeemed.' 
 
 ' ' Two o'clock, by all that is supperless ! evi- 
 dently Kearney is enjoying himself. Ah, youth, 
 youth ! I wish I could remember some of the 
 spiteful things that are said of you — not but on 
 the whole, I take it, you have the right end of 
 the stick. Is it possible there is nothing to eat 
 in this inhospitable mansion ?" He arose and 
 opened a sort of cupboard in the wall, scrutiniz- 
 ing it closely with the candle. " ' Give me but 
 the superfluities of life,' says Gavanii, 'and I'll 
 not trouble you for its necessaries. ' What would 
 he say, however, to a fellow famishing with hun- 
 ger in presence of nothing but pickled mushrooms 
 
 and Worcester sauce? Oh, here is a crust! 
 ' Bread is the start' of life. ' On my oath, I believe 
 so ; for this eats devilish like a walking-stick." 
 
 "Halloo ! back already ?" cried he, as Kearney 
 flung wide the door and entered. "I suppose 
 you hurried away back to join me at supper. " 
 
 " Thanks ; but I have supped already, and at a 
 more tempting banquet than this I see before you." 
 
 " Was it pleasant ? Was it jolly ? Were the 
 girls looking lovely ? Was the Champagne-cup 
 well iced? Was every body charming ? Tell me 
 all about it. Let me have second-hand pleasure, 
 since I can't afford the new article." 
 
 "It was pretty much like every other small ball 
 here, where the garrison get all the prettiest girls 
 for partners, and take the mammas down to sup- 
 per after." 
 
 "Cunning dogs, who secure flirtation above 
 stairs and food belpw ! And what is stirring in 
 the world ? What are the gayeties in prospect ? 
 Are any of my old flames about to get married ?" 
 
 "I didn't know you had any." 
 
 "Have I not! I believe half the parish of 
 St. Peter's might proceed against me for breach 
 of promise ; and if the law allowed me as many 
 wives as Brigham Young, I'd be still disappoint- 
 ing a large and interesting section of society in 
 the suburbs." 
 
 "They have made a seizure on the office of the 
 Pike, and carried offthe press and the whole issue, 
 and are in eager pursuit after Madden, the editor. " 
 
 ' ' What for ? What is it all about ?" 
 
 " A new ballad he has published ; but which, 
 for the matter of that, they were singing at every 
 corner as I came along." 
 
 " Was it good ? Did you buy a copy ?" 
 
 "Buy a copy? I should think not." 
 
 "Couldn't your patriotism stand the test of a 
 penny ?" 
 
 "It might, if I wanted the production, which 
 I certainly did not ; besides, there is a run upon 
 this, and they are selling it at sixpence." 
 
 ' ' Hurrah ! There's hope for Ireland, after all ! 
 Shall I sing it for you, old fellow ? Not that you 
 deserve it. English corruption has damped the 
 little Irish ardor that old rebellion once kindled 
 in your heart ; and if you could get rid of your 
 brogue, you're ready to be loyal. You shall hear 
 it, however, all the same. - ' And taking up a very 
 damaged-looking guitar, he struck a few bold 
 chords, and begun : 
 
 Is there any thing: more we can fight or can hate for f 
 The "drop" and the famine have made our ranks 
 thin. 
 In the name of endurance, then, what do we wait 
 for? 
 Will nobody give us the word to begin ? 
 
 Some brothers have left us in sadness and sorrow, 
 In despair of the cause they had sworn to win ; 
 
 They owned they were sick of that cry of " to-mor- 
 row ;" 
 Not a man would believe that we meaut to begin. 
 
 We've been ready for months— is there oue can deny 
 it? 
 
 Is there auy oue here thinks rebellion a sin? 
 We counted the cost— and we did not decry it, 
 
 And we asked for no more than the word to begin. 
 At Vinegar Hill, when our fathers were fighters, 
 
 With numbers against them, they cared not a pin, 
 They needed no orders from newspaper writers 
 
 To tell them the day it was time to begin. 
 To sit down here in sadness and silence to bear it, 
 
 Is harder to face- than the battle's loud din, 
 'Tis the shame that will kill me— I vow it, I swear it ! 
 i Now or never's the time, if we mean to begin. 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 There was a wild rapture in the way he struck 
 the last chorda, that, if it did oot evince ecstasy, 
 seemed to counterfeit enthusiasm. 
 
 " Very poor doggerel, with all your bravura," 
 saiil Kearney, sneeringly. 
 
 '•What would you have? I only got three- 
 and-six for it." 
 
 " Sou! Is that thing yours?" 
 
 " Yes. Sir ; that thing is mine. And the Cas- 
 tle people think somewhat more gravely about it 
 than you do." 
 
 " At which you are pleased, doubtless?" 
 "Not pleased, but proud, Master Dick, let me 
 
 tell you. It's a very stimulating reflection to the 
 man who dines on an onion, that he can spoil the 
 digestion of another fellow who has been eating 
 turtle." 
 
 "But you may have to go to prison for this." 
 "Not if you don't peach mi me. tor you are the 
 only one knows the authorship. You see, Dick, 
 these things are done cautiously. They are 
 dropped into a letter-box with an initial letter, 
 and a clerk hands the payment to some of those 
 itinerant hags that sing the melody, and who 
 can be trusted with the secret as implicitly as the 
 briber at a borough election." 
 
 "I wish you had a better livelihood, Joe." 
 "So do I, or that my present one paid better. 
 The fact is, Dick, patriotism never was worth 
 much as a career till one got to the top of the 
 profession. But if you mean to sleep at all, old 
 fellow, 'it's time to begin,"' and he chanted out 
 the last words in a clear and ringing tone as he 
 banged the door behind him. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AT "TRINITY." 
 
 It was while the two young men were seated 
 at breakfast that the post arrived, bringing a 
 number of country newspapers, for which, in one 
 shape or other, Joe Atlee wrote something. In- 
 deed, he was an "own correspondent," dating 
 from London, or Paris, or occasionally from 
 Rome, witli an easy freshness and a local color 
 that vouched for authenticity. These journals 
 were of every political tint, from emerald-green 
 to the deepest orange ; and, indeed, between two 
 of them — the Ti/>/>erary Pike, and the Boyne 
 Water, hailing from Carrickfergus — there was a 
 controversy of such violence and intemperance of 
 language that it was a curiosity to see the two 
 papers on the same table : the fact being capable 
 of explanation, that they were both written by 
 Joe Atlee — a secret, however, that he had not 
 confided even to his friend Kearney. 
 
 " Will that fellow that signs 'himself Terry 
 OToole in the Pike Stand this ?" cried Kearney, 
 reading aloud from the Boyne Water: 
 
 "'We know the man who corresponds with 
 you under the signature of Terry ( (Toole, and it 
 is but one of the aliases under which he has lived 
 since he came out of the Richmond Bridewell, 
 fileher, forger, and false witness. There is vet 
 one thing he has never tried, which is to behave 
 with a little courage. If he should, however, be 
 able to persuade himself, by the aid of his accus- 
 tomed stimulants, to accept the responsibility of 
 what he has written, we bind ourselves to pay his 
 
 expenses to any part of France or Belgium, where 
 he will meet us, and we shall also bind ourselves 
 to give him what his life little entitles him to, a 
 Christian burial afterward. 
 
 "'No Surrender.'" 
 
 " lam just reading the answer," said Joe. " It 
 is very brief : here it is : 
 
 " 'If "No Surrender" — who has been a news- 
 vendor in your establishment since you yourself 
 rose from that employ to the editor's chair — will 
 call at this office any morning after distributing 
 his eight copies of your daily issue, we promise to 
 give him such a kicking as he has never experi- 
 enced during his literary career. 
 
 '"Terry OToole.'" 
 
 "And these are the amenities of journalism!" 
 cried Kearney. 
 
 " For the matter of that, you might exclaim at 
 the quack doctor of a fair, and ask, I> this the 
 dignity of medicine ?" said Joe. " There's a head 
 and a tail to every walk in life : even the law has 
 a chief-justice at one end and Jack Ketch at the 
 other." 
 
 " Well, I sincerely wish that those blackguards 
 would first kick and then shoot each other." 
 
 "They'll do nothing of the kind ! It's just as 
 likely that they wrote the whole correspondence 
 at the same table, and with the same jug of punch 
 between them." 
 
 " If so, I don't envy you your career or your 
 comrades." 
 
 " It's a lottery with big prizes in the wheel all 
 the same! I could tell you the names of great 
 swells, Master Dick, who have made very proud 
 places lor themselves in England by whai you cull 
 'journalism.' In France it is the one road toem- 
 inence. Can not you imagine, besides, what cap- 
 ital fun it is to be able to talk to scores of people 
 you were never introduced to — to tell them an in- 
 finity of things on public matters, or now and then 
 about themselves ; anil in so many mood- as you 
 
16 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 have tempers, to warn them, scold, compassion- 
 ate, correct, console, or abuse them — to tell them 
 not to be overconfident, or bumptious, or purse- 
 proud — " 
 
 "And who are you, mav I ask, who presume to 
 do all this ?" 
 
 "That's as it may be. We are occasionally 
 Guizot, Thiers, Pie'vot-Paradol, Lytton, Disraeli, 
 or Joe Atlee." 
 
 ' ' Modest, at all events. " 
 
 "And why not say what I feel — not what I 
 have done, but what is in me to do? Can't you 
 understand this : it would never occur to me that 
 I could vault over a five-bar gate if I had been 
 born a cripple ; but the conscious possession of a 
 little pliant muscularity might well tempt me to 
 try it. " 
 
 "And get a cropper for your pains." 
 
 " Be it so. Better the cropper than pass one's 
 life looking over the top rail and envying the fel- 
 low that had cleared it. But what's this ? Here's 
 a letter here : it got in among the newspapers. I 
 .say, Dick, do you stand this sort of thing ?" said 
 he, as he read' the address. 
 
 "Stand what sort of thing?" asked the other, 
 half angrily. 
 
 " Why, to be addressed in this fashion ? The 
 Honorable Richard Kearney, Trinity College, 
 Dublin." 
 
 "It is from my sister," said Kearney, as he 
 took the letter impatiently from his hand ; " and 
 I can only tell you, if she had addressed me oth- 
 erwise, I'd not have opened her letter." 
 
 "But come now, old fellow, don't lose tem- 
 per about it. You have a right to this designa- 
 tion, or you have not — " 
 
 "I'll spare all your eloquence by simply say- 
 ing that I do not look on you as a Committee 
 of Privilege, and I'm not going to plead before 
 you. Besides," added he, "it's only a few min- 
 utes ago you asked me to credit you for something 
 you had not yet shown yourself to be, but that 
 you intended and felt that the world should see 
 you were one of these days." 
 
 "So then you really mean to bring your claim 
 before the Lords ?" 
 
 Kearney, if he heard, did not heed this ques- 
 tion, but went on to read his letter. " Here's a 
 surprise !" cried he. " I was telling you the oth- 
 er day about a certain cousin of mine we were 
 expecting from Italy." 
 
 "The daughter of that swindler, the mock 
 prince ?" 
 
 "The man's character I'll not stand up for, 
 but his rank and title are alike indisputable," 
 said Kearney, haughtily. 
 
 " With all my heart. We have soared into a 
 high atmosphere all this day, and I hope my res- 
 piration will get used to it in time. Bead away." 
 
 It was not till after a considerable interval that 
 Kearney had recovered composure enough to 
 read, and, when he did so, it was with a brow 
 furrowed with irritation : 
 
 "Kilgobbin. 
 
 " My dear Dick, — We had just sat down to 
 tea last night, and papa was fidgeting about the 
 length of time his letter to Italy had remained 
 unacknowledged, when a sharp ring at the house- 
 door startled us. We had been hearing a good 
 deal of searches for arms lately in the neighbor- 
 hood, and we looked very blankly at each other for 
 a moment. We neither of us said so, but I feel 
 
 sure our thoughts were on the same track, and 
 that we believed Captain Bock, or the head centre, 
 or whatever be his latest title, had honored us 
 with a call. Old Matthew seemed of the same 
 mind too, for he appeared at the door with that 
 venerable blunderbuss we have so often played 
 with, and which, if it had any evil thoughts" in 
 its head, I must have been tried for a murder 
 years ago, for I know it was loaded since I was a 
 child, but that the lock has for the same space 
 of time not been on speaking terms with the bar- 
 rel. While, then, thus confirmed in our sus- 
 picions of mischief by Mat's warlike aspect, we 
 both rose from the table, the door opened, and 
 a young girl rushed in, and fell— actually threw 
 herself— into papa's amis. It was Nina "herself, 
 who had come all the way from Borne alone, that 
 is, without any one she knew, and made her way 
 to us here, without any other guidance than her 
 own good wits. 
 
 "I can not tell you how delighted we are with 
 her. She is the loveliest girl I ever saw, so gen- 
 tle, so nicely mannered, so soft-voiced, and so 
 winning — I feel myself like a peasant beside her. 
 The least thing she says — her laugh, her slightest 
 gesture, the way she moves about the room, with 
 a sort of swinging grace, which I thought affect- 
 ed at first, but now I see is quite natural — is only 
 another of her many fascinations. 
 
 ' ' I fancied for a while that her features were 
 almost too beautifully regular for expression, and 
 that even when she smiled and showed her lovely 
 teeth, her eyesgot no increase of brightness; hut", 
 as I talked more with her, and learned to know 
 her better, I saw that those eyes have meanings 
 of softness and depth in them of wonderful power, 
 and, stranger than all, au archness that shows she 
 has plenty of humor. 
 
 " Her English is charming, but slightly foreign ; 
 and when she is at a loss for a word", there is 
 just that much of difficulty in finding it which 
 gives a heightened expression to her beautifully 
 calm face, and makes it lovely. You may see 
 how she has fascinated me, for I could go on 
 raving about her for hours. 
 
 " She is very anxious to see you, and asks me 
 over and over again, Shall you like her? I 
 was almost candid enough to say ' too well. ' I 
 mean that you could not help falling in love with 
 her, my dear Dick ; and she is so much above us 
 in style, in habit, and doubtless in ambition, that 
 such would be only madness. When she saw your 
 photo she smiled, and said, ' Is he not superb ? 
 — I mean proud ?' I owned you were, and then 
 she added, ' I hope he will like me.' I am not, 
 perhaps, discreet if I tell you she does not like the 
 portrait of your chum, Atlee. She says ' he is 
 very good-looking, very clever, very witty, but 
 isn't he false?' and this she says over and over 
 again. I told her I believed not ; that I had 
 never seen him myself, but that I knew you 
 liked him greatly, and felt to him as a brother. 
 She only shook her head, and said, 'Badate bene a 
 quel che dico. I mean,' said she, ' I'm right, but 
 he's very nice, for all that!' If I tell you this, 
 Dick, it is just because I can not get it out of my 
 head, and I will keep saying over and over to my- 
 self, ' If Joe Atlee be what she suspect, why does 
 she call him very nice, for all that ?' I said you 
 intended to ask him down here next vacation, 
 and she gave the drollest little laugh in the world, 
 and does she not look lovely when she shows 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 17 
 
 those small pearly teeth? Heaven help you, poor | 
 J >itk, when you Bee herl but if 1 were you, I 
 should leave Master Joe behind me. for Bhe smiles, 
 as Bhe looks at his likeness, in a way that would 
 certainly make me jealous, it' 1 were only Joe's 
 friend, and not himself. 
 
 ■• We sat up in Nina's room till nigh morning, 
 
 and tO-day 1 have scarcely seen her, tor she wants 
 
 to he let Bleep, at'ter that long and tiresome jour- 
 ney, and I take the opportunity to write you this 
 very rambling epistle; for you may feci sure I 
 shall he less of a correspondent now than when 
 I was without companionship, and I counsel you 
 to he very grateful if you hear from me soon 
 again. 
 
 "Papa wants to take Duggan'8 farm from him, 
 and Lanty Moore's meadows, and throw them into 
 the law n : hut I hope he won't persist in the plan ; 
 not alone because it is a mere extravagance, hut 
 that the county is very unsettled just now about 
 land-tenure, and the people are hoping all sorts 
 of things from Parliament, and any interference 
 with them at this time would be ill taken. Fa- 
 ther Cody was here yesterday, and told me, con- 
 fidentially, to prevent papa — not so easy a thing 
 as he thinks, particularly if he should come to 
 suspect that any intimidation was intended — 
 and Miss O'Shea unfortunately said something 
 the other day that papa can not get out of his 
 bead, and keeps on repeating, ' So then it's our 
 turn now,' the fellows say; 'the landlords have 
 had five hundred years of it ; it's time we should 
 come in.' And this he says over and over with 
 a little laugh, and I wish to my heart Miss Betty 
 had kept it to herself. By-the-way, her nephew 
 is to come on leave, and pass two months with 
 her; and she says she hopes you will be here at 
 the same time, to keep him company ; but I have 
 a notion that another playfellow may prove a 
 dangerous rival to the Hungarian hussar; per- 
 haps, however, you would hand over Joe Atlee 
 to him. 
 
 "Be sure you bring us some new books, and 
 some music, when you come, or send them, if you 
 don't come soon. I am terrified lest Nina should 
 think the place dreary, and I don't know how Bhe 
 is to live here if she does not take to the vul- 
 gar drudgeries that fill my own life. When she 
 abruptly asked me. 'What do you do here?' I 
 was sorely puzzled to know what to answer; and 
 then she added quickly, ' For my own part, it's no 
 great matter, for I can always dream. I'm a 
 great dreamer!' Is it not lucky for her, Dick? 
 She'll have ample time for it here. 
 
 "I suppose I never wrote so long a letter as 
 this in my life j indeed, I never had a subject that 
 had Mich a fa-iination for myself. Do you know, 
 Dick, that though I promised to let her sleep on 
 
 till nigh dinner-time, I find myself every now and 
 then creeping up gently to her door, and only be- 
 think me of my pledge when my hand is on the 
 lock; and sometimes I even doubt if she is here 
 
 at all, and I am half crazy at fearing it may be 
 all a dream. 
 
 ••One word for yourself, and I have done. 
 Why have yon not told as of the examination? 
 It was to have been on the tenth, and we are now 
 at the eighteenth. Have you got— whatever it 
 was — the prize, or tie- medal, or — tin- reward, in 
 short, we were so anxiously hoping for? It 
 would lie such cheery tidings for poor papa, who 
 is very low and depressed of late, and I see him 
 B 
 
 always reading with such attention any notice of 
 the college he can find in the new-paper. My 
 dear, dear brother, how you would work hard if 
 you only knew what a prize BUCCeBS in lite mighl 
 give you. Little as I have seen of her. I could 
 guess that she will never bestow a thought on an 
 Undistinguished man. Come down for one day, 
 
 ami tell me if ever, in all your ambition, you had 
 
 such a goal before you as this. 
 
 "The hoggets I scut in to Tullamore fair were 
 
 not sold; but I believe Miss Betty's Bteward will 
 take them ; and, if so, I will Bend you ten pounds 
 next week. I never knew the market so dull. 
 and the English dealers now are only eager about 
 horses, ami I'm sure I couldn't part with any if 
 I had them. With all my love, 1 am your ever 
 affectionate sister, Kate Kearney. 
 
 "I have just Stepped into Nina's room and 
 stolen the photo I send you. I suppose the dress 
 must have been for some fancy ball ; hut she is 
 a hundred million times more beautiful. I don't 
 know if I shall have courage to confess my theft 
 to her." 
 
 "Is that your sister, Dick?'' said Joe Atlee. 
 as young Kearney withdrew the carte from the 
 letter and placed it face downward on the break- 
 fast-table. 
 
 "No," replied he, bluntly, and continued to 
 read on ; while the other, in the spirit of that free- 
 dom that prevailed between them, stretched out 
 his hand and took up the portrait. 
 
 "Who is this?" cried he, after some seconds. 
 "She's an actress. That's something like what 
 the girl wears in 'Don Csesar de Bazan.' To 
 be sure, she is Maritana. She's stunningly beau- 
 tiful. Do you mean to tell me, Dick, that there's 
 a girl like that on your provincial boards ?" 
 
 " I never said so, any more than I gave you 
 leave to examine the contents of my letters," said 
 the other, haughtily. 
 
 "Egad! I'd have smashed the seal any day 
 to have caught a glimpse of such a face as that. 
 I'll wager her eyes are blue-gray. Will you have 
 a bet on it ?" 
 
 " When you have done with your raptures, I'll 
 thank you to hand the likeness to me." 
 
 " But who isshe? what is she? where is she? 
 Is she the Greek ?" 
 
 "When a fellow can help himself BO coolly to 
 his information as you do, I scarcely think he de- 
 serves much aid from others ; but, I may tell you, 
 she is not Maritana, nor a provincial actress nor 
 any actress at all, but a young lady of good blood 
 and birth, and my own first-cousin." 
 
 "On my oath, it's the best thing I ever knew 
 of you." 
 
 Kearney laughed out at this moment at some- 
 thing in the letter, and did no) hear the other's 
 
 remark. 
 
 "It seems, Master Joe, that the young lady 
 did not reciprocate the rapturous delight you feel, 
 at sight of your picture. My sister say- I'll 
 read you her very words — 'she does not like the 
 portrait of your friend Atlee; he may be clev- 
 er and amusing, she says, but he is undeniably 
 
 false.' Mind that— undeniably false." 
 
 "That's all the fault of the artist. The stupid 
 
 dog would place me iii >o strong a light that I 
 
 kept blinking." 
 
 "No, no. She reads you like a book," said 
 
 the other. 
 
18 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 "I wish to Heaven she would, if she would 
 hold me like one." 
 
 "And the nice way she qualifies your clever- 
 ness, by calling you amusing." 
 
 " She could certainly spare that reproach to her 
 cousin Dick," said he. laughing ; " but no more 
 of this sparring. When do you mean to take me 
 down to the country with you ? The term will 
 be up on Tuesday." 
 
 " That will demand a little consideration now. 
 In the fall of the year, perhaps. When the sun 
 is less powerful the light will be more favorable 
 to your features." 
 
 "My poor Dick, I cram you with good advice 
 every day ; but one counsel I never cease repeat- 
 ing, ' Never try to be witty.' A dull fellow only 
 cuts his finger with a joke, he never catches it 
 by the handle. Hand me over that letter of your 
 sister's : I like the way she writes. All that 
 about the pigs and the poultry is as good as the 
 Farmers' Chronicle." 
 
 The other made no other reply than by coolly 
 folding up the letter and placing it in his pocket ; 
 and then, after a pause, he said : 
 
 "I shall tell Miss Kearney the favorable im- 
 pression her epistolary powers have produced on 
 my very clever and accomplished chum, Mr. At- 
 lee." 
 
 " Do so ; and say, if she'd take me for a cor- 
 respondent instead of you, she"d be ' exchanging 
 with a difference.' On my oath," said he, seri- 
 ously, " I believe a most finished education might 
 be effected in letter-writing. I'd engage to take 
 a clever girl through a whole course of Latin and 
 Greek, and a fair share of mathematics and log- 
 ic, in a series of letters, and her replies would be 
 the fairest test of her acquirement." 
 
 "Shall I propose this to my sister ?" 
 
 ' ' Do so, or to your cousin. I suspect Mari- 
 tana would be an apter pupil. " 
 
 " The bell has stopped. We shall be late in 
 the hall," said Kearney, throwing on his gown 
 hurriedly and hastening away ; while Atlee, tak- 
 ing some proof-sheets from the chimney-piece, 
 proceeded to correct them, a slight flicker of a 
 smile still lingering over his dark but handsome 
 face. 
 
 Though such little jarring passages as that we 
 have recorded were nothing uncommon between 
 these two young men, they were very good friends 
 on the whole, the very dissimilarity that pro- 
 voked their squabbles saving them from any more 
 serious rivalry. In reality, no two people could 
 be less alike : Kearney being a slow, plodding, 
 self-satisfied, dull man, of very ordinary facul- 
 ties; while the other was an indolent, discur- 
 sive, sharp-witted fellow, mastering whatever he 
 addressed himself to with ease, but so enamored 
 of novelty that he rarely went beyond a smatter- 
 ing of any thing. He carried away college hon- 
 ors apparently at will, and might, many thought, 
 have won a fellowship with little effort ; but his 
 passion was for change. Whatever bore upon 
 the rogueries of letters, the frauds of literature, 
 had an irresistible charm for him ; and he once 
 declared that he would almost rather have been 
 Ireland than Shakspeare; and then it was his 
 delight to write Greek versions of a poem that 
 might attach the mark of plagiarism to Tenny- 
 son, or show, by a Scandinavian lyric, how the 
 laureate had been poaching from the Northmen. 
 Now it was a mock pastoral in most ecclesias- 
 
 tical Latin that set the whole Church in arms ; 
 now, a mock dispatch of Baron Beust's that actu- 
 ally deceived the Revue des Deux Mondes, and 
 caused quite a panic at the Tuileries. He had 
 established such relations with foreign journals 
 that he could at any moment command insertion 
 for a paper, now in the Memorial Diplomatique, 
 now in the Goloss of St. Petersburg, or the All- 
 gemeine Zeitung ; while the comment, written 
 also by himself, would appear in the Kreutz 
 Zeitung or The Times ; and the mystification 
 became such that the shrewdest and keenest 
 heads were constantly misled, to which side to 
 incline in a controversy where all the wires were 
 pulled by one hand. Many a discussion on the 
 authenticity of a document, or the veracity of a 
 conversation, would take place between the two 
 young men : Kearney not having the vaguest 
 suspicion that the author of the point in debate 
 was then sitting opposite to him, sometimes seem- 
 ing to share the very doubts and difficulties that 
 were then puzzling himself. 
 
 While Atlee knew Kearney in every fold and 
 fibre of his nature, Kearney had not the very 
 vaguest conception of him with whom he sat ev- 
 ery day at meals, and communed through almost 
 every hour of life. He treated Joe, indeed, with 
 a sort of proud protection, thinking him a sharp, 
 clever, idle fellow, who would never come to any 
 thing higher than a bookseller's hack or an " oc- 
 casional correspondent." He liked his ready 
 speech and his fun, but he would not consent to 
 see in either evidences of any thing beyond the 
 amusing qualities of a very light intelligence. 
 On the whole, he looked down upon him, as very 
 properly the slow and ponderous people in life do 
 look down upon their more volatile brethren, and 
 vote them triflers. Long may it be so ! There 
 would be more sun-strokes in the world if it 
 were not that the shadows of dull men made 
 such nice cool places for the others to walk in ! 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 nOME LIFE AT THE CASTLE. 
 
 The life of that quaint old country-house was 
 something very strange and odd to* Nina Kos- 
 talergi. It was not merely its quiet monotony, 
 its unbroken sameness of topics as of events, and 
 its small economies, always appearing on the sur- 
 face ; but that a young girl like Kate, full of life 
 and spirits, gay, haudsome, and high-hearted — 
 that she should go her mill-round of these tire- 
 some daily cares, listening to the same com- 
 plaints, remedying the same evils, meeting the 
 same difficulties, and yet never seem to resent an 
 existence so ignoble and unworthy ! This was, 
 indeed, scarce credible. 
 
 As for Nina herself — like one saved from ship- 
 wreck — her first sense of security was full of grat- 
 itude. It was only as this wore off that she be- 
 gan to see the desolation of the rock on which 
 she had clambered. Not that her former life had 
 been rose-tinted. It had been of all things the 
 most harassing and weaiying — a life of dreary ne- 
 cessitude — a perpetual straggle with debt. Ex- 
 cept play, her father had scarcely any resource for 
 a livelihood. He affected, indeed, to give lessons 
 in Italian and French to young Englishmen ; but 
 he was so fastidious as to the rank and condition 
 
LOBD KILGOBMX. 
 
 19 
 
 of his pupils, and so unaccommodating as to his I 
 
 hours, and BO unpunctual, that it was cviilent that 
 the whole was a mere pretense of industry, to 
 
 avoid tin 1 reproach of being utterly dependent on 
 the play-table : besides this, in his capacity as a 
 teacher, lie obtained access to houses and accept- 
 ance with families where he would have found 
 entrance impossible under other circumstances. 
 
 He was polished and good-looking. All his 
 habits bespoke familiarity with society ; ami he 
 knew to the nicest fraction the amount of inti- 
 macy he might venture on with any one. Some 
 did not like him — the man of a questionable po- 
 sition, the reduced gentleman, has terrible preju- 
 dices to combat. He must always he suspected 
 — Heaven knows of what, but of some covert de- 
 sign against the religion, or the pocket, or the in- 
 fluence of those who admit him. Some thought 
 him dangerous, because his manners were insin- 
 uating, and his address studiously directed to 
 captivate. Others did not fancy his passion for 
 mixing in the world and frequenting society, to 
 which his straitened means appeared to deny him 
 rightful access ; but when he had succeeded in 
 introducing his daughter to the world, and people 
 began to say, " See how admirably M. Kostalergi 
 has brought up that girl ! how nicely mannered 
 she is, how lady-like, how well bred, what a lin- 
 guist, what a musician!" a complete revulsion 
 took place in public opinion, and many who had 
 but half trusted, or less than liked him before, 
 became now his stanchest friends and adherents. 
 Nina had been a great success in society, and she 
 reaped the full benefit of it. Sufficiently well- 
 born to be admitted, without any special conde- 
 scension, into good houses, she was in manner 
 and style the equal of any ; and though her dress 
 was ever of the cheapest and plainest, her fresh 
 toilet was often commented on with praise by 
 those who did not fully remember what added 
 grace and elegance the wearer had lent it. 
 
 From the wealthy nobles to whom her musical 
 genius had strongly recommended her, numerous 
 and sometimes costly presents were sent in ac- 
 knowledgment of her charming gifts ; and these, 
 as invariably, were converted into money by her 
 father, who after a while gave it to he understood 
 that the recompense would be always more wel- 
 come in that form. 
 
 Nina, however, for a long time knew nothing 
 of this ; she saw herself sought after, and flat- 
 tered in society, selected for peculiar attention 
 wherever she went, complimented on her acquire- 
 ments, and made much of to an extent that not 
 unfrequently excited the envy and jealousy of girls 
 much more favorably placed by fortune than her- 
 self. If her long mornings and afternoons were 
 passed amidst solitude and poverty, vulgar cares, 
 and harassing importunities, when night came, 
 she emerged into the blaze of lighted lustres 
 and gilded salons, to move in an atmosphere of 
 splendor and sweet sounds, with all that could 
 captivate the senses and exalt imagination. This 
 twofold life of meanness and magni licence so 
 wrought upon her nature as to develop almost 
 two individualities. The one hard, stern, realis- 
 tic, even to grndgingness ; the other gay, buoy- 
 ant, enthusiastic, and ardent : and they who only 
 saw her of an evening in all the exultation of her 
 nattered beauty, followed about by a train of ad- 
 miring worshipers, addressed in all that e 
 arion of language Italy sanctions, pampered by ca- 
 
 resses, and honored by homage on every side, lit- 
 tle knew by what dreary torpor of heart and mind 
 
 that joyous ecstasy they witnessed had been 
 
 preceded, nor by what a hound her emotions 
 had Bprnng from the depths of brooding melan- 
 choly to this paroxysm of delight ; nor could the 
 
 worn-out ami wearied followers of pleasure com- 
 prehend the intense enjoyment produced by tights 
 
 and sounds which in their case no fancy ideal 
 ized, no soaring imagination had lifted to the 
 heaven of bliss. 
 
 Kostalergi seemed for a while to content him- 
 self with the secret resources of his daughter's 
 successes, but at length lie launched out into 
 heavy play once more, and lost largely. It was 
 in this strait that he bethought him of negotiating 
 with a theatrical manager for Nina's appearance 
 on the stage. These contracts take the precise 
 form of a sale, where the victim, in consideration 
 of being educated, and maintained, and paid a 
 certain amount, is hound, legally bound, to devote 
 her services to a master for a "given time. The 
 impresario of the Fenice had often heard from 
 travelers of that wonderful mezzo-soprano voice 
 which was captivating all Rome, where the beau- 
 ty and grace of the singer were extolled not less 
 loudly. The great skill of these astute providers 
 for the world's pleasure is evidenced in nothing 
 more remarkably than the instinctive quickness 
 with which they pounce upon the indications of 
 dramatic genius, and hasten away — half across 
 the globe if need be — to secure it. Signor La- 
 nari was not slow to procure a letter of introduc- 
 tion to Kostalergi, and very soon acquainted him 
 with his object. 
 
 Under the pretense that he was an old friend 
 and former school-fellow, Kostalergi asked him 
 to share their humble dinner, and there, in that 
 meanly furnished room, and with the accompa- 
 niment of a wretched and jangling instrument, 
 Nina so astonished and charmed him by her per- 
 formance, that all the habitual reserve of the 
 cautious bargainer gave way, and he burst out 
 into exclamations of enthusiastic delight, ending 
 with, "She is mine! she is mine! I tell you, 
 since Persiani, there has been nothing like her!'' 
 
 Nothing remained now but to reveal the plan 
 to herself; and though certainly neither the 
 Greek nor his guest was deficient in descriptive 
 power, or failed to paint in glowing colors the 
 gorgeous procession of triumphs that await stage 
 success, she listened with little pleasure to it all. 
 She had already walked the hoards of what she 
 thought a higher arena. She had tasted flatter- 
 ies unalloyed with any sense of decided inferiori- 
 ty ; she had moved among dukes and duchesses 
 with a recognized station, and received their 
 compliments with ease and dignity. Was all 
 this reality of condition to he exchanged for a 
 mock splendor, and a feigned greatness? was 
 she to be subjected to the licensed stare, and crit- 
 icism, and coarse comment, maybe, of hundreds 
 -he never knew, nor would stoop to know? and 
 was the adulation she now lived in to he bartered 
 for the vulgar applause of those who, if dis-atis- 
 fied, could testify the feeling as openly and un- 
 sparingly? She said very little of what she felt 
 in her heart, but was no sooner alone in her room 
 at night than she wrote that letter to her urn le 
 entreating his protection. 
 
 It had been arranged with Lanari that she 
 diould make one appearance at a small provincial 
 
20 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 theatre as soon as she could master any easy part, 
 and Kostalergi, having some acquaintance with 
 the manager at Orvieto, hastened off there to ob- 
 tain his permission tor her appearance. It was 
 of this brief absence she profited to fly from 
 Rome, the banker conveying her as far as Civita 
 Vecchia, whence she sailed direct for Marseilles. 
 And now we see her, as she found herself in that 
 dreary old mansion, sad, silent, and neglected, 
 wondering whether the past was all a dream, or 
 if the unbroken calm in which she now lived was 
 not a sleep. 
 
 Conceding her perfect liberty to pass her time 
 how she liked, they exacted from her no appear- 
 ance at meals nor any conformity with the ways 
 of others, and she never came to breakfast, and 
 only entered the drawing-room a short time be- 
 fore dinner. Kate, who had counted on her 
 companionship and society, and hoped to see her 
 sharing with her the little cai - es and duties of her 
 life and taking interest in her pursuits, was sore- 
 ly grieved at her estrangement, but continued to 
 believe it would wear off with time and familiar- 
 ity with the place. Kearney himself, in secret, 
 resented the freedom with which she disregarded 
 the discipline of his house, and grumbled at 
 times over foreign ways and habits that he had 
 no fancy to see under his roof. When she did 
 appear, however, her winning manners, her grace, 
 and a certain half-caressing coquetry she could 
 practice to perfection, so soothed and amused 
 him that he soon forgot any momentary displeas- 
 ure, and more than once gave up his evening 
 visit to the club at Moate to listen to her as she 
 sang, or hear her sketch off some trait of that 
 Roman society in which British pretension and 
 eccentricity often figured so amusingly. 
 
 Like a faithful son of the Church, too, he nev- 
 er wearied hearing of the Pope and the Cardi- 
 nals, of glorious ceremonials of the Church, and 
 festivals observed with all the pomp and state 
 that pealing organs, and incense, and gorgeous 
 dress could confer. The contrast between the 
 sufferance under which his Church existed at 
 home and the honors and homage rendered to it 
 abroad, was a fruitful stimulant to that disaffec- 
 tion he felt toward England, and would not un- 
 frequently lead him away to long diatribes about 
 penal laws and the many disabilities which had 
 enslaved Ireland, and reduced himself, the de- 
 scendant of a princely race, to the condition of a 
 ruined gentleman. 
 
 To Kate these complainings were ever distaste- 
 ful; she had but one philosophy, which was "to 
 bear up well," and when not that, "as well as 
 you could." She saw scores of things around her 
 to be remedied, or, at least, bettered, by a little 
 exertion, and not one which could be helped by 
 a vain regret. For the loss of that old barbaric 
 splendor and profuse luxury which her father 
 mourned over she had no regrets. She knew 
 that these wasteful and profligate livers had done 
 nothing for the people either in act or in exam- 
 ple ; that they were a selfish, worthless, self-in- 
 dulgent race, caring for nothing but their pleas- 
 ures, and making all their patriotism consist in a 
 hate toward England. 
 
 These were not Nina's thoughts. She liked 
 all these stories of a time of power and might, 
 when the Kearneys were great chieftains, and 
 the old castle the scene of revelry and feasting. 
 
 She drew prettily, and it amused her to illus- 
 
 trate the curious tales the old man told her of 
 frays and forays, the wild old life of savage chief- 
 tains and the scarce less savage conquerors. On 
 one of these — she called it "The Return of O-'Ca- 
 hamey " — she bestowed such labor and study, 
 that her uncle would sit for hours watching the 
 work, not knowing if his heart were more stirred 
 by the claim of his ancestor's greatness, or by the 
 marvelous skill that realized the whole scene be- 
 fore him. The head of the young chieftain was 
 to be filled in when Dick came home. Mean- 
 while, great persuasions were being used to in- 
 duce Tom Gill to sit for a kern who had shared 
 the exile of his masters, but had afterward be- 
 trayed them to the English ; and whether Gill 
 had heard some dropping word of the part he 
 was meant to fill, or that his own suspicion had 
 taken alarm from certain directions the j'oung 
 lady gave as to the expression he was to assume, 
 certain is it nothing could induce him to comply, 
 and go down to posterity with the immortality 
 of crime. 
 
 The little long-neglected drawing-room where 
 Nina had set up her easel became now the usual 
 morning lounge of the old man, who loved to sit 
 and watch her as she worked, and, what amused 
 him even more, listen while she talked. It 
 seemed to him like a revival of the past to hear 
 of the world, that gay world of feasting and en- 
 joyment, of which for so many years he had 
 known nothing ; and here he was back in it 
 | again, and with grander company and higher 
 names than he ever remembered. "Why was 
 not Kate like her ?" would he mutter over and 
 over to himself. Kate was a good girl, fine-tem- 
 pered and happy-hearted, but she had no accom- 
 plishments, none of those refinements of the oth- 
 er. If he wanted to present her at " the Castle " 
 one of these days, he did not know if she would 
 have tact enough for the ordeal; but Nina! — 
 Nina was sure to make an actual sensation, as 
 much by her grace and her style as by her beau- 
 ty. Kearney never came into the room where 
 she was without being struck by the elegance of 
 her demeanor, the way she would rise to receive 
 him, her step, her carriage, the very disposal of 
 her drapery as she sat ; the modulated tone of 
 her voice, and a sort of purring satisfaction as 
 she took his hand and heard his praises of her, 
 spread like a charm over him, so that he never 
 knew how the time slipped by as he sat beside her. 
 
 "Have you ever written to your father since 
 you came here ?" asked he one day as they talked 
 together. 
 
 " Yes, Sir ; and yesterday I got a letter from 
 him. Such a nice letter, Sir — no complainings, 
 no reproaches for my running away ; but all sorts 
 of good wishes for my happiness. He owns he 
 was sorry to have ever thought of the stage for 
 me ; but he says this lawsuit he is engaged in 
 about his grandfather's will may last for years, 
 and that he knew I was so certain of a great suc- 
 cess, and that a great success means more than 
 mere money, he fancied that in my triumph he 
 would reap the recompense for his own disasters. 
 He is now, however, far happier that I have found 
 a home, a real home, and says, ' Tell my lord 1 
 am heartily ashamed of all my rudeness with re- 
 gard to him, and would willingly make a pilgrim- 
 age to the end of Europe to ask his pardon ;' and 
 say besides that ' when I shall be restored to the 
 fortune and rank of my ancestors,' — you know," 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 2] 
 
 added she, " he is a prince, — ' my first act will be 
 to throw myself at hk fiaet and beg to be forgiven 
 by him.'" 
 
 •• What i> the property i is it land ?" asked he, 
 with the half-saspectrumesa of one not fully as- 
 sured of « hat he was listening to. 
 
 " Yes, Sir: the estate is in Delos. I have seen 
 
 •• And w hat chance has he of getting it all back 
 again '-" 
 
 "That i- more that 1 can tell you : he himself 
 is Bometimes verj confident, and talks as if there 
 
 eoidd not be a doubt of it." 
 
 '• Used your poor mother to believe it?'* aske' 
 he, half-tremnlously. 
 
 the plan of the grounds and gardens of the palace, 
 which arc princely. Here, on this seal," said -he. 
 showing the envelope of her letter, "you can sec 
 the arms ; papa never omit- to use it, though on 
 his card he is written only 'of the princes' — a 
 form observed with us." 
 
 " I can scarcely say. Sir; I can barely remem- 
 ber her ; but I have heard papa blame her for not 
 interesting her high connections in England in his 
 suit ; he often thought that a word to the embas- 
 sador at Athens would have almost decided the 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 "High connections, indeed ! " burst he forth. 
 "By my conscience they're pretty much out at 
 elbows, like himself; and if we were trying to re- 
 cover our own right to-morrow, the look-out would 
 be bleak enough!" 
 
 "Papa is not easily cast down, Sir; he has a 
 very sanguine spirit." 
 
 " Maybe you think it's what is wanting in my 
 case, eh, Nina ? Say it out, girl ; tell me, I'd be 
 the better for a little of your father's hopefulness, 
 eh?" 
 
 " You could not change to any thing I could 
 like better than what you are," said she, taking 
 his hand and kissing it. 
 
 "Ah, you're a rare one to say coaxing things," 
 said he, looking fondly on her. " I believe you'd 
 be the best advocate for either of us, if the courts 
 would let you plead for us." 
 
 " I wish they would, Sir," said she, proudly. 
 
 "What is that?" cried he, suddenly; "sure 
 it's not putting myself you are in the picture!" 
 
 " Of course I am, Sir. Was not the O'Cahar- 
 ney your ancestor ? Is it likely that an old race 
 had not traits of feature and lineament that ages 
 of descent could not efface? I'd swear that 
 strong brow and frank look must be an heir- 
 loom." 
 
 "Faith, then, almost the only one!" said he, 
 sighing. " Who's making that noise out there ?" 
 said he, rising and going to the window. "Oh, 
 it's Kate with her dogs. I often tell her she'd 
 keep a pair of ponies for less than those trouble- 
 some brutes cost her." 
 
 " They are great company to her, she says, and 
 she lives so much in the open air." 
 
 " I know she does," said he, dropping his head, 
 and sitting like one whose thoughts had taken a 
 brooding, despondent turn. 
 
 "One more sitting I must have, Sir, for the 
 hair. You had it beautifully yesterday ; it fell 
 over on one side with a most perfect light on a 
 large lock here. Will you give me half an hour 
 to-morrow, say ?" 
 
 " I can't promise you, my dear. Tom Gill has 
 been urging me to go over to Loughrea for the 
 fair ; and if we go, we ought to be there by Satur- 
 day, and have a quiet look at the stock before the 
 sales begin." 
 
 "And are you going to be long away?" said 
 she, poutingly, as she leaned over the back of his 
 chair, and suffered her curls to fall half across his 
 face. 
 
 " I'll be right glad to be back again, "said he, 
 pressing her head down till he could kiss her 
 cheek, " right glad !" 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE "BLUE GOAT." 
 
 The " Blue Goat" in the small town of Moate 
 is scarcely a model hostel. The entrance hall is 
 too much encumbered by tramps and beggars of 
 various orders and ages, who not only resort there 
 to take their meals and play at cards, but to di- 
 vide the spoil and settle the accounts of their sev- 
 eral "industries," and occasionally to clear off 
 other scores which demand police interference. 
 On the left is the bar ; the right-hand, being used 
 as the office of a land-agent, is besieged by crowds 
 of country people, in whom, if language is to be 
 
 trusted, the grievous wrongs of land-tenure are 
 painfully portrayed — nothing but complaint, dog- 
 ged determination, and resistance being heard on 
 every side. Behind the bar is a long low-ceilinged 
 apartment, the parlor par excellence, only used by 
 distinguished visitors, and reserved on one espe- 
 cial evening of the week for the meeting of the 
 "Goats," as the members of a club call themselves 
 — the chief, indeed the founder, being our friend 
 Maurice Kearney, whose title of sovereignty was 
 ' ' Buck-Goat, " and whose portrait, painted by a 
 native artist and presented by the society, figured 
 over the chimney-piece. The village Vandyke 
 would seem to have invested largely in carmine, 
 and though far from parsimonious of it on the 
 cheeks and the nose of his sitter, he was driven 
 to work off some of his superabundant stock on 
 the cravat, and even the hands, which, though 
 amicably crossed in front of the white- waistcoated 
 stomach, are fearfully suggestive of some recent 
 deed of blood. The pleasant geniality of the 
 countenance is, however, re-assuring. Nor — ex- 
 cept a decided squint, by which the artist had am- 
 bitiously attempted to convey a humoristic droll- 
 ery to the expression — is there any thing sinister 
 in the portrait. 
 
 An inscription on the frame announces that 
 this picture of their respected founder was pre- 
 sented, on his fiftieth birthday, "To Maurice 
 Kearney, sixth Viscount Kilgobbin ; " various de- 
 vices of " caprine" significance, heads, horns, and 
 hoofs, profusely decorating the frame. If the 
 antiquarian should lose himself in researches for 
 the origin of this society, it is as well to admit, at 
 once, that the landlord's sign of the "Blue Goat" 
 gave the initiative to the name, and that the wor- 
 thy associates derived nothing from classical au- 
 thority, and never assumed to be descendants of 
 fauns or satyrs, but respectable shop-keepers of 
 Moate, and unexceptional judges of "poteen." 
 A large jug of this insinuating liquor figured on 
 the table, and was called "Goat's-milk ;"and if 
 these humoristic traits are so carefully enumer- 
 ated, it is because they comprised all that was 
 specially droll or quaint in these social gatherings, 
 the members of which were a very commonplace 
 set of men, who discussed their little local topics in 
 very ordinary fashion, slightly elevated, perhaps, 
 in self-esteem, by thinking how little the outer 
 world knew of their dullness and dreariness. 
 
 As the meetings were usually determined on 
 by the will of the president, who announced at 
 the hour of separation when they were to re-as- 
 semble, and as, since his niece's arrival, Kearney 
 had almost totally forgotten his old associates, the 
 club-room ceased to be regarded as the holy of 
 holies, and was occasionally used by the landlord 
 for the reception of such visitors as he deemed 
 worthy of peculiar honor. 
 
 It was on a very wet night of that especially 
 rainy month in the Irish calendar, July, that two 
 travelers sat over a turf fire in this sacred cham-' 
 ber, various articles of their attire being spread 
 out to dry before the blaze, the owners of which 
 actually steamed with the effects of the heat upon 
 their damp habiliments. 
 
 Some fishing-tackle and two knapsacks, which 
 lay in a corner, showed they were pedestrians, 
 arid their looks, voice, and manner proclaimed 
 them still more unmistakably to be gentlemen. 
 
 One was a tall, sunburnt, soldier-like man of 
 six or seven and thirty, powerfully built, and with 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 !•;; 
 
 that solidity of gesture and firmness of tread 
 sometimes bo marked with Btrong men. A hut.' 
 
 glance at liim showed he was a cold, silent, some- 
 what haughty man, not given to hasty resolves, 
 or in any way impulsive, ami it is just possible 
 that a long acquaintance with him would not have 
 revealed a great deal more. He had served in a 
 halt' dozen regiments; and although all declared 
 that Henry Lockwood was an honorable fellow, 
 a good soldier, and thoroughly "safe" — a \erv 
 meaning epithet — there were no very deep regrets 
 when he " exchanged. " nor was there, perhaps, 
 one man who felt he had lost his "pal" by his go- 
 ing. He was now in the carbineers, and serving 
 as an extra aid-de-camp to the Vieeroy. 
 
 Not a little unlike him in most respects was the 
 man who sat opposite him : a pale, finely feat- 
 ured, almost effeminate-looking young fellow, 
 with a small line of dark mustache, and a beard 
 en Henri Quatre, to the effect of which a collar 
 cut in Vandyke fashion gave an especial signifi- 
 cance. Cecil Walpole was disposed to be picto- 
 rial in his get-up. and the purple dyeof his knick- 
 erbocker stockings, the slouching plumage of his 
 Tyrol hat, and the graceful hang of his jacket, had 
 excited envy in quarters where envy was fame. 
 He. too, was on the vice-regal star!*, being pri- 
 vate secretary to his relative the Lord-Lieutenant, 
 during whose absence in England they had un- 
 dertaken a ramble to the Westmeath lakes, not 
 very positive whether their object was to angle for 
 trout or to fish for that " knowledge of Ireland - ' 
 so popularly sought after in our day, and which 
 displays itself so profusely in platform speeches 
 and letters to The Times. Lockwood, not impos- 
 sibly, would have said it was " to do a bit of walk- 
 ing"' he had come. He had gained eight pounds 
 by that indolent Phoenix Park life he was lead- 
 ing, and he had no fancy to go back to Leicester- 
 shire too heavy for his cattle. He was not — few 
 hunting men are — an ardent fisherman ; and as 
 for the vexed question of Irish politics, he did not 
 see why he was to trouble his head to unravel the 
 puzzles that were too much for Mr. Gladstone ; 
 not to say that he felt to meddle with these mat- 
 ters was like interfering with another man's de- 
 partment. " I don't suspect," he would say. " I 
 should fancy John Bright coming down to 'stables' 
 and dictating to me how my Irish horses should 
 be shod, or what was the best bit for a ' borer.' " 
 He saw, besides, that the game of politics was a 
 game of compromises : something was deemed 
 admirable now that had been hitherto almost ex- 
 ecrable ; and that which was utterly impossible to- 
 day, if done last year would have been a triumph- 
 ant success, and consequently he pronounced the 
 whole tiling an "imposition and a humbug." 
 "I can understand a right and a wrong as well 
 as any man,'' he would say. " but I know noth- 
 ing about things that are neither or both, accord- 
 ing to who's in or who's out of tin' Cabinet. Give 
 me the command of twelve thousand men, let me 
 divide them into three flying columns, and if I 
 don't keep Ireland quiet, draft me into a West 
 Indian regiment, that's all." And as to the idea 
 ol issuing Bpecia] commissions, passing new Acts 
 
 of Parliament, OT Suspending Old ones, to do what 
 he or any other intelligent soldier could do with- 
 out any knavery or any corruption, '•John Bright 
 might tell us," but he couldn't. And here it 
 may be well to observe that it was a favorite form 
 of speech with him to refer to this illustrious pub- 
 
 lic man in this familiar manner; but always to 
 
 show what a condition of muddle and confusion 
 
 muBl ensue if we followed the counsels that name 
 emblematized; nor did lie know a more cutting 
 sarcasm to reply to an adversary than when he 
 had. said: "Oh, John Bright would agree with 
 
 you, "or, " I don't think John Bright could go 
 farther.'' 
 
 Of a very different stamp was his Companion. 
 He was a young gentleman whom we can not 
 more easily characterize than by calling him, in 
 the cant of the day, "of the period." lie was 
 essentially the most recent product of the age we 
 live in. Manly enough in some things, he was 
 fastidious in others to the very verge of effemi- 
 nacy ; an aristocrat by birth and by predilection, 
 he made a parade of democratic opinions. He 
 affected a sort of Crichtonism in the variety of 
 his gifts, and as linguist, musician, artist, poet, 
 and philosopher, loved to display the scores of 
 tilings he might be, instead of that mild, very or- 
 dinary young gentleman that he was. He had 
 done a little of almost every thing ; he had been 
 in the Guards, in diplomacy, in the House for a 
 brief session, had made an African tour, written 
 a pleasant little book about the Nile, with the il- 
 lustrations by his own hand. Still he was great- 
 er in promise than performance. There was an 
 opera of his partly finished ; a five-act comedy 
 almost ready for the stage ; a half-executed 
 group he had left in some studio in Rome 
 showed what he might have done in sculpture. 
 When his distinguished relative the Marquis of 
 Danesbury recalled him from his post as secreta- 
 ry of legation in Italy, to join him at his Irish 
 seat of government, the phrase in which he in- 
 vited him to return is not without its significance, 
 and we give it as it occurred in the context : "I 
 have no fancy for the post they have assigned 
 me, nor is it what I had hoped for. They say, 
 however, I shall succeed here. Notts verrons. 
 Meanwhile I remember your often remarking, 
 ' There is a great game to be played in Ireland.' 
 Come over at once, then, and let me have a talk 
 with you over it. I shall manage the question 
 of your leave, by making you private secretary for 
 the moment. We shall have many difficulties, 
 but Ireland will he the worst of them. Do not 
 delay, therefore ; for I shall only go over to be 
 sworn in, etc., and return for the third reading 
 of the Church Bill, and I should like to see you 
 in Dublin (and leave you there) when I go." 
 
 Except that they were both members of the 
 household, and English by birth, there was scarce- 
 ly a tie between these very dissimilar natures; 
 but somehow the accidents of daily life, stronger 
 than the traits of disposition, threw them into in- 
 timacy, and they agreed it would be a good thing 
 "to see something of Ireland;" and with this 
 wise resolve they had set out on that half-lishing 
 excursion, wbich, having taken them over the 
 Westmeath lakes, now was directing them to the 
 Shannon, but with an infirmity of purpose to 
 which lack of sport and disastrous weather were 
 contributing powerfully at the moment we have 
 presented them to our reader. 
 
 To employ the phrase which it is possible each 
 
 might have used, they "liked each other well 
 enough" — that K each found something in the 
 other he "could get on with :" but there was no 
 stronger tie of regard or friendship between them, 
 and each thought he perceived some Haw of pre- 
 
24 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 tension, or affected wisdom, or selfishness, or 
 vanity, in the other, and actually believed he 
 amused himself by its display. In natures, 
 tastes, and dispositions, they were miles asunder, 
 and disagreement between them would have been 
 unceasing on every subject, had they not both 
 been gentlemen. It was this alone — this gentle- 
 man element — made their companionship possi- 
 ble, and, in the long run, not unpleasant. So 
 much more has good-breeding to do in the com- 
 mon working of daily life than the more valua- 
 ble qualities of mind and temperament. 
 
 Though much younger than his companion, 
 Walpole took the lead in all the arrangements of 
 the journey, determined where and how long 
 they should halt, and decided on the route next 
 to be taken ; the other showing a real or affected 
 indifference on all these matters, and making of 
 his town-bred apathy a very serviceable quality 
 in the midst of Irish barbarism and desolation. 
 On politics, too — if that be the name for such 
 light convictions as they entertained — they dif- 
 fered ; the soldier's ideas being formed on what 
 he fancied would be the late Duke of Welling- 
 ton's opinion, and consisting in what he called 
 "putting down." Walpole was a promising 
 Whig — that is, one who coquets with Radical 
 notions, but fastidiously avoids contact with the 
 mob ; and who, fervently believing that all popu- 
 lar concessions are spurious if not stamped with 
 Whig approval, would like to treat the democrat- 
 ic leaders as forgers and knaves. 
 
 If, then, there was not much of similarity be- 
 tween these two men to attach them to each oth- 
 er, there was what served for a bond of union : 
 they belonged to the same class in life, and used 
 pretty nigh the same forms for their expression 
 of like and dislike ; and as in traffic it contrib- 
 utes wonderfully to the facilities of business to 
 use the same money, so in the common inter- 
 course of life will the habit to estimate things at 
 the same value conduce to very easy relations, 
 and something almost like friendship. 
 
 While they sat over the fire awaiting their sup- 
 per, eacli had lighted a cigar, busying himself 
 from time to time in endeavoring to dry some 
 drenched article of dress, or extracting from 
 damp and dripping pockets their several contents. 
 
 " This, then," said the younger man — "this 
 is the picturesque Ireland our tourist writers tell 
 us of; and the land where The Times says the 
 traveler will find more to interest him than in the 
 Tyrol or the Oberland !" 
 
 " What about the climate ?" said the other, in 
 a deep bass voice. 
 
 " Mild and moist, I believe, are the epithets ; 
 that is, it makes you damp and it keeps you so." 
 
 " And the inns?" 
 
 "The inns, it is admitted, might be better; 
 but the traveler is admonished against fastidious- 
 ness, and told that the prompt spirit of obligeance, 
 the genial cordiality, he will meet with, are more 
 than enough to repay him for the want of more 
 polished habits and mere details of comfort and 
 convenience." 
 
 "Rotten humbug', /don't want cordiality 
 from my innkeeper." 
 
 "I should think not! As, for instance, a bit 
 of carpet in this room would be worth more than 
 all the courtesy that showed us In." 
 
 " What was that lake called — the first place, I 
 mean?" asked Lockwood. 
 
 " Loch Iron. I shouldn't say but with better 
 weather it might be pretty. " 
 
 A half grunt of dissent was all the reply, and 
 Walpole went on : 
 
 "It's no use painting a landscape when it is to 
 be smudged all over with Indian ink. There are 
 no tints in mountains swathed in mist, no color 
 in trees swamped with moisture ; every thing 
 seems so imbued with damp, one fancies it would 
 take two years in the tropics to dry Ireland." 
 
 "I asked that fellow who showed us the way 
 here why he didn't pitch off those wet rags he 
 wore, and walk away in all the dignity of naked- 
 ness." 
 
 A large dish of rashers and eggs, and a mess 
 of Irish stew, which the landlord now placed on 
 the table, with a foaming jug of malt, seemed to 
 rally them out of their ill temper ; and for some 
 time they talked away in a more cheerful tone. 
 
 " Better than I hoped for," said Walpole. 
 
 "Fair." 
 
 "And that ale, too — I suppose it is called ale 
 — is very tolerable." 
 
 "It's downright good. Let us have some 
 more of it." And he shouted " Master!" at the 
 top of his voice. " More of this," said Lock- 
 wood, touching the measure. "Beer or ale, 
 which is it ?" 
 
 " Castle Bellingham, Sir," replied the landlord ; 
 "beats all the Bass and Allsopp that ever was 
 brewed. " 
 
 " You think so, eh ?" 
 
 " I'm sure of it, Sir. The club that sits here 
 had a debate on it one night, and put it to the 
 vote, and there wasn't one man for the English 
 liquor. My lord there," said he, pointing to the 
 portrait, " sent an account of it all to Saunders's 
 newspaper." 
 
 While he left the room to fetch the ale the 
 travelers both fixed their eyes on the picture, and 
 Walpole, rising, read out the inscription — "Vis- 
 count Kilgobbin." 
 
 "There's no such title," said the other, bluntly. 
 
 "Lord Kilgobbin — Kilgobbin. Where did I 
 hear that name before ?" 
 
 " In a dream, perhaps." 
 
 " No, no. I have heard it, if I could only re- 
 member where and how ! I say, landlord, where 
 does his lordship live?" and he pointed to the 
 portrait. 
 
 ' ' Beyond, at the Castle, Sir. You can see it 
 from the door without when the weather's fine." 
 
 " That must mean on a very rare occasion !" 
 said Lockwood, gravely. 
 
 "No, indeed, Sir. It didn't begin to rain on 
 Tuesday last till after three o'clock." 
 
 "Magnificent climate!" exclaimed Walpole, 
 enthusiastically. 
 
 "It is indeed, Sir. Glory be to God!" said 
 the landlord, with an honest gravity that set them 
 both off laughing. 
 
 " How about this club — does it meet often ?" 
 
 " It used, Sir, to meet every Thursday evening, 
 and my lord never missed a night, but quite late- 
 ly he took it in his head not to come out in the 
 evenings. Some say it was the rheumatism, and 
 more says it's the unsettled state .of the country : 
 though, the Lord be praised for it, there wasn't a 
 man fired at in the neighborhood since Easter, 
 and he was a peeler." 
 
 " One of the constabulary ?" 
 
 ' ' Yes, Sir ; a dirty, mean chap, that was look- 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 ing after a poor hoy thai set fire to Mr. Hagin's 
 ricks, and that was over a your ago." 
 "And naturally forgotten by this time?" 
 ".Bycoorseil was-forgotten. OuldMa! Eagin 
 got a presentment for the damage onl of the Grand 
 
 Jury, and nobody was the worse for it at all." 
 
 "And bo the club is smashed, eh?" 
 
 •• A> good as smashed, Sir ; for whenever any 
 
 of them conies now of an evening, he just goes 
 int. i the bar and takes his glass there." He sigh- 
 ed heavily as he said this, and seemed overcome 
 with Badness. 
 
 •• I'm trying to remember why the name is so 
 familiar to me. I know I have heard of Lord 
 Kilgobbin before," said Walpole. 
 
 "Maybe so," said the landlord, respectfully. 
 
 '"You may have read in books how it was at Kil- 
 gohhin Castle King .lames came to stop after the 
 Boyne; that he held a 'coort' there in the big 
 drawing-room — they call it the ' throne-room' 
 ever since — and slept two nights at the Castle 
 afterward ?" 
 
 "That's something to see, Walpole," said 
 Lock wood. 
 
 •• So it is. How is that to be managed, land- 
 lord? Does his lordship permit strangers to visit 
 the Castle ?*' 
 
 "Nothing easier than that. Sir," said the host, 
 who gladly embraced a project that should detain 
 his guests at the inn. "My lord went through 
 the town this morning on his way to Loughrea 
 fair : but the young ladies is at home ; and you've 
 only to send over a message, and say you'd like 
 to see the place, and they'll be proud to show it 
 to you." 
 
 " Let us send our cards, with aline in pencil," 
 said Walpole, in a whisper to his friend. 
 
 "And there are young ladies there?" asked 
 Lock wood. 
 
 "Two born beauties ; it's hard to say which is 
 L°ndsomest," replied the host, overjoyed at the 
 attraction his neighborhood possessed. 
 
 " I suppose that will do ?" said Walpole, show- 
 ing what he bad written on his card. 
 
 "Yes, perfectly." 
 
 "Dispatch this at once — I mean early to-mor- 
 row : and let your messenger ask if there be an 
 answer. How far is it oil'.''' 
 
 "A little over twelve miles, Sir; but I've a 
 mare in the stable will ' rowl' ye over in an hour 
 ami a quarter." 
 
 "All right. We'll settle on every thing after 
 breakfast to-morrow." And the landlord with- 
 drew, having them once more alone. 
 
 "This means," said Lockwood, drearily, " we 
 shall hav.- to pass a day in this wretched place." 
 
 "It will take a day to dry OUT wet clothes; 
 
 and. all things considered, one might be worse 
 
 oft than here. Besides, I shall want to look over 
 my DOtes. I bave done next to nothing, up to 
 tin- time, about the land question." 
 
 "I thought that the old fellow with the cow, 
 the fellow I gave a cigar to, had made you up in 
 
 your tenant-right affair," said Lockwood. 
 
 " He gave me a great deal of very valuable in- 
 formation : lie exposed some of tin- evils of ten- 
 ancy at will as ably as I ever heard them treated, 
 
 but he was Occasionally hard on the landlord." 
 "I suppose one word of truth never came out 
 
 of his mouth '." 
 
 "On the contrary, real knowledge of Ireland 
 
 is not to be acquired from newspapers ; a man 
 
 mUBl Bee Ireland for himself— si i it," repeated lie, 
 
 with strong emphasis. 
 
 " And then ?" 
 
 "And then, if he be a capable man. a reflect- 
 ing man, a man in whom the perceptive power is 
 
 joined to the social faculty — " 
 
 "" Look here, < lecil : one hearer won't make a 
 house: don't try it on speechifying to me. It's 
 all humbug coming over to look at Ireland. You 
 may pick up a little brogue, but it's all you'll pick 
 up for your journey.'' After this, for him unu- 
 sually long speech, he finished his glass, lighted 
 his bedroom candle, and nodding a good-night, 
 strolled away. 
 
 "I'd give a crown to know where I beard of 
 you before!" said Walpole, as he stared up at the 
 portrait. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Tin; COUSINS. 
 
 "Only think of it !" cried Kate to her cousin, 
 as she received Walpole's note. "Can you fan- 
 cy, Nina, any one having the curiosity to imagine 
 this old house worth a visit ? Here is a polite 
 request from two tourists to be allowed to see the 
 — what is it? — the interesting interior of Kilgob- 
 bin Castle !" 
 
 ' ' Which I hope and trust you will refuse. The 
 people who are so eager for these tilings are in- 
 variably tiresome old bores, grubbing for antiqui- 
 ties, or intently bent on adding a chapter to their 
 story of travel. You'll say no, dearest, won't 
 you"?" 
 
 " Certainly, if you wish it. I am not acquaint- 
 ed with Captain Lockwood, nor his friend Mr. 
 Cecil Walpole." 
 
 " Did you say Cecil Walpole ?" cried the other, 
 almost snatching the card from her fingers. "Of 
 all the strange chances in life this is the very 
 strangest ! What could have brought Cecil Wal- 
 pole here ?" 
 
 " You know him, then?" 
 
 "I should think I do ! What ducts have we 
 not sung together? What waltzes have we not 
 had? What rides over the Campagna? Oh 
 dear! how I should like to talk over those old 
 times again ! Pray tell him he may come, Kate, 
 or let me do it." 
 
 " And papa away!" 
 
 " It is the ( 'astle, dearest, he wants to see, not 
 papa! You don't know what manner of creatine 
 this is ! He is one of your refined and supreme- 
 ly cultivated English — mad about archaeology, 
 and medieval trumpery. He'll know all your 
 ancestors intended by every insane piece of ar- 
 chitecture, and every puzzling detail of this old 
 house; and he'll light Dp every corner of it with 
 some gleam of bright tradition." 
 
 ■• I thought these sort of people were bore 
 
 dear?" said Kate, with a sly malice in her look. 
 "Of course not. When they are well-bred, 
 and well-mannered — " 
 
 " And perhaps well-looking ?" chimed in Kate. 
 
 " Yes. and so he is— a little of the ' petit-mai- 
 
 tre,' perhaps. He's much of that Bchool which 
 
 fiction-writers describe as having ' finely-penciled 
 
 eyebrows and chins ofalmOSt woman-hke round- 
 ness :' but people ill Home always called him 
 
 handsome —thai is, if he be my ( lecil Walpole." 
 
 " Well, then, will you tell rOUnCeci] Walpole, 
 
 r . r v ■ 
 
26 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 in such polite terms as you know how to coin, 
 that there is really nothing of the very slightest 
 pretension to interest in this old place ; that we 
 should be ashamed at having lent ourselves to 
 the delusion that might have led him here ; and 
 lastly, that the owner is from home ?" 
 
 " What! and is this the Irish hospitality I have 
 heard so much of — the cordial welcome the stran- 
 ger may reckon on as a certainty, and make all 
 his plans with the full confidence of meeting ?" 
 
 " There is such a thing as discretion, also, to 
 be remembered, Nina," said Kate, gravely. 
 
 "And then there's the room where the king 
 slept, and the chair that — no, not Oliver Crom- 
 well, but somebody else sat in at supper, and 
 there's the great patch painted on the floor where 
 your ancestor knelt to be knighted." 
 
 "He was created a viscount, not a knight!" 
 said Kate, blushing. " And there is a difference, 
 I assure you." 
 
 " So there is, dearest, and even my foreign ig- 
 norance should know that much, and you have 
 the parchment that attests it — a most curious 
 document, that Walpole would be delighted to 
 see. I almost fancy him examining the curious 
 old seal with his microscope, and hear him un- 
 folding all sorts of details one never so much as 
 suspected." 
 
 "Papa might not like it," said Kate, bridling 
 up. "Even were he at home, I am far from 
 certain he would receive these gentlemen. It is 
 little more than a year ago there came here a 
 certain book-writing tourist, and presented him- 
 self without introduction. We received him hos- 
 pitably, and he staid part of a week here. He 
 was fond of antiquarianism, but more eager still 
 about the condition of the people — what kind of 
 husbandry they practiced, what wages they had, 
 and what food. Papa took him over the whole 
 estate, and answered all his questions freely and 
 openly. And this man made a chapter of his book 
 upon us, and headed it ' Rack-renting and riotous 
 living,' distorting all he heard and sneering at all 
 he saw." 
 
 "These are gentlemen, dearest Kate," said 
 Nina, holding out the card. "Come now, do 
 tell me that I may say you will be happy to see 
 them." 
 
 " If you must have it so — if you really insist — " 
 
 "I do! I do!" cried she, half wildly. "I 
 should go distracted if you denied me. Oh, 
 Kate ! I must own it — it will out. I do cling 
 devotedly — terribly — to that old life of the past. 
 I am very happy here, and you are all good, and 
 kind, and loving to me ; but that wayward, hap- 
 hazard existence, with all its trials and miseries, 
 had yet little glimpses of such bliss at times that 
 rose to actual ecstasy." 
 
 " I was afraid of this," said Kate, in a low but 
 firm voice. " I thought what a change it would 
 be for you from that life of brightness and festivi- 
 ty to this existence of dull and unbroken dreari- 
 ness." 
 
 "No, no, no ! Don't say that ! Do not fancy 
 that I am not happier than I ever was or ever be- 
 lieved I could be. It was the castle-building of 
 that time that I was regretting. I imagined so 
 many things, I invented such situations, such in- 
 cidents, which, with this sad-colored landscape 
 here and that leaden sky, I have no force to con- 
 jure up. It is as though the atmosphere is too 
 weighty for fancy to mount in it. You, my dear- 
 
 est Kate," said she, drawing her arm round her, 
 and pressing her toward her, "do not know these 
 things, nor need ever know them. Your life is 
 assured and safe. You can not, indeed, be secure 
 from the passing accidents of life, but they will 
 meet you in a spirit able to confront them. As 
 for me, I was always gambling for existence, and 
 gambling without means to pay my losses if For- 
 tune should turn against me. Do you understand 
 me, child ?" 
 
 ' ' Only in part, if even that, " said she, slowly. 
 
 "Let us keep this theme, then, for another 
 time. Now for ces messieurs. I am to invite 
 them ?" 
 
 ' ' If there was time to ask Miss O'Shea to come 
 over — " 
 
 " Do you not fancy, Kate, that in your father's 
 house, surrounded with your father's servants, 
 you are sufficiently the mistress to do without a 
 chaperon? Only preserve that grand austere 
 look you have listened to me with, these last ten 
 minutes, and I should like to see the youthful 
 audacity that could brave it. There, I shall go 
 and write my note. You shall see how discreet- 
 ly and properly I shall word it. " 
 
 Kate walked thoughtfully toward a window 
 and looked out, while Nina skipped gayly down 
 the room, and opened her writing-desk, humming 
 an opera air as she wrote : 
 
 " KlLGOBBIN CA8TLE. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Walpole, — I can scarcely tell 
 you the pleasure I feel at the prospect of seeing 
 a dear friend, or a friend from dear Italy, which- 
 ever be the most proper to say. My uncle is 
 from home, and will not return till the day after 
 to-morrow at dinner ; but my cousin, Miss Kear- 
 ney, charges me to say how happy she will be to 
 receive you and your fellow-traveler at luncheon 
 to-morrow. Pray not to trouble yourself with an 
 answer, but believe me very sincerely yours, 
 
 "Nina Kostalergi." 
 
 "I was right in saying luncheon, Kate, and not 
 dinner — was I not? It is less formal." 
 
 " I suppose so ; that is, if it was right to invite 
 them at all, of which I have very great misgiv- 
 ings." 
 
 " I wonder what brought Cecil Walpole down 
 here ?" said Nina, glad to turn the discussion into 
 another channel. " Could he have heard that I 
 was here ? Probably not. It was a mere chance, 
 I suppose. Strange things these same chances 
 are, that do so much more in our lives than all 
 our plottings ! " 
 
 "Tell me something of your friend, perhaps I 
 ought to say your admirer, Nina." 
 
 ' ' Yes, very much my admirer ; not seriously, 
 you know, but in that charming sort of adoration 
 we cultivate abroad, that means any thing or noth- 
 ing. He was not titled, and I am afraid he was 
 not rich, and this last misfortune used to make 
 his attentions to me somewhat painful — to him I 
 mean, not to me ; for, of course, as to any thing 
 serious, I looked much higher than a poor Secre- 
 tary of Legation." 
 
 "Did you ?" asked Kate, with an air of quiet 
 simplicity. 
 
 "I should hope I did," said she, haughtily; 
 and she threw a glance at herself in a large mir- 
 ror, and smiled proudly at the bright image that 
 confronted her. ' ' Yes, darling, say it out, " cried 
 
LOUD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 27 
 
 she, turning to Kate. "Your eves have ottered 
 tin' words already." 
 
 •• What words?" 
 
 " Something about insufferable vanity and con- 
 ceit, and 1 own to both. Oh, why is it thai my 
 high spirits have bo run away with me this morn- 
 ing that 1 have forgotten all reserve and all 
 shame? But the truth is, I feel half wild with 
 joy, and joy in iiuj nature a another name for 
 recklessness.' 1 
 
 "I sincerely hope not," said Kate, gravely, 
 "At any rate, von give me another reason for 
 wishing to have Miss O'Shea here." 
 
 "I will not have her — no, not for worlds, Kate 
 — that odious old woman, with her stiff and an- 
 tiquated propriety. Cecil would quiz her." 
 
 " 1 am very certain he would not ; at least if 
 he be such a perfect gentleman as you tell me." 
 
 "Ah, but you'd never know he did it. The 
 line tact of these consummate men of the world 
 derives a humorist ic enjoyment in eccentricity of 
 character, which never shows itself in any out- 
 ward sign beyond the heightened pleasure they 
 feel in what other folks might call dullness or 
 mere oddity." 
 
 "I would not suffer an old friend to be made 
 the subject of even such latent amusement." 
 
 " Nor her nephew either, perhaps ?" 
 
 '•The nephew could take care of himself, Nina; 
 but I am not aware that he will be called on to 
 do so. He is not in Ireland, I believe." 
 
 ' ' He was to arrive this week. You told me so. " 
 
 "Perhaps I did ; I had forgotten it ;" and Kate 
 flushed as she spoke, though whether from shame 
 or anger it was not easy to say. As though im- 
 patient with herself at any display of temper, she 
 added, hurriedly, " Was it not a piece of good for- 
 tune, Nina ? Papa has left us the key of the cel- 
 lar, a thing he never did before, and only now be- 
 cause you were here !" 
 
 "What an honored guest I am!" said the other, 
 smiling. 
 
 " That you are ! I don't believe papa has gone 
 once to the club since you came here." 
 
 " Now, if I were to own that I was vain of this, 
 you'd rebuke me, would not you ?" 
 
 '• Our love could scarcely prompt to vanity." 
 
 "How shall I ever learn to be humble enough 
 in a family of such humility ?" said Nina, pettish- 
 ly. Then quickly correcting herself, she said, 
 "I'll go and dispatch my note, and then I'll 
 come back and ask your pardon for all my will- 
 fulness, and tell you how much I thank you for 
 all your goodness to me." 
 
 And, as she spoke, she bent clown and kissed 
 Kate's hand twice or thrice fervently. 
 
 "Oh, dearest Nina, not this — not this!'' said 
 Kate, trying to clasp her in her arms ; but the 
 other had slipped from her grasp, and was gone. 
 
 "Strange girl {"mattered Kate, looking after 
 her. "I wonder shall I ever understand you, or 
 shall we ever understand each other 'i" 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SHOWING now IKIl.NHS MAY DIFFER. 
 
 The morning broke drearily for our friends, 
 the two pedestrians at the " Blue Goat." A day 
 of dull aspect and soft rain in midsummer has the 
 added depression that it seems an anachronism. 
 
 One is iii a measure prepared for being weather- 
 bound in winter. You accept imprisonment as 
 tlii- natural fortune of the season, or you brave 
 
 the elements prepared to let them do their worst, 
 
 while, if Confined to the house, you have that sol- 
 ace of Mingness, that comfortable chimney-corner 
 which somehow realizes an immense amount of 
 
 the joys we concentrate in the word "Home." 
 It is in the want of this rallying-point. this little 
 domestic altar, where all gather together in a com- 
 mon worship, that lies the dreary discomfort of 
 being weather-bound in summer; and when the 
 prison is some small village inn, noisy, disorderly, 
 and dirty, the misery is complete. 
 
 "Grand old pig that!" said Lockwood, as he 
 gazed out upon the filthy yard, where a fat old 
 sow contemplated the weather from the threshold 
 of her dwelling. 
 
 "I wish she'd come out. I want to make a 
 sketch of her," said the other. 
 
 " Even one's tobacco grows too damp to smoke 
 in this blessed climate," said Lockwood, as he 
 pitched his cigar away. " Heigh-ho ! We're too 
 late for the train to town, I see." 
 
 " You'd not go back, would you ?" 
 
 "I should think I would! That old den in 
 the upper Castle-yard is not very cheery or very 
 nice, but there is a chair to sit on, and a review 
 and a newspaper to read. A tour in a country 
 and with a climate like this is a mistake." 
 
 " I suspect it is," said AValpole, drearily. 
 
 "There is nothing to see, no one to talk to, 
 nowhere to stop at I " 
 
 "All true," muttered the other. "By-the- 
 way, haven't we some plan or project for to-day 
 — something about an old castle or an abbey to 
 see ?" 
 
 " Yes, and the waiter brought me a letter. I 
 think it was addressed to you, and I left it on my 
 dressing-table. I had forgotten all about it. I'll 
 go and fetch it." 
 
 Short as his absence was, it gaveWalpole time 
 enough to recur to his late judgment on his tour. 
 and once more call it a "mistake, a complete 
 mistake." The Ireland of wits, dramatists, and 
 romance-writers was a conventional thing, and 
 bore no resemblance whatsoever to the rain-soak- 
 ed, dreary-looking, depressed reality. " These 
 Irish, they are odd without being droll, just as 
 they are poor without being picturesque ; but of 
 all the delusions we nourish about them, there is 
 not one so thoroughly absurd as to call them dan- 
 gerous!" 
 
 He had just arrived at this mature opinion, 
 when his friend re-entered and handed him the 
 note. 
 
 " Here is a piece of luck ! Per Bacco!" cried 
 Walpole, as he ran over the lines. "This beats 
 all I could have hoped for. Listen to this ■ 
 ' Dear Mr. Walpole, — I call not tell you the de- 
 light I feel in the prospect of seeing a dear friend, 
 or a friend from dear Italy, which is ii ?' " 
 
 " Who writes this ?" 
 
 "A certain Mademoiselle Kostalergi, whom I 
 knew at Rome; one of the prettiest, cleverest, 
 and nicest girls I ever met in my life." 
 
 " Not the daughter of that precious Count 
 Kostalergi you have told me such stories of?" 
 
 'The same, but most unlike him in every way. 
 Sin- is here, apparently with ail uncle, who is now 
 from home, and she and her cousin invite us to 
 luncheon to-day.'' 
 
28 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 " What a lark ! " said the other, dryly. 
 " We'll go, of course ?" 
 " In weather like this ?" 
 
 " Why not ? Shall we be better off staying here? 
 I now begin to remember how the name of this 
 place was so familiar to me. She was always 
 asking me if I knew or heard of her mother's 
 brother, the Lord Kilgobbin, and, to tell truth, 
 I fancied some one had been hoaxing her with the 
 name, and never believed that there was even a 
 place with such a designation. " 
 
 " Kilgobbin does not sound like a lordly title. 
 How about Mademoiselle — what is the name ?" 
 
 " Kostalergi ; they call themselves princes." 
 
 " With all my heart. I was only going to say, 
 as you've got a sort of knack of entanglement, 
 is there or has there been any thing of that sort 
 here ?" 
 
 " Flirtation ? — a little of what is called ' spoon- 
 ing' — but no more. But why do you ask ?" 
 
 " First of all, you are an engaged man." 
 
 " All true, and I mean to keep my engagement. 
 I can't marry, however, till I get a mission, or 
 something at home as good as a mission. Lady 
 Maude knows that — her friends know it ; but 
 none of us imagine that we are to be miserable 
 in the mean time." 
 
 " I'm not talking of misery. I'd only say, 
 don't get yourself into any mess. These foreign 
 girls are very wide awake." 
 
 " Don't believe that, Harry ; one of our home- 
 bred damsels would give them a distance and 
 beat them in the race for a husband. It's only 
 in England girls are trained to angle for marriage, 
 take my word for it." 
 
 "Be it so — I only warn you that if } r ou get 
 into any scrape I'll accept none of the conse- 
 quences. Lord Danesbury is ready enough to 
 say that, because I'm some ten years older than 
 you, I should have kept you out of mischief. I 
 never contracted for such a bear-leadership; 
 though I certainly told Lady Maude I'd turn 
 queen's evidence against you if you became a 
 traitor." 
 
 "I wonder you never told me that before," said 
 Walpole, with some irritation of manner. 
 
 "I only wonder that I told it now!" replied 
 the other, gruffly. 
 
 "Then I'm to take it, that in your office of 
 guardian you'd rather we'd decline this invitation, 
 eh?" 
 
 " I don't care a rush for it either way, but look- 
 ing to the sort of day it is out there, I incline to 
 keep the house." 
 
 " I don't mind bad weather, and I'll go," said 
 Walpole, in a way that showed temper was in- 
 volved in the resolution. 
 
 Lockwood made no other reply than heaping 
 a quantity of turf on the fire, and seating himself 
 beside it. 
 
 When a man tells his fellow-traveler that he 
 means to go his own road — that companionship 
 has no tie upon him— he virtually declares the 
 partnership dissolved ; and while Lockwood sat 
 reflecting over this, he was also canvassing with 
 himself how far he might have been to blame in 
 provoking this hasty resolution. 
 
 "Perhaps he was irritated at my counsels, per- 
 haps the notion of any thing like guidance offend- 
 ed him ; perhaps it was the phrase, bear-leader- 
 ship, and the half threat of betraying him, has 
 done the mischief." Now the gallant soldier was 
 
 a slow thinker ; it took him a deal of time to ar- 
 range the details of any matter in his mind, and 
 when he tried to muster his ideas there were 
 many which would not answer the call, and of 
 those which came, there were not a few which 
 seemed to present themselves in a refractory and 
 unwilling spirit, so that he had almost to suppress 
 a mutiny before he proceeded to his inspection. 
 
 Nor did the strong cheroots, which he smoked 
 to clear his faculties and develop his mental re- 
 sources, always contribute to this end, though 
 their soothing influence certainly helped to make 
 him more satisfied with his judgments. 
 
 "Now look here, Walpole," said he, deter- 
 mining that he would save himself all unnecessa- 
 ry labor of thought by throwing the burden of 
 the case on the respondent — "look here: take 
 a calm view of this thing, and see if it's quite 
 wise in you to go back into trammels it cost you 
 some trouble to escape from. You call it spoon- 
 ing, but you won't deny you went very far with 
 that young woman — farther I suspect than you've 
 told me yet. Eh ! is that true or not ?" 
 
 He waited a reasonable time for a reply, but 
 none coming, he went on: "I don't want a 
 forced confidence. You may say it's no business 
 of mine, and there I agree with you, and proba- 
 bly if you put me to the question in the same 
 fashion, I'd give you a very short answer. Re- 
 member one thing, however, old fellow : I've seen 
 a precious deal more of fife and the world than 
 you have ! From sixteen years of age, when you 
 were hammering away at Greek verbs and some 
 such balderdash at Oxford, I was up at Rangoon 
 with the very fastest set of men — ay, of women 
 too — I ever lived with in all my life. Half of 
 our fellows were killed off by it. Of course peo- 
 ple will say climate, climate ! but if I was to give 
 you the history of one day — just twenty-four hours 
 of our life up there — you'd say that the wonder 
 is there's any one alive to tell it." 
 
 He turned around at this, to enjoy the expres- 
 sion of honor and surprise he hoped to have 
 called up, and perceived for the first time that he 
 was alone. He rang the bell, and asked the 
 waiter where the other gentleman had gone, and 
 learned that he had ordered a car, and set out 
 for Kilgobbin Castle more than half an hour be- 
 fore. 
 
 "All right," said he, fiercely. "I wash my 
 hands of it altogether ! I'm heartily glad I told 
 him so before he went." He smoked on very 
 vigorously for half an hour, the burden of his 
 thoughts being perhaps revealed by the summing- 
 up, as he said, "And when you are 'in for it,' 
 Master Cecil, and some precious scrape it will be, 
 if I move hand or foot to pull you through it, 
 call me a major of marines, that's all — just call 
 me a major of marines!" The ineffable horror 
 of such an imputation served as matter for reverie 
 for hours. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A DRIVE THROUGH A BOG. 
 
 While Lockwood continued thus to doubt and 
 debate with himself, Walpole was already some 
 miles on his way to Kilgobbin. Not, indeed, that 
 he had made any remarkable progress, for the 
 "mare that was to rowl his honor over in an 
 hour and a half" had to be taken from the field 
 
LOUD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 29 
 
 /mm,. 
 
 where she had been plowing since daybreak, 
 ■while " the hoy - ' that should drive her was a lit- 
 tle old man who had to be aroused from a con- 
 dition of drunkenness in a hay-loft, and installed 
 in his office. 
 
 Nor were these the only difficulties. The roads 
 that led through the bog were so numerous and 
 so completely alike that it only needed the dense 
 atmosphere of a rainy day to make it matter of 
 great difficulty to discover the right track. More 
 than once were they obliged to retrace their steps 
 after a considerable distance, and the driver's im- 
 patience always took the shape of a reproach to 
 Walpole, who, having nothing else to do, should 
 surely have minded where they were going. Now, 
 not only was the traveler utterly ignorant of the 
 geography of the land he journeyed in, but his 
 thoughts were far and away from the scenes 
 around him. Very scattered and desultory 
 thoughts were they, at one time over the Alps 
 and with '• long-agos :" nights at Rome clash- 
 ing with mornings on the Campagna; vast sa- 
 loons crowded with people of many nations, all 
 more or less busy with that great traffic which, 
 whether it take the form of religion, or politics, 
 cm- social intrigue, hate, love, or rivalry, makes up 
 what we call "the world;" or there were sunsets 
 dying away rapidly — as they will do — over that 
 great plain outside the city, whereon solitude and 
 silence are as much masters as on a vast prairie 
 of the West; and he thought of times when he 
 rode back at nightfall beside Nina Kostalergi, 
 when little Hashes would cross them of that ro- 
 mance that very worldly folk now and then taste 
 
 of. and delight in with a zest all tin' greater that 
 
 the sensation is so new and Strang- to them. 
 Then there was the revulsion from the Maze of 
 wax-lights and the glitter of diamonds, the crash 
 of orchestras, and the din of conversation, the 
 intoxication of the (lattery that Champagne only 
 seems to ••accentuate" to the unbroken -tillne-- 
 of the hour, when even the footfall of the horse is 
 unheard, and a dreamy doubt that this quietude, 
 this soothing sense of calm, is higher happiness 
 
 than all the glitter and all tie- splendor of the 
 ball-room, and that in the dropping words we 
 now exchange, and in the stray glance.-, there i- 
 
 a significance and an exquisite delight we never 
 
 felt till now : for, glorious as i- the thought of a 
 returned affection, full of ecstasy, the sense of a 
 heart all, all our own, there i- in the lir.-t half- 
 doubtful, distrustful feeling of falling in love, 
 with all its chances of BUCCeSS or failure, some- 
 thing that has its moments of bliss nothing of 
 earthly delight can ever equal To the verge of 
 that possibility Walpole had reached — but gone 
 no farther — with Nina Kostalergi. The young 
 men of the age are an eminently calculating and 
 prudent class, and they count the COS) of an ac- 
 tion with a marvelous amount of accuracy. Is it 
 the turf and its teachings to which this crafty and 
 cold-blooded spirit is owing? Have they learned 
 to "square their book" on life by the lessons of 
 Ascot and Newmarket, and seen that, no matter 
 how probably they "stand to win" on this, they 
 must provide for that, and that no caution or fore- 
 sight is enough that will not embrace every casu- 
 alty of any venture? 
 
 There is no need to tell a younger son of the 
 period that he must not marry a pretty girl of 
 doubtful family and no fortune. He may have 
 his doubts on scores of subjects: he may not be. 
 quite sure whether he ought to remain a Whig 
 with Lord Russell, or go in for Odgcrism and the 
 ballot : he may be uncertain about Colenso, and 
 have his misgivings about the Pentateuch ; he 
 may not be easy in his mind about the Russians 
 in the East, or the Americans in the West ; un- 
 comfortable suspicions may cross him that the 
 Volunteers are not as quick in evolution as the 
 Zouaves, or that England generally does not sing 
 "Rule Britannia*' so lustily as she used to do. 
 All these are possible misgivings, but that he 
 should take such a plunge as matrimony, on oth- 
 er grounds than the perfect prudence and profit 
 of the investment, could never occur to him. 
 
 As to the sinfulness of tampering with a girl's 
 affections by what in slang is called " spooning," 
 it was purely absurd to think of it. You might 
 as well say that playing sixpenny whist made a 
 man a gambler. And then, as to the spooning] 
 it was partie egale, the lady was no worse off than 
 the gentleman. If there were by tiny hazard — 
 and this he was disposed to doubt—" affections" 
 at stake, the man " stood to lose" as much as the 
 woman. But this was not the aspect in which 
 the case presented itself, flirtation being, in hi. 1 : 
 idea, to marriage, what the preliminary canter 
 is to the race — something to indicate the future, 
 but so dimly and doubtfully as not to decide the 
 hesitation of the waverer. 
 
 If. then, Walpole was never for a moment what 
 mothers call serious in his intentions to Mile. 
 Kostalergi, he was not the less fond of her society ; 
 he frequented the places where she was likely to 
 be met with, and paid her that degree of " court" 
 that only stopped short of being particular by his 
 natural caution. There was the more need for 
 
 the exercise of this quality at Rome, since there 
 were many there who knew of hi- i ngaj emenl 
 
 with his cousin. Lady .Maude, and w ho Would not 
 have hesitated to report on any breach of fidelity. 
 
 Now. however, all these restraints were withdrawn. 
 
 They were not in Italy, where London, bj a change 
 
 of venue, take- it- "records" to be tried in the 
 
 dull days of winter. They were in Ireland, and 
 
LORD RTLGOBBIN. 
 
 in a remote spot of Ireland, where there were no 
 gossips, no clubs, no afternoon tea-committees, to 
 sit on reputations, and was it not pleasant now to 
 see this nice girl again in perfect freedom ? These 
 were, loosely stated, the thoughts which occupied 
 him as he went along, very little disposed to mind 
 how often the puzzled driver halted to decide the 
 road, or how frequently he retraced miles of dis- 
 tance. Men of the world, especially when young 
 in life, and more realistic than they will be twen- 
 ty years later, proud of the incredulity they can 
 feel on the score of every thing and every body, 
 are often fond of making themselves heroes to 
 their own hearts of some little romance, which 
 shall not cost them dearly to indulge in, and mere- 
 ly engage some loose-lying sympathies without in 
 any way prejudicing their road in life. They ac- 
 cept of these sentimentalities, as the vicar's wife 
 did the sheep in the picture, pleased to "have as 
 many as the painter would put in for nothing." 
 
 Now, Cecil Walpole never intended that this 
 little Irish episode — and episode he determined it 
 should be — should in any degree affect the serious 
 fortunes of his life. He was engaged to his cousin, 
 Lady Maude Bickerstaffe, and they would be mar- 
 ried some day. Not that either was very impa- 
 tient to exchange present comfort — and, on her 
 side, affluence — for a marriage on small means, 
 and no great prospects beyond that. They were 
 not much in love. Walpole knew that the Lady 
 Maude's fortune was small, but the man who mar- 
 ried her must ' ' be taken care of, " and by either 
 side, for there were as many Tories as Whigs in 
 the family, and Lady Maude knew that half a 
 dozen years ago she woidd certainly not have ac- 
 cepted' Walpole ; but that with every year her 
 chances of a better parti were diminishing ; and, 
 worse than all this, each was well aware of the 
 inducements by which the other was influenced. 
 Nor did the knowledge in any way detract from 
 their self-complacence or satisfaction with the 
 match. 
 
 Lady Maude was to accompany her uncle to 
 Ireland, and do the honors of his court, for he 
 was a bachelor, and pleaded hard with his party 
 on that score to be let off accepting the viceroy- 
 alty. 
 
 Lady Maude, however, had not yet arrived, 
 and even if she had, how should she ever hear of 
 an adventure in the Bog of Allen ? 
 
 But was there to be an adventure ? and, if so, 
 what sort of adventure ? Iiishmen, Walpole had 
 heard, had all the jealousy about their women 
 that characterizes savage races, and were ready 
 to resent what, in civilized people, no one would 
 dream of regarding as matter for umbrage. Well, 
 then, it was only to be more cautious — more on 
 one's guard — besides the tact, too, which a knowl- 
 edge of life should give. 
 
 "Eh, what's this? Why are you stopping 
 here?" This was addressed now to the driver, 
 who had descended from his box, and was stand- 
 ing in advance of the horse. 
 
 "Why don't I drive on, is it?" asked he, in a 
 voice of despair. "Sure there's no road." 
 
 "And does it stop here?" cried Walpole, in 
 horror, for he now perceived that the road really 
 came to an abrupt ending in the midst of the bog. 
 " Begorra, it's just what it does. Ye see, your 
 honor," added he, in a confidential tone, "it's 
 one of them tricks the English played us in the 
 year of the famine. They got two millions of 
 
 money to make roads in Ireland, but they were 
 so afraid it would make us prosperous and richer 
 than themselves, that they set about making roads 
 that go nowhere. Sometimes to the top of a 
 mountain, or down to the sea, where there was 
 no harbor, and sometimes, like this one, into the 
 heart of a bog. " 
 
 " That was very spiteful, and very mean too," 
 said Walpole. 
 
 " Wasn't it just mean, and nothing else ! and 
 it's five miles we'll have to go back now to the 
 cross-roads. Begorra, your honor, it's a good 
 dhrink ye'll have to give me for this day's work. " 
 ' ' You forget, my friend, that but for your own 
 confounded stupidity I should have been at Kil- 
 gobbin Castle by this time." 
 
 "And ye'll be there yet, with God's help!" 
 said he, turning the horse's head. " Bad luck to 
 them for the road-making ! and it's a pity, after 
 all, it goes nowhere, for it's the nicest bit to travel 
 in the whole country." 
 
 "Come now, jump up, old fellow, and make 
 your beast step out. I don't want to pass the 
 night here." 
 
 "You wouldn't have a dhrop of whisky with 
 your honor ?" 
 
 " Of course not." 
 "Nor even brandy ?" 
 "No, not even brandy." 
 "Musha, I'm thinking you must be English," 
 muttered he, half sulkily. 
 
 "And if I were, is there any great harm in 
 that?" 
 
 "By coorse not; how could ye help it? I 
 suppose we'd all of us be better if we could. Sit 
 a bit more forward, your honor ; the belly-band 
 does be lifting "her, and as you're doing nothing, 
 just give her a welt of that stick in your hand, 
 now and then, for I lost the lash off my whip, 
 and I've nothing but this." And he displayed 
 the short handle of what had once been a whip, 
 with a thong of leather dangling at the end. 
 
 ' ' I must say, I wasn't aware that I was to have 
 worked my passage," said Walpole, with some- 
 thing between drollery and irritation. 
 
 "She doesn't care for bating — stick her with 
 the end of it. That's the way. We'll get on 
 elegant now. I suppose you was never here be- 
 fore ?" 
 
 " No ; and I think I can promise you I'll not 
 come again." 
 
 " I hope you will, then, and many a time too. 
 This is the Bog of Allen you're traveling now, 
 and they tell there's not the like of it in the three 
 kingdoms." 
 
 "I trust there's not!" 
 
 " The English, they say, has no bogs. Noth- 
 ing but coal." 
 "Quite true." 
 
 " Erin, ma bouchal you are ! first gem of the 
 say ! that's what Dan O'Connell always called 
 you. — Are you gettin' tired with the stick ?" 
 
 "I'm tired of your wretched old beast, and 
 your car, and yourself too," said Walpole ; ' ' and 
 if I were sure that was the Castle yonder, I'd 
 make my way straight to it on foot. " 
 
 " AncLwJiy wouldn't you, if your honor liked it 
 best ? Why would you be beholden to a car if 
 you'd rather walk ? Only mind the bog-holes ; 
 tor there's twenty feet of water in some of them, 
 and the sides is so straight you'll never get out 
 if you fall in." 
 
LOUD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 "Drive on, then. I'll remain where I am; 
 hut don't bother me with your talk ; and no more 
 questioning." 
 
 " By COOrse I won't — why would I? Isn't 
 your honor a gentleman, and haven't you a right 
 to say what von plage? and what am I hut a 
 poor hoy, earning his bread? .lust the way it is 
 all through the world: some has every thing they 
 want and more besides : and others hasn't a stitch 
 to their baeks, or maybe a pinch of baeey to put 
 in a pipe." 
 
 This appeal was timed by seeing that Walpole 
 had just lighted a fresh cigar, whose fragrant 
 fumes were wafted across the speaker's nose. 
 
 Firm to his determination to maintain silenee, 
 Walpole paid no attention to the speeeh, nor ut- 
 tered a word of any kind ; and as a light driz- 
 zling rain had now began to fall, and obliged him 
 to shelter himself under an umbrella, he was at 
 length saved from his companion's loquacity. 
 Baffled, hut not beaten, the old fellow began "to 
 sing, at first in a low, droning tone ; but growing 
 louder as the fire of patriotism warmed him, he 
 shouted, to a very wild and somewhat irregular 
 tune, a ballad, of which Walpole could not but 
 hear the words occasionally, while the tramping 
 of the fellow's feet on the foot-board kept time 
 to his song : 
 
 "'Tis our fun they can't forgive ns, 
 Nor onr wit so sharp and keen; 
 Bat there's nothing that provokes them 
 
 Like our weariu' of the green. 
 They thought poverty would bate us, 
 
 But we'd sell our last "boneen," 
 Ami we'd live on cowld paytatees, 
 All for wearin' of the green. 
 
 Oh, the wearin' of the green— the wearin' of 
 
 the green ! 
 'Tis the color best becomes us 
 Is the wearin' of the green I" 
 
 " Here's a cigar for you, old fellow, and stop 
 that infernal chant." 
 
 " There's only five verses more, and I'll sing 
 them for your honor before I light the baccy." 
 
 " If you do, then you shall never light baccy 
 of mine. Can't you see that your confounded 
 song is driving me mad ?" 
 
 " Faix, ye're the first I ever see disliked music," 
 muttered he, in a tone almost compassionate. 
 
 And now as Walpole raised the collar of his 
 coat to defend his ears, and prepared, as well as 
 he might, to resist the weather, he muttered, 
 "And this is the beautiful land of scenery ; and 
 this the climate ; and this the amusing and witty 
 peasant we read of. I have half a mind to tell 
 the world how it has been humbugged!" And 
 thus musing, he jogged on the dreary road, nor 
 raised his head till the heavy clash of an iron 
 gate aroused him, and he saw that they were 
 driving along an approach, with some clumps of 
 pretty but young timber on either side. 
 
 "He we are, your honor, safe and sound," 
 cried the driver, as proudly as if he had not been 
 five hours over what should have been done in 
 one and a half. "This is Kilgohbin. All the 
 ould trees was cut down byOliv^Oromwell, they 
 say, but there will be a fine wood here yet. That's 
 the Castle you Bee yonder, over them trees; but 
 there's no fiag flying. The lord's away. 1 -im- 
 pose I'll have to wait for your honor? You'll 
 be coming back with me?" 
 
 " Yes, you'll have to wait." And Walpole 
 looked at his watch, and saw it was already past 
 five o'clock. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Tin: SKABCB FOB Aims. 
 
 Wiikn- the hour of luncheon came, and no 
 guests made their appearance, the young girls at 
 the Castle began to discuss what they should best 
 
 do. " I know nothing of fine people and their 
 
 ways," said Kate: "you must take the whole di- 
 rection here. Nina." 
 
 " It is only a question of time, and a cold lunch- 
 eon can wait without difficulty." 
 
 And so they waited till three, then till four, and 
 now it was five o'clock ; when Kate, who had been 
 over the kitchen-garden, and the calves' paddock, 
 and inspecting a small tract laid out for a nurs- 
 ery, came back to the house very tired, and, as 
 she said, also very hungry. " You know, Nina," 
 said she, entering the room, " I ordered no din- 
 ner to-day. 1 speculated on our making our din- 
 ner when your friends lunched; and as they have 
 not lunched we have not dined ; and I vote we sit 
 down now. I'm afraid I shall not be as pleasant 
 company as that Mr. — do tell me his name— Wal- 
 pole — but I pledge myself to have as good an ap- 
 petite." 
 
 Nina made no answer. She stood at the open 
 window, her gaze steadily bent on the strip of nar- 
 row road that traversed the wide moor before her. 
 
 "Ain't you hungry? I mean, ain't you fam- 
 ished, child ?" asked Kate. 
 
 " No, I don't think so. I could eat, but I be- 
 lieve I could go without eating just as well." 
 
 " Well, I must dine ; and if you were not look- 
 ing so nice and fresh, with a rose-bud in your 
 hair, and your white dress so daintily looped up, 
 I'd ask leave not to dress." 
 
 " If you were to smooth your dress, and, per- 
 haps, change your hoots — " 
 
 "Oh, I know, and become in every respect a lit- 
 tle civilized. My poor dear cousin, what a mis- 
 sion you have undertaken among the savages ! 
 Own it honestly, you never guessed the task that 
 was before you when you came here." 
 
 "Oh, it's very nice savagery, all the same,'' 
 said the other, smiling pleasantly. 
 
 "There now!" cried Kate, as she threw her 
 hat to one side, and stood arranging her hair be- 
 fore the glass. "I make this toilet under pro- 
 test, for we are going in to luncheon, not dinner; 
 and all the world knows, and all the illustrated 
 newspapers show, that people do not dress for 
 lunch — and, by-the-way, that is something you 
 have not got in Italy — all the women gathering 
 together in their garden-bonnets and their morn- 
 ing mnslins, and the men in their knickerbockers 
 and their coarse tweed coals." 
 
 "I declare I think you are in better spirits 
 Bince you Bee these people are not coming." 
 
 "It is true. You have guessed it, dearest. The 
 thought of* any thing grand — as a visitor; any- 
 thing that would for a moment BUggest the un- 
 ples ant question, !s this right ? or. Is that usual? 
 makes me downright irritable. Come, are you 
 
 ready? .May I offer you my arm ?" 
 
 And now they were at table. Kate rattling away 
 in unwonted gayety, and trying to rally Nina out 
 of her disappointment. 
 
 "I declare, Nina, every tiling is so pretty I'm 
 
 ashamed to eat. Those chickens near you arc 
 
 the least ornamental things I B66. Cut me off a 
 wing. Oh. I forgot, you never acquired the bar- 
 barons art of carving." 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 " I can cut this," said Nina, drawing a dish of 
 tongue toward her. 
 
 " What ! that marvelous production like a par- 
 terre of flowers ? It would be downright profa- 
 nation to destroy it." 
 
 "Then shall I give you some of this, Kate?" 
 
 "Why, child, that is strawberry cream. But 
 I can not eat all alone ; do help yourself." 
 
 "I shall take something by-and-by." 
 
 " What do young ladies in Italy eat when they 
 are — no, I dou't mean in love — I shall call it — in 
 despair ?" 
 
 " Give me some of that white wine beside you. 
 There ! don't you hear a noise ? I'm certain I 
 heard the sound of wheels." 
 
 "Most sincerely, I trust not. I wouldn't for 
 any thing these people should break in upon us 
 now. If my brother Dick should drop in I'd wel- 
 come him, and he would make our little party 
 perfect. Do you know, Nina, Dick can be so jolly. 
 What's that? there are voices there without." 
 
 As she spoke the door was opened, and Wal- 
 pole entered. The young girls had but time to 
 1 ise from their seats, when — they never could ex- 
 actly say how — they found themselves shaking 
 hands with him in great cordiality. 
 
 "And your friend — where is he?" 
 
 "Nursing a sore throat, or a sprained ankle, 
 or a something or other. Shall I confess it — as 
 only a suspicion on my part, however — that I do 
 believe he was too much shocked at the outra- 
 geous liberty I took in asking to be admitted here 
 to accept any partnership in the impertinence ?" 
 
 "We expected you at two or three o'clock," 
 said Nina. 
 
 "And shall I tell you why I was not here be- 
 fore ? Perhaps you'll scarcely credit me when I 
 say I have been five hours on the road." 
 
 "Five hours! How did you manage that?" 
 
 "In this way. I started a few minutes after 
 twelve from the inn — I on foot, the car to over- 
 take me." And he went on to give a narrative 
 of his wanderings over the bog, imitating, as well 
 as he could, the driver's conversations with him, 
 and the reproaches he vented on his inattention 
 to the road. Kate enjoyed the story with all the 
 humoristic fun of one who knew thoroughly how 
 the peasant had been playing with the gentleman, 
 just for the indulgence of that strange sarcastic 
 temper that underlies the Irish nature ; and she 
 could fancy how much more droll it would have 
 been to have heard the narrative as told by the 
 driver of the car. 
 
 " And don't you like his song, Mr. Walpole?" 
 
 "What, ' The Wearing of the Green ?' It was 
 the dreariest dirge I ever listened to." 
 
 "Come, you shall not say so. When we go 
 into the drawing-room Nina shall sing it for you, 
 and I'll wager you recant your opinion." 
 
 "And do you sing rebel canticles, Mademoi- 
 selle Kostalergi ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I do all my cousin bids me. I wear a 
 red cloak. How is it called ?" 
 
 "Connemara." 
 
 Nina nodded. "That's the name, but I'm not 
 going to say it ; and when we go abroad — that 
 is, on the bog there, for a walk — we dress in green 
 petticoats and wear very thick shoes." 
 
 "And, in a word, are very generally barbarous." 
 
 " Well, if you be really barbarians," said Wal- 
 pole, filling his glass, " I wonder what I would 
 not give to be allowed to join the tribe." 
 
 " Oh, you'd want to be a sachem, or a chief, 
 or a mystery-man at least ; and we couldn't per- 
 mit that," cried Kate. 
 
 "No; I crave admission as the humblest of 
 your followers." 
 
 " Shall we put him to the test, Nina ?" 
 
 " How do you mean?" cried the other. 
 
 " Make him take a Ribbon oath, or the pledge 
 of a United Irishman. I've copies of both in 
 papa's study." 
 
 "I should like to see these immensely," said 
 Walpole. 
 
 "I'll see if I can't find them," cried Kate, 
 rising and hastening away. 
 
 For some seconds after she left the room there 
 was perfect silence. Walpole tried to catch 
 Nina's eye before he spoke, but she continued 
 steadily to look down, and did not once raise her 
 lids. " Is she not very nice — is she not very 
 beautiful ?" asked she, in a low voice. 
 
 " It is of you I want to speak." And he drew 
 his chair closer to her, and tried to take her 
 hand, but she withdrew it quickly, and moved 
 slightly away. 
 
 "If you knew the delight it is to me to see 
 you again, Nina — well. Mademoiselle Kostalergi. 
 Must it be mademoiselle ?" 
 
 "I don't remember it was ever 'Nina,' "said 
 she, coldly. 
 
 ' ' Perhaps only in my thoughts. To my heart, 
 I can swear, you were Nina. But tell me how 
 you came here, and when, and for how long, for 
 I want to know all. Speak to me, I beseech you. 
 She'll be back in a moment, and when shall I 
 have another instant alone with you like this ? 
 Tell me how you came among them ; and are they 
 really all rebels ?" 
 
 Kate entered at the instant, saying, "I can't 
 find it, but I'll have a good search to-morrow, for 
 I know it's there." 
 
 " Do, by all means, Kate, for Mr. Walpole is 
 very anxious to learn if he be admitted legiti- 
 mately into this brotherhood — whatever it be; 
 he has just asked me if we were really all rebels 
 here." 
 
 " I trust he does not suppose I would deceive 
 him," said Kate, gravely. " And when he hears 
 you sing ' The blackened hearth — the fallen roof,' 
 he'll not question you, Nina. — Do you know that 
 song, Mr. Walpole ?" 
 
 He smiled as he said " No." 
 
 ' ' Won't it be so nice, " said she, ' ' to catch a 
 fresh ingenuous Saxon wandering innocently over 
 the Bog of Allen, and send him back to his 
 friends a Fenian!" 
 
 "Make me what you please, but don't send 
 me away. " 
 
 "Tell me, really, what would you do if we 
 made you take the oath ?" 
 
 ' ' Betray you, of course, the moment I got up 
 to Dublin." 
 
 Nina's eyes flashed angrily, as though such 
 jesting was an offense. 
 
 " No, no ; the shame of such treason would be 
 intolerable ; but you'd go your way, and behave- 
 as though you never saw us." 
 
 " Oh, he could do that without the inducement 
 of a perjury," said Nina, in Italian ; and then 
 added aloud, "Let's go and make some music. 
 Mr. Walpole sings charmingly, Kate, and is very 
 obliging about it — at least he used to be." 
 
 "I am all that I used to be — toward that,"' 
 
LORD K1LUOBB1X. 
 
 88 
 
 whispered he, as Bhe passed him to take Kate's 
 arm and walk away. 
 
 •■ Von don't seem to have a thick neighborhood 
 about ymi," .-aid Walpole. *' Baveyou an] peo- 
 ple living near?'' 
 
 •■ Yes we hare a dear old friend— a Miss 
 
 and, I'm afraid to Bay, never beta a badger drawn 
 in her life." 
 
 '•And have you?" asked he, almost with hor- 
 ror in his tone. 
 
 " I'll show you throe regular littk- tuni-|ii 
 dogs to-morrow that will answer that question. " 
 
 
 O'Shea, a maiden lady, who lives a few miles off. 
 By-the-way, there's something to show you — an 
 old maid who hunts her own harriers." 
 
 •■ What ! are you in earnest ?" 
 
 "On my word it is true! Nina can't endore 
 ber; but Nina doesn't care for hare-banting, 
 C 
 
 " How I wish Lock wood had come out here 
 with me,'' said Walpole, almost uttering a 
 thought 
 
 '• That is, you wish he had scon a bit of bar- 
 barons [reland he'd scarcely credit from mere de- 
 scription. Bat perhaps I'd have been better be- 
 
M 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 haved before him. I'm treating you with all the 
 freedom of an old friend of my cousin's." 
 
 Nina had meanwhile opened the piano, and 
 was letting her hands stray over the instrument 
 in occasional chords ; and then, in a low voice, 
 that barely blended its tones with the accompani- 
 ment, she sang one of those little popular songs 
 of Italy, called " Stornelli" — wild, fanciful melo- 
 dies, with that blended gayety and sadness which 
 the songs of a people are so often marked by. 
 
 " That is a very old favorite of mine," said 
 Walpole, approaching the piano as noiselessly as 
 Though he feared to disturb the singer ; and now 
 lie stole into a chair at her side. " How that 
 song makes me wish we were back again where 
 I heard it first," whispered he, gently. 
 
 " I forget where that was," said she, carelessly. 
 
 " No, Nina, you do not," said he, eagerly ; " it 
 was at Albano, the day we all went to l'allavi- 
 cini's villa." 
 
 "And I sung a little French song, ' Si vous 
 navez rien a me dire,' which you were vain enough 
 to imagine was a question addressed to yourself; 
 and you made me a sort of declaration , do you 
 remember all that ?" 
 
 " Every word of it." 
 
 " Why don't you go and speak to my cousin ? 
 she has opened the window and gone out upon 
 the terrace, and I trust you understand that she 
 expects you to follow her." There was a studied 
 calm in the way she spoke that showed she was 
 exerting considerable self-control. 
 
 "No, no, Nina, it is with you I desire to speak ; 
 to see you, that I have come here. " 
 
 "And so you do remember that you made me 
 a declaration. It made me laugh afterward as 
 I thought it over." 
 
 " Made you laugh ?" 
 
 "Yes, I laughed to myself at the ingenious 
 way in which you conveyed to me what an im- 
 prudence it was in you to fall in love with a girl 
 who had no fortune, and the shock it would give 
 your friends when they should hear she was a 
 Greek. " 
 
 " How can you say such painful things, Nina ? 
 how can you be so pitiless as this ?" 
 
 "It was you who had no pity, Sir; I felt a 
 deal of pity ; I will not deny it was for myself. 
 I don't pretend to say that I could give a correct 
 version of the way in which you conveyed to me 
 the pain it gave you that I was not a princess, a 
 Borromeo, or a Colonno, or an Altieri. That 
 Greek adventurer, yes — you can not deny it — I 
 overheard these words myself. You were talking 
 to an English girl, a tall, rather handsome person 
 she was — I shall remember her name in a mo- 
 ment if you can not help me to it sooner — a Lady 
 Biekerstaffe — " 
 
 " Yes, there was a Lady Maude Biekerstaffe ; 
 she merely passed through Rome for Naples." 
 
 " You called her a cousin, I remember." 
 
 " There is some cousinship between us ; I for- 
 get exactly in what degree." 
 
 " Do try and remember a little more ; remem- 
 ber that you forgot you had engaged me for the 
 cotillon, and drove away with that blonde beauty 
 — and she was a beauty, or had been a few years 
 before — at all events you lost all memory of the 
 daughter of the adventurer." 
 
 " You will drive me distracted, Nina, if you 
 say such things." 
 
 "1 know it is wrong and it is cruel, and it is 
 
 worse than wrong and cruel — it is what you En- 
 glish call under-bred, to be so individually disa- 
 greeable ; but this grievance of mine has been 
 weighing very heavily on my heart, and I have 
 been longing to tell you so." 
 
 " Why are you not singing, Nina ?" cried Kate, 
 from the terrace. " You told me of a duet, and 
 I think you are bent on having it without music." 
 
 "Yes, we are quarreling fiercely, " said Nina. 
 "This gentleman has been rash enough to re- 
 mind me of an unsettled score between us, and 
 as he is the defaulter — " 
 
 "I dispute the debt." 
 
 "Shall I be the judge between you?" asked 
 Kate. 
 
 "On no account ; my claim once disputed, I 
 surrender it," said Nina. 
 
 "I must say you are very charming company. 
 You won't sing, and you'll only talk to say disa- 
 greeable things. Shall I make tea, and see if it 
 will render you more amiable ?" 
 
 " Do so, dearest, and then show Mr. Walpole 
 the house; he has forgotten what brought him 
 here, I really believe." 
 
 "You know that I have not," muttered he, in 
 a tone of deep meaning. 
 
 " There's no light now to show him the house ; 
 Mr. Walpole must come to-morrow, when papa 
 will be at home and delighted to see him." 
 
 "May I really do this?" 
 
 " Perhaps, besides, your friend will have found 
 the little inn so insupportable that he too will 
 join us. Listen to that sigh of poor Nina's, and 
 you'll understand what it is to be dreary !" 
 
 " No ; I want my tea." 
 
 " And it shall have it," said Kate, kissing her 
 with a petting affectation, as she left the room. 
 
 " Now one word, only one," said Walpole, as 
 he drew his chair close to her. "If I swear to 
 you — " 
 
 "What's that? Who is Kate angry with?" 
 cried Nina, rising and rushing toward the door. 
 "What has happened?" 
 
 "I'll tell you what has happened," said Kate, 
 as with flashing eyes and heightened color she 
 entered the room. " The large gate of the outer 
 yard, that is every night locked and strongly 
 barred at sunset, has been left open, and they tell 
 me that three men have come in, Sally says five, 
 and are hiding in some of the out-houses." 
 
 "What for ? Is it to rob, think you ?" asked 
 Walpole. 
 
 "It is certainly for nothing good. They all 
 know that papa is away, and the house so far un- 
 protected," continued Kate, calmly. "We must 
 find out to-morrow who has left the gate unbolt- 
 ed. This was no accident ; and now that they 
 are setting fire to the ricks all around us, it is no' 
 time for carelessness." 
 
 " Shall we search the offices and the out-build- 
 ings?" asked Walpole. 
 
 " Of course not ; we must stand by the house 
 and take care that they do not enter it. It's a 
 strong old place, and even if they forced an en- 
 trance below they couldn't set fire to it." 
 
 " Could they force their way up ?" asked Wal- 
 pole. 
 
 "Not if the people above have any courage. 
 Just come and look at the stair : it was made in 
 times when people thought of defending them- 
 selves." They issued forth now together to the 
 top of the landing, where a narrow, steep flight 
 
LORD KIU.OHBIN. 
 
 of stone steps descended between two walla to 
 the basemenl story. A little more than half-way 
 down was a low iron gate or grille of considerable 
 strength; thongb, not being above tour feel in 
 height, il could have been no great defense, which 
 seemed, after all. to have been its intention. 
 "When this is dosed," said Kate, shutting it 
 with a hang, " it's not such easy work to pass up 
 against two or three resolute people at the tup; 
 and see here," added she. showing a deep niche 
 or alcove in the wall, " this was evidently meant 
 for the sentry who watched the wicket ; lie could 
 stand here out of the reach of all tire." 
 
 •• Would you not say she was longing for a 
 conflict?" said Nina, gazing at her. 
 
 ••No; hut it' it conies I'll not decline it." 
 
 "Yon mean you'll defend the stair?" asked 
 Walpole. 
 
 She Dodded assent. 
 
 "What anus have you?" 
 
 "Plenty; come and look at them. Here," 
 said she, entering the dining-room, and pointing 
 to a huge oak sideboard covered with weapons 
 — "here is probably what has led these people 
 here. They are going through the country lat- 
 terly on every Bide, in search of arms. I believe 
 iiiis is almost the only house where they have 
 not called." 
 
 " And do they go away quietly when their de- 
 mands are complied with ?" 
 
 " Ves ; when they chance upon people of poor 
 courage they leave them with life enough to tell 
 the story. — What is it, Mathew?" asked she of 
 the old serving-man who entered the room. 
 
 "It's the ; boys," miss, and they want to talk 
 to you, if you'll step out on the terrace. They 
 don't mean any harm at all." 
 
 ••What do they want, then?" 
 
 "Just a spare gun or two. miss, or an ould pis- 
 tol, or any thing of the kind that was no use " 
 
 " Was it not brave of them to come here, when 
 my father was from home? Aren't they fine 
 courageous creatures to come and frighten two 
 lone girls — eh, Mat ?'' 
 
 " Don't anger them, miss, for the love of Jo- 
 seph! don't say any thing hard, let me hand 
 them that ould carbine there, and the fowling- 
 piece ; and if you'd give them a pair of horse- 
 pistols I'm sure they'd go away epiiet." 
 
 A loud noise of knocking, as though with a 
 stone, at the outer door broke in upon the col- 
 loquy, and Kate passed into the drawing-room, 
 and opened the window, out upon the stone ter- 
 race which overlooked the yard. "Who is there? 
 — who are you ? — what do you want ?" cried she, 
 peering down into the darkness, which, in the 
 shadow of the house, was deeper. 
 
 " We've come for arms," cried a deep, hoarse 
 voice. 
 
 "My father is away from home; come and 
 ask for them when he's here to answer you." 
 
 A wild, insolent laugh from below acknowl- 
 edged what they thought of this speech. 
 
 '".Maybe that was the rayson we came now, 
 miss," said a voice in a lighter tone. 
 
 "Fine courageous fellows you are to say so! 
 I ho|>e Ireland has more of such brave, patriotic 
 men." 
 
 "You'd better leave that, anyhow," said an- 
 other; and as he spoke he leveled and fired, but 
 evidently with intention to terrify rather than | 
 wound, for the plaster came tumbling down from I 
 
 several feet above her head ; and now the knock- 
 ing at the door was redoubled, and with a noise 
 that resounded through the house. 
 " Wouldn't you advise her to give np the arms 
 
 and let them go?" said Nina, in a whisper to 
 
 Walpole: hut though she was deadly pale there 
 was no tremor in her voice. 
 
 "The door is giving way, the wood is com- 
 pletely rotten. Now for the stairs. .Mr. Wal- 
 pole. you're going to stand by me?" 
 
 "I should think so, but I'd rather you'd re- 
 main here. I know my ground now." 
 
 "No, I must be beside you. You'll have to 
 keep a rolling fire, and 1 can load quicker than 
 most people. Come along now ; v> e must take no 
 light with us — follow me." 
 
 "Take care," said Nina to Walpole, as he 
 passed, but with an accent so full of a strange 
 significance it dwelt on his memory long after. 
 
 " What was it Nina whispered you, as you 
 came by ?" said Kate. 
 
 "Something about being cautious, I think," 
 said he, carelessly. 
 
 "Stay where you are, Mathew, "said the girl, 
 in a severe tone to the old servant, who was of- 
 ficiously pressing forward with a light. 
 
 "Go back!" cried she, as he persisted in fol- 
 lowing her. 
 
 "That's the worst of all our troubles here, Mr. 
 Walpole," said she, boldly : "you can not depend 
 on the people of your own household. The very 
 people you have nursed in sickness, if they only 
 belong to some secret association, will betray 
 you!" She made no secret of her words, but 
 spoke them loud enough to be heard by the group 
 of servants now gathered on the landing. Noise- 
 less she tripped down the stairs, and passed into the 
 little dark alcove, followed by Walpole, carrying 
 any amount of guns and carbines under his arm. 
 
 "These are loaded, I presume?" said he. 
 
 "All, and ready capped. The short carbine 
 is charged with a sort of canister-shot, and keep 
 it for a short range — if they try to pass over the 
 iron gate. Now mind me, and I will give you 
 the directions I heard my father give on this 
 spot once before. Don't fire till they reach the 
 foot of the stair." 
 
 "I can not hear you." said he, for the din 
 beneath, where they battered at the door, was 
 now deafening. 
 
 "They'll be in in another moment— there, the 
 lock has fallen off — the door has given way." 
 whispered she; "be steady, now; no hurry — 
 steady and calm." 
 
 As she spoke the heavy oak door fell to the 
 ground, and a perfect silence succeeded to the 
 late din. After an instant, muttering whispers 
 could be heard, and it seemed as if they doubt- 
 ed how far it was sale to enter, lor all was dark 
 within. Something was said in a tone of com- 
 mand, and at the moment one of the party flung 
 forward a bundle of lighted straw and tow, which 
 fell at the foot of the stairs, and for a tew Beconds 
 lit up the place with a red lurid gleam, showing 
 the steep stair and the iron bars of the liitle gate 
 that crossed it. 
 
 " There's the iron wicket they spoke of," cried 
 one. " All right ; come on !" And the speaker 
 
 led the way, cautiously, however, and slowly, the 
 others after him. 
 
 '• No. not yet," whispered Kate, as she pressed 
 her hand upon Walpole's. 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 " I hear voices up there," cried the leader from 
 below. " We'll make them leave that, anyhow." 
 And he fired off his gun in the direction of the 
 upper part of the stair : a quantity of plaster came 
 clattering down as the ball struck the ceiling. 
 
 " Now," said she. " Now, and fire low !" 
 
 He discharged both barrels so rapidly that the 
 two detonations blended into one, and the assail- 
 ants replied by a volley, the echoing din almost 
 sounding like artillery. Fast as Walpole could 
 fire, the girl replaced the piece by another ; when 
 suddenly she cried, " There is a fellow at the gate 
 — the carbine — the carbine now, and steady." 
 A heavy crash and a cry followed his discharge, 
 and snatching the weapon from him, she reload- 
 ed and handed it back with lightning speed. 
 "There is another there," whispered she'; and 
 Walpole moved further out, to take a steadier 
 aim. All was still : not a sound to be heard for 
 some seconds, when the hinges of the gate creaked 
 and the bolt shook in the lock. Walpole fired 
 again, but as he did so, the others poured in a 
 rattling volley, one shot grazing his cheek, and 
 another smashing both bones of his right arm, 
 so that the carbine fell powerless from his hand. 
 The intrepid girl sprang to his side at once, and 
 then passing in front of him, she fired some shots 
 from a revolver in quick succession. A low, con- 
 fused sound of feet, and a scuffling noise followed, 
 when a rough, hoarse voice cried out, "Stop fir- 
 ing ; we are wounded, and going away." 
 
 "Are you badly hurt?" whispered Kate to 
 Walpole. 
 
 " Nothing serious ; be still and listen !" 
 
 " There, the carbine is ready again. Oh, you 
 can not hold it — leave it to me," said she. 
 
 From the difficulty of removal, it seemed as 
 though one of the party beneath was either killed 
 or badly wounded, for it was several minutes be- 
 fore they could gain the outer door. 
 
 "Are they really retiring?" whispered Wal- 
 pole. 
 
 " Yes; they seem to have suffered heavily." 
 
 "Would you not give them one shot at part- 
 ing — that carbine is charged?" asked he, anx- 
 iously. 
 
 " Not for worlds," said she ; " savage as they 
 are, it would be rain to break faith with them." 
 
 " Give me a pistol, my left hand is all right." 
 Though he tried to speak with calmness, the 
 agony of pain he was suffering so overcame him 
 that he leaned his head down, and rested it on 
 her shoulder. 
 
 "My poor, poor fellow!" said she, tenderly; 
 " I would not for the world that this had hap- 
 pened." 
 
 "They're gone, Miss Kate; they've passed out 
 at the big gate, and they're off," whispered old 
 Mathew, as he stood trembling behind her. 
 
 "Here, call some one, and help this gentle- 
 man up the stairs, and get a mattress down on the 
 floor at once; send off a messenger, Sally, for 
 Doctor Tobin. He can take the car that came 
 this evening, and let him make what haste he 
 can." 
 
 " Is he wounded ?" said Nina, as they laid him 
 down on the floor. Walpole tried to smile and 
 say something, but no sound came forth. 
 
 " My own dear, dear Cecil," whispered Nina, 
 as she knelt and kissed his hand ; " tell me it is 
 not dangerous." But he had fainted. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "WHAT THE PAPERS SAID OF IT. 
 
 The wounded man had just fallen into a first 
 sleep after his disaster, when the press of the cap- 
 ital was already proclaiming throughout the land 
 the attack and search for arms at Kilgobbin Cas- 
 tle. In the national papers a very few lines were 
 devoted to the event ; indeed, their tone was one 
 of party sneer at the importance given by their 
 contemporaries to a very ordinary incident. ' ' Is 
 there," asked the Convicted Felon, "any tiling 
 very strange or new in the fact that Irishmen 
 have determined to be armed ? Is English legis- 
 lation in this country so marked by justice, clem- 
 ency, and generosity that the people of Ireland 
 prefer to submit their lives and fortunes to its 
 sway to trusting what brave men alone trust in 
 — their fearlessness and their daring? What is 
 there, then, so remarkable in the repairing to Mr. 
 Kearney's house for a loan of those weapons of 
 which his family for several generations have for- 
 gotten the use ?" In the government journals the 
 story of the attack was headed, "Attack on Kil- 
 gobbin Castle. Heroic Resistance by a Young 
 Lady:" in which Kate Kearney's conduct was 
 described in colors of extravagant eulogy. She 
 was alternately Joan of Arc and the Maid of 
 Saragossa, and it was gravely discussed whether 
 any and what honors of the Crown were at her 
 Majesty's disposal to reward such brilliant hero- 
 ism. In another print of the same stamp the nar- 
 rative began: "The disastrous condition of our 
 country is never displayed in darker colors than 
 when the totally unprovoked character of some 
 outrage lias to be recorded by the press. It is 
 our melancholy task to present such a case as this 
 to our readers to-day. If it was our wish to ex- 
 hibit to a stranger the picture of an Irish estate 
 in which all the blessings of good management, 
 intelligence, kindliness, and Christian charity 
 were displayed — to show him a property where 
 the well-being of landlord and tenant were inex- 
 tricably united, where the condition of the peo- 
 ple, their dress, their homes, their food, and their 
 daily comforts could stand comparison with the 
 most favored English county — we should point to 
 the Kearney estate of Kilgobbin ; and yet it is 
 here, in the very house where his ancestors have 
 resided for generations, that a most savage and 
 dastardly attack is made : and if we feel a sense 
 of shame in recording the outrage, we are recom- 
 pensed by the proud elation with which we can re- 
 count the repulse — the noble and gallant achieve- 
 ment of an Irish girl. History has the record of 
 more momentous feats, but we doubt that there 
 is one in the annals of any land in which a higher 
 heroism was displayed than in this splendid de- 
 fense by Miss Kearney." Then followed the 
 story ; not one of the papers having any knowl- 
 edge of Walpole's presence on the occasion, or 
 the slightest suspicion that she was aided in any 
 way. 
 
 Joe Atlee was busily engaged in conning over 
 and comparing these somewhat contradictory re- 
 ports as he sat at his breakfast, his chum, Kearney, 
 being still in bed and asleep, after a late night at 
 a ball. At last there came a telegraphic dispatch 
 for Kearney ; armed with which, Joe entered the 
 bedroom and woke him. 
 
 " Here's something for you, Dick," cried he. 
 " Are you too sleepy to read it ?" 
 
L0K1) KILGOBBIN. 
 
 "Tear it open and Bee what it is, like a ( '1 
 
 fellow, "said the other, indolently. 
 "It's from your sister — at least it is signed 
 
 Kate. It says': 'There is no cause for alarm. 
 All is going on well, and papa "ill be back this 
 evening, 1 write by this post.'" 
 
 "What does all that mean?" cried Dick, in 
 surprise. 
 
 "The whole story is in the papers. The boys 
 have taken the opportunity of your father's ab- 
 sence from home to make a demand for arms at 
 your house, and your sister, it seems, showed fight 
 and beat them off They talk of two fellows be- 
 ing seen badly wounded, but, of course, that part 
 of the story can not be relied on. That they got 
 enough to make them beat a retreat is, however, 
 certain ; and as they were what is called a strong 
 party, the feat of resisting them is no small glory 
 for a young lady." 
 
 " It was just what Kate was certain to do. 
 There's no man with a braver heart." 
 
 '' I wonder how the beautiful Greek behaved ? 
 I should like greatly to hear what part she took 
 in the defense of the citadel. Was she fainting, 
 or in hysterics, or so overcome by terror as to be 
 unconscious ?" 
 
 " I'll give you any wager you like Kate did 
 the whole thing herself. There was a Whitehoy 
 attack to force the stairs when she was a child, 
 and I suppose we rehearsed that combat fully 
 fifty — ay, live hundred times. Kate always took 
 the defense, and though we were sometimes four 
 to one, she kept us back." 
 
 " By Jove ! I think I should be afraid of such 
 a young lady." 
 
 " So you would. She has more pluck in her 
 heart than half that blessed province you come 
 from. That's the blood of the old stock you are 
 often pleased to sneer at, and of which the pres- 
 ent will be a lesson to teach you better." 
 
 ' ' May not the lovely Greek be descended from 
 some ancient stock, too ? Who is to say what 
 blood of l'ericles she has not in her veins? I 
 i ell you I'll not give up the notion that she was a 
 sharer in this glory." 
 
 "If you've got the papers with the account, 
 let me see them, Joe. I've half a mind to run 
 down by the night mail — that is, if I can. Have 
 you got any tin, Atlee?" 
 
 "There were some shillings in one of my pock- 
 ets last night. How much do you want ?" 
 
 •' Kighteen-and-six first class, and a few shil- 
 lings for a cab." 
 
 " I can manege that ; but I'll go and fetch you 
 the papers ; there's time enough to talk of the 
 journey." 
 
 The newsman had just deposited the Croppy 
 on the table as Joe returned to the breakfast- 
 table, and the story of Kilgobbin headed the first 
 column in large capitals. " While our contempo- 
 raries," it began, " are recounting with more than 
 their wonted eloquence the injuries inflicted on 
 three poor laboring men, who, in their igno- 
 rance of the locality, had the temerity to ask for 
 alma at Kilgobbin Castle yesterday evening, and 
 were ignominiously driven away from the door 
 by a young lady whose benevolence was admin- 
 istered through a blunderbuss, we, who form no 
 portion of the polite press, and have no preten- 
 sion to mix in what are euphuistirally called the 
 'best circles' of this capital, would like to ask, 
 for the information of tho-e humble classes 
 
 among which our readers are found, is it the 
 Custom for young ladies to await the absence of 
 
 their fathers to entertain young gentlemen tour- 
 ists? and is a reputation for even heroic courage 
 not somewhat dearly purchased at the price of 
 
 the companionship of the admittedly mosl profli- 
 gate man of a vicious anil corrupt society ? The 
 heroine who defended Kilgobbin can reply to our 
 query. " 
 
 Joe Atlee read this paragraph three times over 
 before he carried in the paper tO Kcarnev. 
 
 " Here's an insolent paragraph, I tick," he cried, 
 as he threw the paper to him on the bed. "Of 
 course it's a thing can not be noticed in any way, 
 but it's not the less rascally for that." 
 
 "You know the fellow who edits this paper, 
 Joe?"' said Kearney, trembling with passion. 
 
 " No ; my friend is doing his hit of oakum at 
 Kilmainham. They gave him thirteen months, 
 and a fine that he'll never be able to pay ; but 
 what would you do if the fellow who wrote it were 
 in the next room this moment?" 
 
 "Thrash him within an inch of his life." 
 
 " And, with the inch of life left him, he'd get 
 strong again, and write at you and all belonging 
 to you every day of his existence. Don't you 
 see that all this license is one of the prices of 
 liberty? There's no guarding against excesses 
 when you establish a rivalry. The doctors could 
 tell you how many diseased lungs and aneurisms 
 are made by training for a rowing-match." 
 
 "I'll go down by the mail to-night and see 
 what has given the origin to this scandalous 
 falsehood." 
 
 " There's no harm in doing that, especially if 
 you take me with you." 
 
 " Why should I take you, or for what ?" 
 
 "As guide, counselor, and friend.'' 
 
 "Bright thought, when all the money we can 
 muster between us is only enough for one tare." 
 
 " Doubtless, first class ; but we could go third 
 class, two of us, for the same money. Do you 
 imagine that Damon and Pythias would have 
 been separated if it came even to traveling in a 
 cow compartment ?" 
 
 "I wish you could see that there are circum- 
 stances in life where the comic man is out of 
 place." 
 
 "I trust I shall never discover them ; at least 
 so long as fate treats me with ' heavy tragedy.'" 
 
 "I'm not exactly sure, either, whether they'd 
 like to receive you just now at Kilgobbin." 
 
 " Inhospitable thought ! My heart assures me 
 of a most cordial welcome." 
 
 " And I should only stay a day or two at far- 
 thest." 
 
 " Which would suit me to perfection. I must 
 be back here by Tuesday if I had to walk the dis- 
 tance." 
 
 '• Not at all improbable, so far as I know of your 
 
 resources." 
 
 "What a churlish dog it is! Now had you, 
 Master Dick, proposed to me that we should go 
 
 down and pass a week at a certain small thatched 
 cottage on the batiks of the Ban, where a Pres- 
 byterian minister with eight olive-branches vege- 
 tal.^. di8CUSSing tough mutton and tougher the- 
 ology on Sundays, and getting through the rest 
 
 of the week with the parables ami potatoes, I'd 
 
 have -aid. Done !" 
 
 " It was the inopportune time I was thinking 
 of. Who knows what contusion this event may 
 
LORD KILGOBBIX. 
 
 not have thrown them into? If you like to risk 
 the (Jit-comfort, I make no objection." 
 
 • ' To so heartily expressed an invitation there 
 can be but one answer, I yield." 
 
 " 2s ow look here, Joe. I'd better be frank with 
 you : don't try it on at Kilgobbin as you do with 
 me. " 
 
 ''Yon are afraid of my insinuating maimers, 
 are you ?" 
 
 ' 'I am afraid of your confounded impudence, 
 and of that notion you can not get rid of, that 
 your cool familiarity is a fashionable tone." 
 
 ' ' How men mistake themselves ! I pledge you 
 my word, if I was asked what was the great blem- 
 ish in my manner, I'd have said it was hashful- 
 ness. " 
 
 " Well, then, it is not!" 
 
 " Are you sure, Dick — are you quite sure ?'' 
 
 " I am quite sure, and, unfortunately for you, 
 you'll find that the majority agree with me." 
 
 " 'A wise man should guard himself against 
 the defects that he might have, without knowing 
 it.' That is a Persian proverb, which you will find 
 in Hafiz. I believe you never read Hafiz ?" 
 
 " Xo, nor you either." 
 
 ' ' That's true ; but I can make my own 
 Hafiz, and just as good as the real article. By- 
 the-way, are you aware that the water-carriers at 
 Tehran sing 'Lalla Rookh,'and believe it a na- 
 tional poem ?" 
 
 " I don't know, and I don't care." 
 
 "I'll bring down an Anacreon with me, and 
 see if the Greek cousin can spell her way through 
 an ode." 
 
 "And I distinctly declare you shall do no such 
 thing." 
 
 " ()li dear, oh dear, what an unamiable trait is 
 envy ! By-the-way, was that your frock-coat I 
 wore yesterday at the races?" 
 
 "I think you know it was; at least you re- 
 membered it when you tore the sleeve." 
 
 "True, most true; that torn sleeve was the 
 reason the rascal would only let me have fifteen 
 shillings on it." 
 
 "And you mean to say you pawned my coat ?" 
 
 " I left it in the temporary care of a relative, 
 Dick ; but it is a redeemable mortgage, and don't 
 fret about it." 
 
 "Ever the same!" 
 
 "No, Dick; that means worse and worse! 
 Now I am in the process of reformation. The 
 natural selection, however, where honesty is in 
 the series, is a slow proceeding, and the organic 
 changes are very complicated. As I know, how- 
 ever, you attach value to the effect you produce in 
 that coat, I'll go and recover it. I shall not need 
 Terence or Juvenal till we come back, and I'll 
 leave them in the avuncular hands till then." 
 
 " I wonder you are not ashamed of these mis- 
 erable straits." 
 
 " I am very much ashamed of the world that 
 imposes them on me. I'm thoroughly ashamed 
 of that public in lacquered leather that sees me 
 walking in broken boots. I'm heartily ashamed 
 of that well-fed, well-dressed, sleek society that 
 never so much as asked whether the intellectual- 
 looking man in the shabby hat, who looked so 
 lovingly at the spiced beef in the window, had 
 dined yet, or was he fasting for a wager ?" 
 
 "There, don't cany away that newspaper; 
 I want to read over that pleasant paragraph 
 again. " 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE JOURNEY TO THE COUNTRY. 
 
 The two friends were deposited at the Moate 
 station at a few minutes after midnight, and their 
 available resources amounting to something short 
 of two shillings, and the fare of a car and horse 
 to Kilgobbin being more than three times that 
 amount, they decided to devote their small bal- 
 ance to purposes of refreshment, and then set out 
 for the castle on foot. 
 
 "It is a fine moonlight ; I know all the short- 
 cuts, and I want a bit of walking besides," said 
 Kearney ; and though Joe was of a self-indulgent 
 temperament, and would like to have gone to bed 
 after his supper and trusted to the chapter of acci- 
 dents to reach Kilgobbin by a conveyance some 
 time, any time, he had to yield his consent and 
 set out on the road. 
 
 "The fellow who comes with the letter-bag 
 will fetch over our portmanteau, " said Dick, as 
 they started. 
 
 "I wish you'd give him directions to take 
 charge of me, too," said Joe, who felt very indis- 
 posed to a long walk. 
 
 " I like you," said Dick, sneeringly ; " you are 
 always telling me that you are the sort of fellow 
 for a new colony, life in the bush, and the rest 
 of it, and when it comes to a question of a few 
 miles' tramp on a bright night in June, you try to 
 skulk it in every possible way. You're a great 
 humbug, Master Joe." 
 
 "And you a very small humbug, and there lies 
 the difference between us. The combinations in 
 your mind are so few that, as in a game of only 
 three cards, there is no skill in the playing ; while 
 in my nature, as in that game called tarocco, 
 there are half a dozen packs mixed up together, 
 and the address required to play them is consid- 
 erable. " 
 
 "You have a very satisfactory estimate of your 
 own abilities, Joe." 
 
LOKD KILllOimiX. 
 
 8«J 
 
 "And why not ? If a clover follow didn'l know 
 he was clever, the opinion of the world on In* 
 superiority would probably turn his brain." 
 
 "And "what do you Bay if ins own vanity should 
 
 doit?" 
 
 "There is really no way of explaining to a 
 
 follow like you — " 
 
 •• What do you moan by a fellow like me?" 
 broke in Dick, somewhat angrily. 
 
 " I moan this, that [*d aa soon sot to work to 
 explain the theory of exchequer bonds to an Es- 
 quimaux ;is to make an unimaginative man un- 
 derstand something purely speculative. What 
 you and scores of follows like you denominate 
 vanity, is only another form ot hopefulness. You 
 and your brethren — for you are a large family — 
 do not know what it is to Hope! that is, you 
 have no idea of what it is to build on the founda- 
 tion of certain qualities you recognize in your- 
 self, and to say that 'If I can go so far with such 
 a gift, such another will help me on so much far- 
 ther.'" 
 
 " I tell you one tiling I do hope, which is, that 
 the next time I set out on a twelve miles' walk 
 1 11 have a companion less imbued with self-ad- 
 miration." 
 
 " And you might and might not find him 
 pleasantcr company. Can not you see, old fel- 
 low, that the very things you object to in me are 
 what are wanting in you? they are, so to say, 
 the complements of your own temperament." 
 
 '" Have you a cigar?" 
 
 "Two — take them both. I'd rather talk than 
 smoke just now." 
 
 " I am almost sorry, for it, though it gives me 
 the tobacco." 
 
 '• Are we on your father's property yet?" 
 
 "Yes; part of that village we came through 
 belongs to us, and all this bog here is burs." 
 
 "Why don't you reclaim it? labor costs a 
 mere nothing in this country. Why don't you 
 drain these tracts, and treat the soil with lime? 
 I'd live on potatoes, I'd make my family live on 
 potatoes, and my son, and my grandson, for three 
 generations, but I'd win this land back to culture 
 and productiveness." 
 
 "The fee-simple of the soil wouldn't pay the 
 cost. It would be cheaper to save the money 
 and buy an estate." 
 
 "That is one, and a very narrow view of it; 
 but imagine the glory of restoring a lost tract to 
 a nation, welcoming hack the prodigal, and in- 
 stalling him in his place among his brethren. 
 This was all forest once. Under the shade of 
 the mighty oaks here those gallant O'Caharneys, 
 your ancestors, followed the chase, or rested at 
 noon-tide, or skedaddled in double-quick before 
 those smart English of the Pale, who, I must 
 say. treated your forebears with scant courtesy." 
 
 •' We held our own against them for many a 
 year." 
 
 " Only when it became so small it was not 
 worth taking. Is not your father a Whig?" 
 
 " He's a Liberal, but he troubles himself little 
 about parties." 
 
 '• He's a stout Catholic, though, isn't he?" 
 
 '• He is a very devout believer in his Church," 
 said Dick, with the tone of one who did not de- 
 sire to continue the theme. 
 
 "Then why does he stop at whiggcry ? why 
 not go in for nationalism and all the rest of it ?" 
 
 "And what's all the rest of it?" 
 
 "Gnat Ireland — no fust (lower of the earth 
 
 or gem of the sea humbug- but Ireland great in 
 prosperity, her harbors full of ships, the woolen 
 trade, her ancient staple, revived; all that vast 
 unused water-power, greater than all the steam 
 
 of Manchester and Birmingham tenfold, at lull 
 work ; the linen manufacture developed and pro 
 moted — " 
 "And the Union repealed ?" 
 
 "Of course; that should be first of all. Not 
 that I object to the Union, as many do, on the 
 grounds of English ignorance as to Ireland. My 
 dislike is, that, for the sake of carrying through 
 certain measures necessary to Irish interests. I 
 must sit anil discuss questions which have no 
 possible concern for me, and touch me no more 
 than the debates in the Cortes, or the Keichskam- 
 mer at Vienna. What do you or I care for who 
 rules India, or who owns Turkey ? What inter- 
 est of mine is it whether Great Britain has five 
 ironclads or fifty, or whether the Yankees take 
 Canada, and the Russians Cabonl?" 
 
 "You're a Fenian, and I am not." 
 
 " I suppose you'd call yourself an English- 
 man ?" 
 
 "I'm an English subject, and I owe my al- 
 legiance to England." 
 
 "Perhaps, for that matter, I owe some too; 
 but I owe a great many things that I don't dis- 
 tress myself about paying." 
 
 " Whatever your sentiments are on these mat- 
 ters — and, Joe, I am not disposed to think you 
 have any very fixed ones — pray do mo the favor 
 to keep them to yourself while under my father's 
 roof. I can almost promise you he'll obtrude 
 none of his peculiar opinions on you, and I hope 
 you will treat him with a like delicacy." 
 
 "What will your folks talk, then? I can't 
 suppose they care for books, art, or the drama. 
 There is no society, so there can be no gossip. 
 If that yonder be the cabin of one of your tenants, 
 I'll certainly not start the question of farming." 
 
 "There are poor on every estate," said Dick, 
 curtly. 
 
 " Now what sort of a rent does that fellow pay 
 — five pounds a year ?" 
 
 "More likely live-and-twenty or thirty shil- 
 lings." 
 
 " By Jove! I'd like to set up house in that 
 fashion, and make love to some delicately nur- 
 j tured miss, win her affections, and bring her 
 home to such a spot. Wouldn't that be a touch- 
 stone of affection, Dick ?" 
 
 " If I could believe you were in earnest, I'd 
 throw yon neck and heels into that bog-hole." 
 
 "Oil, if you would!" cried he; and there 
 was a ring of truthfulness in his voice now. there 
 could be no mistaking. 
 
 Half ashamed of the emotion his idle speech 
 hail called up, and uncertain how best to treat 
 the emergency, Kearney said nothing, and Atlee- 
 walked along for miles without a word. 
 
 "You can see the house now. Jt tops the 
 trees yonder," said Dick, 
 
 "That is Kilgobbin Castle, then?" said Joe. 
 slowly. 
 
 "There's not much of castle left about it. 
 There is a square block of a tower, and yon 
 can trace the moat and some, remains of out- 
 works." 
 
 "Shall I make you a confession, Dick? I 
 envy you all that ! 1 envy you what smacks of 
 
40 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 a race, a name, an ancestry, a lineage. It's a 
 great thing to be able to ' take up the running,' 
 as the folks say, instead of making all the race 
 yourself; and there's one inestimable advantage 
 in it — it rescues you from all indecent haste about 
 asserting your station. You feel yourself to be a 
 somebody, and you're not hurried to proclaim it. 
 There now, my boy, if you'd have said only half 
 as much as that on the score of your family, I'd 
 have called you an arrant snob. So much for 
 consistency ! " 
 
 "What you have said gave me pleasure, I'll 
 own that." 
 
 " I suppose it was you planted those trees there. 
 It was a nice thought, and makes the transition 
 from the bleak bog to the cultivated land more 
 easy and graceful. Now I see the Castle well. 
 It's a fine portly mass against the morning sky, 
 and I perceive you fly a flag over it." 
 
 " When the lord is at home." 
 
 "Ay; and by-the-way, do you give him his 
 title while talking to him here?" 
 
 " The tenants do, and the neighbors and stran- 
 gers do as they please about it." 
 
 "Does he like it himself?" 
 
 " If I was to guess, I should perhaps say he 
 does like it. Here we are now. Inside this low 
 gate you are within the demesne, and I may bid 
 you welcome to Kilgobbin. We shall build a 
 lodge here one of these days. There's a good 
 stretch, however, yet to the Castle. We call it 
 two miles, and it's not far short of it." 
 
 "What a glorious morning! There is an ec- 
 stasy in scenting these nice fresh woods in the 
 clear sunrise, and seeing those modest daffodils 
 make their morning toilet." 
 
 " That's a fancy of Kate's. There is a border 
 of such wild flowers all the way to the house." 
 
 "And those rills of clear water that flank the 
 road, are they of her designing ?" 
 
 " That they are. There was a cutting made 
 for a railroad line about four miles from this, and 
 they came upon a sort of pudding-stone forma- 
 tion, made up chiefly of white pebbles. Kate 
 heard of it, purchased the whole mass, and had 
 these channels paved with them from the gate to 
 the Castle, and that's the reason this water has its 
 crystal clearness." 
 
 " She's worthy of Shakspeare's sweet epithet, 
 the 'daintiest Kate in Christendom.' Here's 
 her health !" and he stooped down, and, filling his 
 palm with the running water, drank it off. 
 
 " I see it's not yet five o'clock. We'll steal qui- 
 etly oft' to bed, and have three or four hours' 
 sleep before we show ourselves." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A SICK-ROOM. 
 
 Cecil Walpole occupied the state-room and 
 the state-bed at Kilgobbin Castle ; but the pain of 
 a very serious wound had left him very little facul- 
 ty to know what honor was rendered him, or of 
 what watchful solicitude he was the object. The 
 fever brought on by his wound had obliterated 
 in his mind all memory of where he was : and it 
 was only now — that is, on the same morning 
 that the young men had arrived at the Castle — 
 that he was able to converse without much diffi- 
 culty, and enjoy the companionship of Lockwood, 
 
 who had come over to see him, and scarcely quit- 
 ted his bedside since the disaster. 
 
 " It seems going on all right," said Lockwood, 
 as he lifted the iced cloths to look at the smashed 
 limb, which lay swollen and livid on a pillow out- 
 side the clothes. 
 
 "It's not pretty to look at, Harry; but the 
 doctor says ' we shall save it ' — his ' phrase for 
 not cutting it off." . 
 
 "They've taken up two fellows on suspicion, 
 and I believe they were of the party here that 
 night." 
 
 " I don't much care about that. It was a fair 
 fight, and I suspect I did not get the worst of it. 
 What really does grieve me is to think how in- 
 gloriously one gets a wound that in real war 
 would have been a title of honor." 
 
 "If I had to give a V. C. for this affair, it 
 would be to that fine girl I'd give it, and not to 
 you, Cecil." 
 
 " So should I. There is no question whatever 
 as to our respective shares in the achievement." 
 
 "And she is so modest and unaffected about it 
 all ; and when she was showing me the position 
 and the alcove she never ceased to lay stress on 
 the safety she enjoyed during the conflict." 
 
 "Then she said nothing about standing in 
 front of me after I was wounded ?" 
 
 "Not a word. She said a great deal about 
 your coolness and indifference to danger, but 
 nothing about her own." 
 
 "Well, I suppose it's almost a shame to own 
 it — not that I could have done any thing to pre- 
 vent it — but she did step down one step of the 
 stair and actually cover me from fire." 
 
 "She's the finest girl in Europe!" said Lock- 
 wood, warmly. 
 
 "And if it was not the contrast with her cousin, 
 I'd almost say one of the handsomest," said Cecil. 
 
 "The Greek is splendid, I admit that, though 
 she'll not speak — she'll scarcely notice me. " 
 
 "How is that?" 
 
 " I can't imagine, except it might have been 
 an awkward speech I made when we were talking 
 over the row. I said, ' Where were you ? what 
 were you doing all this time ?' " 
 
 "And what answer did she make you?" 
 
 "None: not a word. She drew herself proud- 
 ly up, and opened her eyes so large and full upon 
 me that I felt I must have appeared some sort 
 of monster to be so stared at. " 
 
 " I've seen her do that." 
 
 "It was very grand and very beautiful; but 
 I'll be shot if I'd like to stand under it again. 
 From that time to this she has never deigned me 
 more than a mere salutation." 
 
 ' ' And are you good friends with the other girl ?" 
 
 " The best in the world. I don't see much 
 of her, for she's always abroad, over the farm or 
 among the tenants ; but when we meet we are 
 very cordial and friendly." 
 
 "And the father, what is he like?" 
 
 " My lord is a glorious old fellow, full of hos- 
 pitable plans and pleasant projects ; but terribly 
 distressed to think that this unlucky incident 
 should prejudice you against Ireland. Indeed, 
 he gave me to understand that there must have 
 been some mistake or misconception in the mat- 
 ter, for the Castle had never been attacked be- 
 fore ; and he insists on saying that if you will 
 stop here — I think he said ten years — you'll not 
 see another such occurrence." 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 11 
 
 •• It's rather a hard way to test the problem, 
 thoagfa." 
 
 •• What's more, he included me in the experi- 
 ment." 
 
 "And this title? Doea he assume it, or ex- 
 pect it tn be recognised?" 
 
 •• 1 can BCarcely tell VOU. The Creek girl ' my- 
 lords' him occasionally : his daughter, never. 
 The servants always do so : ami 1 take it that 
 people use their own diseretion about it." 
 
 "Or do it in a sort of indolent courtesy, as 
 they eall Marsala, sherry, hut take Care at the 
 game time to paaa the decanter. I believe you 
 telegraphed to his Excellency ?" 
 
 • • Yes : and he means to come over next week. " 
 
 "Any news of Lady Maude ?" 
 
 •• ( )id'y that she tomes with him, and I'm sor- 
 ry for it." 
 
 "So am I — deuced sorry! In a gossiping 
 town like Dublin there will surely he some story 
 atloat about these handsome girls here. She saw 
 the Greek, too, at the Duke of Rigati's ball at 
 Rome, and she never forgets a name or a face. 
 A pleasant trait in a wife." 
 
 " Of course the best plan will be to get re- 
 moved, and be safely installed in our old quarters 
 at the Castle before they arrive. " 
 
 " We must hear what the doctor says." 
 
 " He'll say no, naturally, for he'll not like to 
 lose his patient. He will have to convey you to 
 town, ami we'll try and make him believe it will 
 be the making of him. Don't you agree with 
 me. Cecil, it's the thing to do?" 
 
 "I have not thought it over yet. I will to- 
 day. By-the-way. 1 know it's the thing to do, " re- 
 peated he. with an air of determination. ''There 
 will be all manner of reports, scandals, and false- 
 hoods to no end about this business here : and 
 when Lady Maude learns, as she is sure to learn, 
 that the 'Greek girl' is in the story, I can not 
 measure the mischief that may come of it." 
 
 •• Break off the match, eh?" 
 
 '• That is certainly 'on the cards.'" 
 
 "I suspect even that wouldn't break your 
 heart" 
 
 " I don't say it would, but it would prove very 
 inconvenient in many ways. Danesbury has great 
 claims on his party. He came here as Viceroy 
 dead against his will, and, depend upon it, he 
 made his terms. Then if these people go out, 
 and the Tories want to outbid them, Danesbury 
 could take — ay, and would take — office under 
 them." 
 
 " I can not follow all that. All I know is, I 
 like the old boy himself, though he is a bit pomp- 
 on- now and then, and fancies he's Emperor of 
 Russia." 
 
 " I wish his niece didn't imagine she was an 
 imperial princess." 
 
 •• That she does! I think she is the haughti- 
 est girl I ever met. To be sure, she was a great 
 beauty. " 
 
 • • it 'ax, 1 [any ! What do you mean by ' was ?' 
 Lady Maude is not cight-and-twenty." 
 
 ••Ain't she, though? Will you have a ten- 
 pound note on it that she's not over thirty-one ; 
 and I can tell you who could decide the wager?" 
 " A delicate thought ! — a fellow betting on the 
 age of the girl he's going to marry !" 
 
 "Ten o'clock — nearly half past ten!" said 
 Lockwood, rising from his chair. "I inu-i go 
 and have some breakfast. I meant to have been 
 
 down in time to-day, and breakfasted with the 
 old fellow and his daughter: for coming late 
 
 brings me to a t4te-a~t£te with the Greek damsel, 
 
 and it isn't jolly, I assure yon." 
 
 •• Don't you speak?" 
 
 "Never a word! She's generally reading a 
 newspaper when 1 go in. She lays it down : 
 but after remarking that she fears 111 find the 
 coffee cold, she goes on with her breakfast, kisses 
 her Maltese terrier, a>ks him a few questions 
 about his health, and whether he would like to be 
 in a warmer climate, and then sails away." 
 
 "And how she walks !" 
 
 " Is she bored here?" 
 
 "She says not." 
 
 "She can scarcely like these people: they're 
 not the sort of thing she has ever been used to." 
 
 "She tells me she likes them; they certainly 
 like her." 
 
 "W r ell," said Lockwood, with a sigh, "she's 
 the most beautiful woman, certainly, I've ever 
 seen ; and at this moment I'd rather eat a crust 
 with a glass of beer under a hedge, than I'd go 
 down and sit at breakfast with her." 
 
 " I'll be shot if I'll not tell her that speech the 
 first day I'm down again." 
 
 " So you may, for by that time I shall have 
 seen her for the last time." And with this he 
 strolled out of the room and down the stairs to- 
 ward the breakfast parlor. 
 
 As he stood at the door he heard the sound of 
 voices laughing and talking pleasantly. He en- 
 tered, and Nina arose as he came forward, and 
 said, "Let me present my cousin — Mr. Richard 
 Kearney, Major Lockwood ; his friend, Mr. At- 
 lee." 
 
 The two young men stood up — Kearney stiff 
 and haughty, and Atlee with a sort of easy assur- 
 ance that seemed to suit his good-looking but 
 certainly snobbish style. As for Lockwood, he 
 was too* much a gentleman to have more than one 
 manner, and he received these two men as he 
 would have received any other two of any rank 
 any where. 
 
 "These gentlemen have been showing mo 
 some strange versions of our little incident here 
 in the Dublin papers," said Nina to Lockwood. 
 "I scarcely thought we should become so fa- 
 mous. " 
 
 " I suppose they don't stickle much for truth," 
 said Lockwood, as he broke his egg in leisurely 
 fashion. 
 
 "They were scarcely able to provide a special 
 correspondent for the event," said Atlee ; " but I 
 take it they give the main facts pretty accurately 
 and fairly." 
 
 "Indeed !" said Lockwood. more struck by the 
 manner than by the words of the speaker. "They 
 mention, then, that my friend received a bad frac- 
 ture of the forearm ?" 
 
 " No, I don't think they do; at least, so far as 
 I have seen. They -peal. ,,t' a night attack on 
 Kilgobhin Castle, made by an armed part} of six 
 or -even men with faces blackened, and their com- 
 plete repulse through the heroic conduct of a 
 young lady." 
 
 "The main fact-, then, include no mention of 
 
 I r Walpoleand hi- misfortune?" 
 
 "I don't think that we mere Irish attach any 
 great importance to a broken arm, w nether it came 
 df a cricket-ball or gun ; but we do interest our- 
 
 Belves deeply when an Irish girl displays feat- of 
 
42 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIX. 
 
 heroism and courage that men find it hard to ri- 
 val." 
 
 " It was very fine," said Lockwood, gravely. 
 
 " Fine ! I should think it was fine ! " burst out 
 Atlee. " It was so fine that had the deed been 
 done on the other side of this narrow sea, the na- 
 
 ' ' to hear the examination of two fellows who have 
 been taken up on suspicion." 
 
 "You have plenty of this sort of thing in your 
 country," said Atlee to Nina. 
 
 " Where do you mean, when you say my coun- 
 try ?" 
 
 tinn would not have been satisfied till your Poet 
 Laureate had commemorated it in verse." 
 
 "Have they discovered any traces of the fel- 
 lows?" said Lockwood, who declined to follow 
 the discussion into this channel. 
 
 "My father has gone over to Moate to-day," 
 said Kearney, now speaking for the first time, 
 
 "I mean Greece." 
 
 "But I have not seen Greece since I was a 
 child, so high; I have lived always in Italy." 
 
 ' ' Well, Italy has Calabria and the Terra del 
 Lavoro." 
 
 "And how much do we in Rome know about 
 either?" 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 •!:: 
 
 "About as much," said Lockwood, "as Bel- 
 gravia dues of the Bog of Alien." 
 
 "You'll return to y«>ur friends in civilized lift 
 with almost the fame of an African traveler, Ma- 
 jor Lock wood," sai.l Athv. pertly. 
 
 "If Africa can boast such hospitality, I cer- 
 tainly rather envy than compassionate Doctor 
 Livingstone," said he, politely. 
 
 •• Somebody," said Kearney, dryly, " calls hos- 
 
 pitality the breeding of the savage.' 
 
 "But I deny that we are savage," cried Atlee. 
 •■ I contend for it that all our civilisation is higher, 
 
 and that, elass for class, we are in a more advanced 
 culture than the English ; that your chawbacon 
 is not as intelligent a being as our bog-trotter; 
 that your petty shop-keeper is inferior to ours; 
 that throughout our middle classes there is not 
 only a higher morality hut a higher refinement 
 than with you." 
 
 •• I read in one of the most accredited journals 
 of England the other day that Ireland had never 
 produced a poet, could not even show a second- 
 rate humorist," said Kearney. 
 
 •• Swift and Sterne were third-rate, or, perhaps, 
 English," said Atlee. 
 
 "These are themes I'll not attempt to discuss," 
 said Luck wood ; " but I know one thing : it takes 
 three times as much military force to govern the 
 smaller island." 
 
 "That is to say, to govern the country after your 
 fashion ; but leave it to ourselves. Pack your 
 portmanteaus and go away, and then see if we'll 
 need this parade of horse, foot, and dragoons; 
 these batteries of guns and these brigades of 
 peelers." 
 
 •■ You'd be the first to beg us to come back 
 again." 
 
 "Doubtless, as the Greeks are begging the 
 Turks. Eh, Mademoiselle, can you fancy throw- 
 in..; yourself at the feet of a Pasha and asking 
 leave to be his slave ?" 
 
 "The only Greek slave I ever heard of," said 
 Lockwood, "was in marble, and made by an 
 American." 
 
 " " ( Some into the drawing-room and I'll sing you 
 something," said Nina, rising. 
 
 " Which will be far nicer and pleasanter than 
 all this discussion," said Joe. 
 
 "And if you'll permit me," said Lockwood, 
 "we'll leave the drawing-room door open and let 
 poor Walpole hear the music." 
 
 "Would it not be better first to see if he's 
 asleep ?" said she. 
 
 "That's true. I'll step up and see." 
 
 Lockwood hurried away, and Joe Atlee, lean- 
 ing back in his chair, said,. " Well, we gave the 
 Saxon a canter, I think. As you know, Dick, 
 that fellow is no end of a swell." 
 
 "You know nothing about him," said the other, 
 gruffly. 
 
 "Only so much as newspapers could tell me. 
 He'- .Master of the Horse in the Viceroy's house- 
 hold, and the other fellow is Private Secretary, 
 
 ami Bome connection besides. I say, Dick, it's 
 
 all King James's time- back again. ' There has 
 not been so much grandeur here fur six or eight 
 generations." 
 
 "There has not been a more absurd speech 
 made, than that, within the time." 
 
 "And he is really a somebody?" said Nina to 
 Atlee. 
 
 " A gran signore davvero,'' said he, pompously. 
 
 '• [f yon don't ring yuur very best fur him, I'll 
 swear yoa are a republican." 
 
 "Come, take my arm. Nina. 1 may call you 
 Nina, may 1 nut ?" whispered Kearney. 
 
 "Certainly, if I may call you Joe." 
 
 " Yuu may. if you like," said he, roughly, " but 
 my name is Dick." 
 
 " I am Beppo, and very much at your orders," 
 said Atlee, stepping forward and leading her aw ay. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 AT DINNER. 
 
 They were assembled in the drawing-room be- 
 fore dinner, when Lord Kilgobhin arrived, heat- 
 ed, dusty, and tired, after his twelve-miles' drive. 
 "I say, girls," said he, putting his head inside 
 the door, " is it true that our distinguished guest 
 is not coming down to dinner? for, if so, I'll not 
 wait to dress." 
 
 "No, papa; he said he'd stay with Mr. Wal- 
 pole They've been receiving and dispatching tel- 
 egrams all day, and seem to have the whole world 
 on their hands," said Kate. 
 
 "Well, Sir, what did you do at the sessions?" 
 
 " Yes, my lord," broke in Nina, eager to show 
 her more mindful regard to his rank than Atlee 
 displayed ; " tell us your news." 
 
 " I suspect we have got two of them, and are 
 on the traces of the others. They are Louth men, 
 and were sent special here to give me a lesson, as 
 they call it. That's what our blessed newspapers 
 have brought us to. Some idle vagabond, at his 
 wits' end for an article, fastens on some unlucky 
 country gentleman, neither much better nor worse 
 than his neighbors, holds him up to public repro- 
 bation, perfectly sure that within a week's time 
 some rascal who owes him a grudge — the fellow 
 he has evicted for non-payment of rent, the black- 
 guard he prosecuted for perjury, or some other 
 of the like stamp — will write a piteous letter to 
 the editor, relating his wrongs. The next act of 
 the drama is a notice on the hall door, with a cof- 
 fin at the top ; and the piece closes with a charge 
 of slugs in your body, as you are on your road 
 to mass. Now, if I had the making of the laws, 
 the first fellow I'd lay hands on would be the 
 newspaper writer. Eh, Master Atlee, am I right?" 
 
 " I go with you to the furthest extent, my lord." 
 
 " I vote we hang Joe, then," cried Dick. " He 
 is the only member of the fraternity i have any 
 acquaintance with." 
 
 " What ! do you tell me that you write for the 
 papers?" asked my lord, slyly. 
 
 "He's quizzing, Sir; he knows right well I 
 have no gifts of that sort." 
 
 "Here's dinner, papa. Will you give Xina 
 your arm ? Mr. Atlee, you are to take me." 
 
 "You'll not agree with me, Nina, my dear." 
 said the old man, as he led her along ; " but I'm 
 heartily glad we have not that great swell who 
 dined with us yesterday." 
 
 " I do agree with you, uncle — I dislike him." 
 
 "Perhaps I'm unjust to him; but I thought 
 
 he treated us all with a suit of bland pity that I 
 found very offensive." 
 
 "Yes; I thought that too. His manner 
 seemed to say, 'I am very sorry for yuu, but what 
 can be done?' " 
 
 "Is the other fellow — the wounded one — as bad?' 1 
 
U 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 She pursed up her lip, slightly shrugged her 
 shoulders, and then said, "There's not a great 
 deal to choose between them ; but I think I like 
 him better." 
 
 ' ' How do you like Dick, eh ?" said he, in a 
 whisper. 
 
 " Oh, so much !" said she, with one of her half- 
 downcast looks, but which never prevented her 
 seeing what passed in her neighbor's face. 
 
 "Well, don't let him fall in love with you," 
 said he, with a smile, "for it would be bad for 
 you both. " 
 
 "But why should he?" said she, with an air 
 of innocence. 
 
 ' ' Just because I don't see how he is to escape 
 it. What's Master Atlee saying to you, Kitty ?" 
 "He's giving me some hints about horse-break- 
 ing," said she, quietly. 
 
 " Is he ? by George ! Well, I'd like to see him 
 follow you over that fallen timber in the back 
 lawn. We'll have you out, Master Joe, and give 
 you a field-day to-morrow," said the old man. 
 
 "I vote we do," cried Dick; "unless, better 
 still, we could persuade Miss Betty to bring the 
 dogs over and give us a cub-hunt." 
 
 "I want to see a cub-hunt," broke in Nina. 
 " Do you mean that you ride to hounds, Cousin 
 Nina?" asked Dick. 
 
 " I should think that any one who has taken 
 the ox-fences on the Roman Campagna, as I 
 have, might venture to face your small stone walls 
 here. " 
 
 "That's plucky, anyhow ; and I hope, Joe, it 
 will put you on your mettle to show yourself 
 worthy of your companionship. What is old 
 Mathew looking so mysteriously about ? What 
 do you want ?" 
 
 The old servant thus addressed had gone about 
 the room with the air of one not fully decided to 
 whom to speak, and at last he leaned over Miss 
 Kearney's shoulder, and whispered a few words 
 in her ear. "Of course not, Mat!" said she; 
 and then taming to her father, "Mat has such 
 an opinion of my medical skill, he wants me to 
 see Mr. Walpole, who, it seems, has got up, and 
 evidently increased his pain by it." 
 
 "Oh, but is there no doctor near us?" asked 
 Nina, eagerly. 
 
 " I'd go at once," said Kate, frankly, "but my 
 skill does not extend to surgery. " 
 
 " I have some little knowledge in that way ; I 
 
 studied and walked the hospitals for a couple of 
 
 years, " broke out Joe. ' ' Shall I go up to him ?" 
 
 " By all means," cried several together, and 
 
 Joe arose and followed Mathew up stairs. 
 
 ' ' Oh, are you a medical man ?" cried Lock- 
 wood, as the other entered. 
 
 "After a fashion, I may say I am. At least 
 I can tell you where my skill will come to its 
 limit, and that is something." 
 
 "Look here, then — he would insist on getting 
 up, and I fear he has displaced the position of the 
 bones. You must be very gentle, for the pain is 
 terrific. " 
 
 " No ; there's no great mischief done — the 
 fractured parts are in a proper position. It is 
 the mere pain of disturbance. Cover it all over 
 with the ice again, and " — here he felt his pulse 
 — "let him have some weak brandy-and-water." 
 " That's sensible advice — I feel it. I am 
 shivery all over," said Walpole. 
 
 "I'll go and make a brew for you," cried Joe, 
 
 " and you shall have it as hot as you can drink 
 it." 
 
 He had scarcely left the room, when he return- 
 ed with the smoking compound. 
 
 " You're such a jolly doctor," said Walpole, " I 
 feel sure you'd not refuse me a cigar ?" 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 " Only think ! that old barbarian who was 
 here this morning said I was to have nothing but 
 weak tea or iced lemonade. " 
 
 Lockwood selected a mild-looking weed and 
 handed it to his friend, and was about to offer 
 one to Atlee, when he said : 
 
 ' ' But we have taken you from your dinner — 
 pray go back again." 
 
 "No, we were at dessert. I'll stay here and 
 have a smoke, if you will let me. Will it bore 
 you, though ?" 
 
 " On the contrary," said Walpole, " your com- 
 pany will be a great boon to us ; and as for my- 
 self, you have done me good already." 
 
 " What would you say, Major Lockwood, to 
 taking my place below stairs ? They are just sit- 
 ting over their wine — some very pleasant claret, 
 and the young ladies, I perceive here, give half 
 an hour of their company before they leave the 
 dining-room." 
 
 "Here goes, then," said Lockwood. "Now 
 that you remind me of it, I do want a glass of 
 wine." 
 
 Lockwood found the party below stairs eagerly 
 discussing Joe Atlee's medical qualifications, and 
 doubting whether, if it was a knowledge of civil 
 engineering or marine gunnery had been required, 
 he would not -have been equally ready to offer 
 himself for the emergency. 
 
 " I'll lay my life on it, if the real doctor ar- 
 rives, Joe will take the lead in the consultation," 
 cried Dick : " he is the most unabashable villain 
 in Europe." 
 
 " Well, he has put Cecil all right," said Lock- 
 wood ; "he has settled the arm most comfortably 
 on the pillow, the pain is decreasing every mo- 
 ment, and by his pleasant and jolly talk he is 
 making Walpole even forget it at times. " 
 
 This was exactly what Atlee was doing. 
 Watching carefully the sick man's face, he plied 
 him with just that amount of amusement that he 
 could bear without fatigue. He told him the 
 absurd versions that had got abroad of the inci- 
 dent in the press ; and cautiously feeling his 
 way, went on to tell how Dick Kearney had 
 started from town full of the most fiery inten- 
 tions toward that visitor whom the newspapers 
 called a "noted profligate" of London celebrity. 
 "If you had not been shot before, we were to 
 have managed it for you now," said he. 
 
 " Surely these fellows who wrote this had 
 never heard of me." 
 
 "Of course they had not, farther than that 
 you were on the Viceroy's staff; but is not that 
 ample warranty for profligacy? Besides, the 
 real intention was not to assail you, but the peo- 
 ple here who admitted you." Thus talking, he 
 led Walpole to own that he had no acquaintance- 
 ship with the Kearneys, that a mere passing cu- 
 riosity to see the interesting house had provoked 
 his request, to which the answer, coming from an 
 old friend, led to his visit. Through this chan- 
 nel Atlee drew him on to the subject of the Greek 
 girl and her parentage. As Walpole sketched 
 the society of Rome, Atlee, who had cultivated 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 I.-, 
 
 the gift of listening fully as much as that of talk- 
 ing, know where to bomb interested bj the views 
 of life thrown out, and where to show a racy en- 
 joyment of the little hmnoristic l«its of description 
 which the other was rather proud of his skill in 
 deploying; and as Atloe always appeared so con- 
 versanl with the family history of the people they 
 were discussing, Walpole spoke with iinhounded 
 freedom and openness. 
 
 •• JTou must have been astonished to meet the 
 ' Titian girl' in Ireland ':" said Joe, at last, for he 
 had caught up the epithet dropped accidentally in 
 the other's narrative, and kept it for use. 
 
 "Was I not! but, if my memory had been 
 clearer, I should have remembered she had Irish 
 connections. I had heard of Lord Kilgobbin on 
 the other side of the Alps." 
 
 "I don't doubt that the title would meet a 
 readier acceptance there than here." 
 
 "Ah. you think so!" cried Walpole. ''What 
 is the meaning of a rank that people acknowledge 
 or denv at pleasure? Is this peculiar to Ire- 
 land?" 
 
 "If you had asked whether persons any where 
 else would like to maintain such a strange pre- 
 tension, I might perhaps have answered you." 
 
 "For the few minutes of his visit to me, I 
 liked him ; he seemed frank, hearty, and genial." 
 
 "I suppose he is, and I suspect this folly of 
 the lordship is no fancy of his own." 
 
 "Nor the daughter's, then, I'll be bound." 
 
 "No; the son, I take it, has all the ambition 
 of the house." 
 
 "Do you know them well?"- 
 
 •• No : never saw them till yesterday. The son 
 and I are chums ; we live together, and have done 
 so these three years." 
 
 " You like your visit here, however ?" 
 
 '" Yes. It's rather good fun, on the whole. I 
 was afraid of the in-door life when I was coming 
 down, but it's pleasanter than I looked for." 
 
 '• When I asked you the question, it was not 
 out of idle curiosity. I had a strong personal 
 interest in your answer. In fact, it was another 
 way of inquiring whether it would be a great sac- 
 rifice to tear yourself away from this." 
 
 " No, inasmuch as the tearing away process 
 must take place in a couple of days — three at 
 farthest." 
 
 "That makes what I have to propose all the 
 easier. It is a matter of great urgency forme 
 to reach Dublin at once. This unlucky incident 
 has been so represented by the newspapers as to 
 give considerable uneasiness to the Government, 
 and they are even threatened with a discussion 
 on it in the House. Now I'd start to-morrow 
 if I thought I could travel with safety. You have 
 so impressed me with your skill, that, if I dared, 
 Id ask yon to convoy me up. Of course I mean 
 as my physician." 
 
 " But I'm not one, nor ever intend to be." 
 "You studied, however?" 
 " As I have done scores of things. I know a 
 little bit of criminal law — have done some ship- 
 building — rode haute eco/e in Cooke's Circus — 
 and, after M. Dumas, I am considered the best 
 amateur macaroni-maker in Europe." 
 
 "And which of these careers do you intend to 
 abide by ?" 
 
 •• None, not one of them. ' Financing' is the 
 only pursuit that pays largely. I intend to go in 
 for money." 
 
 •• I should like to hear your ideas on that sub- 
 ject." 
 
 •' So yuu shall, as \vc travel up to town." 
 
 " You accept my offer, then ':" 
 " Of course I do. I am delighted to have so 
 many hours in your company < I believe 1 can 
 
 safely say I haw that amount of skill to be of 
 Bervice to you. One begins his medical experi- 
 ence with fractures. They are the pot hooks and 
 bangers of surgery, and I have gone that far. 
 Now what are your plans?" 
 
 •' My plans are to leave this early to-morrow. 
 so as to rest during the hot hours of the day, and 
 reach Dublin by nightfall. Why do you smile?" 
 
 " I smile at your notion of climate ; but 1 never 
 knew any man who had been once in Italy able to 
 disabuse himself of the idea that there were three 
 or four hours every summer day to be passed with 
 closed shutters and iced drinks." 
 
 " Well, I believe I was thinking of a fiercer sun 
 and a hotter soil than these. To return to my 
 project : we can find means of posting, carriage 
 and horses, in the village. I forget its name." 
 
 "I'll take care of all that. At what hour will 
 you start ?" 
 
 "I should say by six or seven. I shall not 
 sleep ; and I shall be all impatience till we are 
 away." 
 
 "Well, is there any thing else to be thought 
 of?" 
 
 "There is — that is, I have something on my 
 mind, and I am debating with myself how far, 
 on a half-hour's acquaintance, I can make you a 
 partner in it." 
 
 ' ' I can not help you by my advice. I can only- 
 say that, if you like to trust me, I'll know how to 
 respect the confidence." 
 
 Walpole looked steadily and steadfastly at him, 
 and the examination seemed to satisfy him, for 
 he said, " I will trust you, not that the matter is 
 a secret in any sense that involves consequences ; 
 but it is a thing that needs a little tact and dis- 
 cretion, a slight exercise of a light hand, which 
 is what my friend Lockwood fails in. Now you 
 could do it." 
 
 "If I can, I will. What is it?" 
 
 " Well, the matter is this. I have written a 
 few lines here, very illegibly and badly, as you 
 may believe, for they were with my left hand ; 
 and besides having the letter conveyed to its ad- 
 dress, I need a few words of explanation." 
 
 "The Titian girl,' muttered Joe, as though 
 thinking aloud. 
 
 "Why do you say so ?" 
 
 "Oh," it was easy enough to see her greater 
 anxiety and uneasiness about you. There was 
 an actual Hash of jealousy across her features 
 when Miss Kearney proposed coining up to see 
 you." 
 
 "And was this remarked, think yon ?" 
 
 "Only by me. /saw, and let her see I saw- 
 it, and we understood each other from that mo- 
 ment." 
 
 "I mustn't let you mistake me. You are not 
 to suppose that there is any thing between Made- 
 
 moiselleKostalergi andmyself. I knew a good deal 
 
 about her father, and there were familj circum- 
 stances in which I was once able to be of use ; 
 and I wished to let her know that if at any time 
 she desired to communicate with me, 1 could 
 procure an address, under which she could write 
 with freedom." 
 
LORD RTLGOBBIN. 
 
 "As for instance : ' J. Atlee, 48 Old Square, 
 Trinity College, Dublin.'" 
 
 " Well, I did not think of that at the moment," 
 said Walpole, smiling. "Now," continued he, 
 "though I have written all this, it is so blotted 
 and disgraceful generally — done with the left 
 hand, and while in great pain — that I think it 
 would he as well not to send the letter, but simply 
 a message — ." 
 
 Atlee nodded, andWalpole went on : "A mes- 
 sage to say that I was wishing to write, but un- 
 able ; and that if I had her permission, so soon as 
 my fingers could hold a pen, to finish — yes, to fin- 
 ish that communication I had already begun, and 
 if she felt there was no inconvenience in writing 
 to me, under cover to your care, I should pledge 
 myself tc devote all my zeal and my best services 
 to her interests." 
 
 " In fact, I am to lead her to suppose she 
 ought to have the most implicit confidence in 
 you, and to believe in me, because I say so." 
 
 "I do not exactly see that these are my in- 
 structions to you. " 
 
 "Well, you certainly want to write to her." 
 
 "I don't know that I do." 
 
 "At all events, you want her to write to you." 
 
 "You are nearer the mark now." 
 
 " That ought not to be very difficult to arrange. 
 I'll go down now and have a cup of tea, and I 
 may, I hope, come up and see you again before 
 bed-time ?"' 
 
 "Wait one moment," cried Walpole, as the 
 other was about to leave the room. "Do you 
 see a small tray on that table yonder, with some 
 trinkets ? Yes, that is it. Well, will you do me the 
 favor to choose something among them as your 
 fee ? Come, come, you know you are my doctor 
 now, and I insist on this. There's nothing of any 
 value there, and you will have no misgivings." 
 
 "Am I to take it haphazard?" asked Atlee. 
 
 ' ' Whatever you like, " said the other, indolently. 
 
 "I have selected a ring," said Atlee, as he 
 drew it on his finger. 
 
 "Not an opal?" 
 
 "Yes, it is an opal with brilliants round it," 
 
 " I'd rather you'd taken all the rest than that. 
 Not that I ever wear it, but somehow it has a bit 
 of memory attached to it." 
 
 "Do you know," said Atlee, gravely, "you 
 are adding immensely to the value I desired to 
 see in it ? I wanted something as a souvenir of 
 you — what the Germans call a Denhnal, and 
 here is evidently what has some secret clew to 
 your affections. It was not an old love-token ?" 
 
 "No ; or I should certainly not part with it." 
 
 "It did not belong to a friend now no more?" 
 
 " Nor that either," said he, smiling at the oth- 
 er's persistent curiosity. 
 
 "Then, if it be neither the gift of an old love 
 nor a lost friend, I'll not relinquish it," cried Joe. 
 
 "Be it so," said Walpole, half carelessly. 
 " Mine was a mere caprice, after all. It is linked 
 with a reminiscence — there's the whole of it ; but 
 if you care for it, pray keep it," 
 
 " I do care for it, and I will keep it." 
 
 It was a very peculiar smile that curled Wal- 
 pole's lip as he heard this speech, and there was 
 an expression in his eyes that seemed to say, 
 What manner of man is this, what sort of na- 
 ture, new and strange to me, is he made of? 
 
 " By-by !" said Atlee, carelessly ; and he stroll- 
 ed away. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IN THE GARDEN AT DUSK. 
 
 When Atlee quitted Walpole's room he was 
 far too full of donbt and speculation to wish to 
 join the company in the drawing-room. He had 
 need of time to collect his thoughts, too, and ar- 
 range his plans. This sudden departure of his 
 would, he well knew, displease Kearney. It would 
 savor of a degree of impertinence, in treating their 
 hospitality so cavalierly, that Dick was certain to 
 resent, and not less certain to attribute to a tuft- 
 hunting weakness on Atlee's part, of which he had 
 frequently declared he detected signs in Joe's 
 character. 
 
 "Be it so. I'll only say you'll not see me 
 cultivate ' swells' for the pleasure of their soci- 
 ety, or even the charms of their cookery. If I 
 turn them to no better uses than display, Master 
 Dick, you may sneer freely at me. I have long 
 wanted to make acquaintance with one of these 
 fellows, and luck has now given me the chance. 
 Let us see if I know how to profit by it." And 
 thus muttering to himself, he took his way to the 
 form-yard to find a messenger to dispatch to Kil- 
 beggan for post-horses. 
 
 The fact that he was not the owner of a half- 
 crown in the world very painfully impressed itself 
 on a negotiation which, to be prompt, should be 
 prepaid, and which he was endeavoring to explain 
 to two or three very idle but very incredulous list- 
 eners — not one of whom could be induced to ac- 
 cept a ten miles' tramp of a drizzling night with- 
 out the prompting of a tip in advance. 
 
 " It's every step of eight miles," cried one. 
 
 "No, but it's ten," asseverated another, with 
 energy, " by rayson that you must go by the road. 
 There's nobody would venture across the bog in 
 the dark." 
 
 " Wid five shillings in my hand — " 
 
 "And five more when ye come back," con- 
 tinued another, who was terrified at the low esti- 
 mate so rashly ventured. 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 "If one had even a shilling or two, to pay for 
 a drink when lie got in to Eilbeggan wet through 
 and shivering — " 
 
 The speaker was not permitted to finish liis ig- 
 nominiously low proposal, ami a low growl of dis- 
 approbation Bmothered his words. 
 
 "Do yon mean to tell me." said Joe, angrily, 
 "that there's not a man here will ste]> over to the 
 
 town to order a chaise and post-horses ?" 
 
 •"And it'ver honor will put his hand in his pock- 
 et, and tempt ns with a couple of crown pieces, 
 
 there's no Baying what we wouldn't do," said a 
 little bandy old fellow, who was washing his face 
 at a pump. 
 
 '•And are crown pieces so plentiful with you 
 down here that you can earn them so easily ?" 
 -aid Atlee, with a sneer. 
 
 " Be my sowle, yer honor, it's thinkin' that 
 they're not so asy to come at makes us a hit lazy 
 this evening," said a ragged fellow, with a grin, 
 which was quickly followed by a hearty laugh from 
 those around him. 
 
 Something that sounded like a titter above his 
 head made Atlee look up, and there, exactly over 
 where he stood, was Nina, leaning over a little 
 stone balcony in front of a window, an amused 
 witness of the scene beneath. 
 
 "I have two words for yourself," cried he to 
 her, in Italian. "Will you come down to the 
 garden for one moment ?" 
 
 "Can not the two words be said in the draw- 
 ing-room ?" asked she, half saucily, in the same 
 language. 
 
 "No: they can not be said in the drawing- 
 room," continued he, sternly. 
 
 "It's dropping rain. I should get wet." 
 
 ' " Take an umbrella, then, but come. Mind me, 
 Signora Nina, I am the bearer of a message for 
 you.'' 
 
 There was something almost disdainful in the 
 toss of her head as she heard these words, and 
 she hastily retired from the balcony and entered 
 the room. 
 
 Atlee watched her, by no means certain what 
 her gesture might portend. Was she indignant 
 with him for the liberty he had taken ? or was 
 she about to comply with his request, and meet 
 him ? He knew too little of her to determine 
 which was the more likely ; and he could not help 
 feeling that, had he even known her longer, his 
 doubt might have been just as great. Her mind, 
 thought he, is perhaps like my own ; it has many 
 turnings, and she's never very certain which one 
 of them she will follow. Somehow, this imputed 
 willfulness gave her, to his eyes, a charm scarcely 
 second to that of her exceeding beauty. And 
 what beauty it was ! The very perfection of sym- 
 metry in every feature when at rest, while the va- 
 ried expressions of her face as she spoke, or smiled, 
 or listened, imparted a fascination which only 
 needed the charm of her low liijuid voice to be 
 irresistible. 
 
 How she vulgarizes that pretty girl, her cousin, 
 by mere contrast ! What subtile essence is it, 
 I part from hair, and eyes, and skin, that spreads 
 an atmosphere of conquest over thesenatures? and 
 how is it that men have no ascendencies of this 
 sort — nothing that impart-, to their superiority 
 the sense that worship of them is in itself an ec- 
 stasy ? 
 
 '•Take my message into town," said he, to a 
 fellow near, "(111(1 you -hall have a sovereign when 
 
 you come back with the horses;" and with this 
 he strolled away across a little paddock, ami en- 
 tered the garden. It was a large, ill-cultivated 
 
 space, more orchard than garden, w iih patches of 
 smooth turf, through which dall'odil- and lilies 
 were scattered, and little clusters of carnation- 
 occasionally showed where Bower-beds had once 
 existed. "What would 1 not give," thought doe. 
 as he strolled along the velvety -ward, over which 
 a clear moonlight had painted the forms of many 
 a straggling branch — "what would I not give to 
 be the son of a house like this, with an old and 
 honored name, with an ancestry strong enough to 
 build upon for future pretensions, and- then with 
 an old home, peaceful, tranquil, and unmolested, 
 where, as in such a spot as this, one might dream 
 of great things, perhaps more — might achieve 
 them! What books would I not write ! What 
 novels, in which, fashioning the hero out of my 
 own heart, I could tell scores of impressions the 
 world has made upon me in its aspect of religion. 
 or of politics, or of society ! What essays could 
 I not compose here — the mind elevated by that 
 buoyancy which comes of the consciousness of 
 being free for a great effort ! Free from the vul- 
 gar interruptions that cling to poverty like a gar- 
 ment, free from the paltry cares of daily Bubsist- 
 ence, free from the damaging incidents of a doubt- 
 ful position and a station that must be continual- 
 ly asserted. That one disparagement, perhaps, 
 worst of all,"' cried he, aloud : "how is a man to 
 enjoy his estate if he is 'put upon his title' every 
 day of the week? One might as well be a French 
 emperor, and go every spring to the country for 
 a character." 
 
 " What shocking indignity is this you are 
 dreaming of?" said a very soft voice near him, 
 and turning, he saw Nina, who was moving across 
 the grass, with her dress so draped as to show 
 the most perfect instep and ankle with a very un- 
 guarded indifference. 
 
 "This is very damp for you; shall we not 
 come out into the walk ?" said he. 
 
 "It is very damp," said she, quickly, "but I 
 came because you said you had a message for me : 
 is this true ?" 
 
 " Do you think I could deceive you ?" said he, 
 with a sort of tender reproaehfulness. 
 
 "It might not be so very easy, if you were to 
 try," re) lied she. laughing. 
 
 "That is not the most gracious way to answer 
 me. " 
 
 "Well, I don't believe we came here to pay 
 compliments; certainly I did not, and my feet 
 arc- very wet already — look there and see the ruin 
 of a 'chaussure'I shall never replace in this dear 
 land of coarse leather and hobnails." 
 
 As she spoke she showed her feet, around 
 which her bronzed shoes hung limp and mis- 
 shapen. 
 
 •• Woidd that I could be permitted to dry them 
 with my kisses," said he, as, stooping, he wiped 
 them with his handkerchief, but so deferentially 
 and so respectfully 'as though the homage had 
 been tendered to a princes-. Nor did she for a 
 moment hesitate to accept the service. 
 
 "There, that will do," said she, haughtily. 
 "Now for your message. 
 
 " We are going away, mademoiselle," said At- 
 lee, with a melancholy tone. 
 
 •"And wlio are ' We,' Sir?" 
 
 "By 'We,' mademoiselle, I meant to < 
 
48 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 Walpole and myself." And now he spoke with 
 the irritation of one who had felt a pull-up. 
 
 "Ah, indeed!" said she, smiling, and showing 
 her pearly teeth. " ' We' meant Mr. Walpole and 
 Mr. Atlee." 
 
 ' ' You should never have guessed it ?" cried he, 
 in question. 
 
 he confided to me a mission — a very delicate and 
 confidential mission — such an office as one does 
 not usually depute to him of whose fidelity or 
 good faith he has a doubt, not to speak of certain 
 smaller qualities, such as tact and good taste." 
 
 " Of whose possession Mr. Atlee is now as- 
 serting himself," said she, quietly. 
 
 Never — certainly," was her cool rejoinder. I He grew crimson at a sarcasm whose impas- 
 
 Well ! He was less defiant, or mistrustful, 
 or whatever be the name for it. We were only 
 friends of half an hour's growth when he pro- 
 posed the journey. He asked me to accompany 
 him as a favor ; and he did more, mademoiselle : 
 
 siveness made it all the more cutting. 
 
 "My mission was in this wise, mademoiselle," 
 said he, with a forced calm in his manner. "I 
 was to learn from Mademoiselle Kostalergi if she 
 should desire to communicate with Mr. Walpole 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 10 
 
 touching certain Family interests in which his 
 counsels might be of use ; and in this event I was 
 io place at her disposal an address by which her 
 Letters should reach him." 
 
 "No, Sir." said she. quietly, '"you have total- 
 ly mistaken any instructions that were given you. 
 Mr. Walpole never pretended thai 1 had written 
 or was likely to write to him ; he never said that 
 he was in any way concerned in family questions 
 that pertained t<> me : least of all did he presume 
 to Buppose that if I had occasion to address him 
 by letter. I should do so undercover to another." 
 ' •• v,.ii discredit my character of envoy, then?" 
 saiil he, smiling easily. 
 
 ••Totally and completely, Mr. Atlee; and 1 
 only wait for you yourself to admit that I am 
 right, to hold out my hand to you. ami say let 
 us be friends." 
 
 "I'd perjure myself twice at Buchaprice. Now 
 hand." 
 
 '• Not so fast — first the confession," said she, 
 with a taint smile. 
 
 •• Well, onmy honor," cried he. seriously, "he 
 told me he hoped you might write to him. I did 
 not clearly understand about what, hut it pointed 
 to some matter in which a family interest was 
 mixed up, and that you might like your commu- 
 nication to have the reserve of secrecy. " 
 
 "All this is hut. a modified version of what you 
 were to disavow." 
 
 ••Well. 1 am only repeating it now to show 
 you how far I am going to perjure myself." 
 
 " That is. you see, in fact, that .Mr. Walpole 
 could ne\er have presumed to give you such 
 instructions — that gentlemen do not send such 
 messages to young ladies — do not presume to say 
 that they dare do so : and last of all, if they ever 
 should chance upon one whose nice tact and 
 cleverness would have fitted him to he the bearer 
 of Mich a commission, those same qualities of 
 tact and cleverness would have saved him from 
 undertaking it. That is what you see, Mr. Atlee, 
 is it not ?" 
 
 "You are right. I see it all." And now he 
 seized her hand and kissed it as though he had 
 won the right to that rapturous enjoyment. 
 
 She drew her hand away, hut so slowly and so 
 gently as to convey nothing of rebuke or displeas- 
 ure. "And so you are going away ?" said she, 
 softly. 
 
 "Yes; Walpole lias some pressing reason to 
 he at once in Dublin. He is afraid to make the 
 journey without a doctor ; hut rather than risk 
 delay in -ending for one, he is willing to take "<< 
 as hi- body surgeon, and I have accepted the 
 charge." 
 
 The franknc>s with which he said this seemed 
 to influence her in his favor, and she said, with a 
 tone of like candor : " You are right. His fam- 
 ily are people of influence, and will not readily 
 forget mi.-!, a service." 
 
 Though he winced under the words, and show- 
 ed that it was not exactly the mode in which he 
 
 wanted his courtesy to he regarded, Bhe took no 
 account of the passing irritation, but went on: 
 
 •• If you fancy you know something about me, 
 Mr. Atlee. / know far more about you. Your 
 "■hum. Dick Kearney, has been so outspoken as to 
 his friend that my cousin Kate and I have been 
 accustomed to discus- you like a near acquaint- 
 ance—what am I saying? — 1 mean like an old 
 friend." 
 
 " I am very grateful tor this interest : hut will 
 
 you kindly say what i- the version my friend 
 
 Dick has given of me ? whal arc the Lights that 
 have fallen upon my humble character ?" 
 
 •' Do you fancy that cither of us have time a: 
 
 this moment to open so large a question ? Woul 
 not the estimate of Mr. Joseph Atlee he another 
 
 mode of discussing the times we live in, and the 
 
 young gentlemen, more or less ambitious, who 
 
 want to influence them ? would not the question 
 embrace every thin;;-, from the difficulties of lie- 
 land to the puzzling embarrassments of a clever 
 
 young man who has every thing in his favor in 
 life, except the only thing that makes life worth 
 living for ?" 
 
 •• You mean fortune — money?" 
 
 "Of course 1 mean money. What is so power- 
 less as poverty? Do 1 not know it — not of yes- 
 terday, or the day before, hut for many a long 
 year? What so helpless, what so jarring totem? 
 per, so dangerous to all principle, and so subver- 
 sive of all dignity? I can afford to say these 
 things, and you can afford to hear them, for there 
 is a sort of brotherhood between us. We claim 
 the same land for our origin. Whatever our 
 birth-place, we are both Bohemians!" 
 
 She held out her hand as she spoke, and with 
 such an air of cordiality and frankness that Joe 
 caught the spirit of the action at once, and bend- 
 ing over, pressed his lips to it, as he said, "I seal 
 the bargain." 
 
 "And swear to it?" 
 
 " I swear to it," cried he. 
 
 " There, that is enough. Let us go back, or. 
 rather, let me go back alone. I will tell them 
 I have seen you, and heard of your approaching 
 departure." 
 
 CHAPTEB XYI. 
 
 THE TWO " KEARNEYS." 
 
 A visit to his father was not usually one of 
 those things that young Kearney either specu- 
 lated on with pleasure beforehand, or much en- 
 joyed when it came. Certain measures of de- 
 corum, and some still more pressing necessities 
 of economy, required that he should pass some 
 months of every year at home ; but they were al- 
 ways seasons looked forward to with a mild ter- 
 ror, and, when the time drew nigh, met with a 
 species of dogged fierce resolution that certainly 
 did not serve to lighten the burden of the inflic- 
 tion ; and though Kate's experience of this tem- 
 per wa- not varied by any exceptions, she would 
 still go on looking with pleasure for the time of 
 hi- visit, and plotting innumerable little Schemes 
 for enjoyment while he should remain. The first 
 day or two after hi- arrival usually went over 
 
 pleasantly ei gh. Dick came back fullof-his 
 
 town Life and its amusement-, and Kate was 
 quite satisfied to accept gnyety at second-hand. 
 
 lie had BO much to Bay of balls, and picnics, and 
 
 charming rides in'the Phoenix, of garden-partieH 
 
 in the beautiful environs of Dublin, or i c pre- 
 tention- entertainments that took the shape ol 
 excursions to Bray or Killiney. She came at 
 la-t to learn all hi.-' fnend- and acquaintances bj 
 name, and never confounded the -lately beauties 
 
 that he worshiped afar off with the "awfully 
 
 jolly -ill-" w bom he tlirted with quite irresponsi- 
 bly. She knew, too, all about his male compati- 
 
50 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 ions, from the flash young fellow-commoner from 
 Downshire, who had a saddle-horse and a mount- 
 ed groom waiting for him every day after morning 
 lecture, down to that scampish Joe Atlee, with 
 whose scrapes and eccentricities he filled many 
 an idle hour. 
 
 Independently of her gift as a good listener, 
 Kate would very willingly have heard all Dick's 
 adventures and descriptions not only twice but 
 tenth told : just as the child listens with unwea- 
 ried attention to the fairy-tale whose end he is 
 well aware of, but still likes the little detail fall- 
 ing fresh upon his ear, so would this young girl 
 make him go over some narrative she knew by 
 heart, and would not suffer him to omit the slight- 
 est incident or most trifling circumstance that 
 heightened the interest of the story. 
 
 As to Dick, however, the dull monotony of the 
 daily life, the small and vulgar interests of the 
 house or the farm, which formed the only topics, 
 the undergrowl of economy that ran through 
 every conversation, as though penuriousness was 
 the great object of existence — but, perhaps, more 
 than all these together, the early hours — so over- 
 came him that he at first became low-spirited, 
 and then sulky, seldom appearing save at meal- 
 times, and certainly contributing little to the 
 pleasure of the meeting : so that at last, though 
 she might not easily have been brought to the 
 confession, Kate Kearney saw the time of Dick's 
 departure approach without regret, and was act- 
 ually glad to be relieved from that terror of a 
 rupture between her father and her brother of 
 which not a day passed without a menace. 
 
 Like all men who aspire to something in Ire- 
 land, Kearney desired to see his son a barrister : 
 for great as are the rewards of that high career, 
 they are not the fascinations which appeal most 
 strongly to the squirearchy, who love to think that 
 a country gentleman may know a little law and be 
 never the richer for it — may have acquired a pro- 
 fession, and yet never known what was a client or 
 what a fee. 
 
 That Kearney of Kilgobbin Castle should be 
 reduced to tramping his way down the Bachelors' 
 Walk to the Four Courts, with a stuff bag car- 
 ried behind him, was not to be thought of; but 
 there were so many positions in life, so many sit- 
 uations for which that gifted creature the barrister 
 of six years' standing was alone eligible, that Kear- 
 ney was very anxious his son should be qualified to 
 accept that £1000 or £1800 a year which a gentle- 
 man could hold without any shadow upon his ca- 
 pacity, or the slightest reflection on his industry. 
 
 Dick Kearney, however, had not only been liv- 
 ing a very gay life in town, but, to avail himself 
 of a variety of those flattering attentions which 
 this interested world bestows by preference on 
 men of some pretension, had let it be believed 
 that he was the heir to a very considerable estate, 
 and, by great probability, also to a title. To 
 have admitted that he thought it necessary to fol- 
 low any career at all would have been to abdi- 
 cate these pretensions, and so he evaded that 
 question of the law in all discussions with his fa- 
 ther, sometimes affecting to say he had not made 
 up his mind, or that he had scruples of conscience 
 about a barrister's calling, or that he doubted 
 whether the Bar of Ireland was not, like most 
 high institutions, going to be abolished by Act 
 of Parliament, and all the litigation of the land 
 be done by deputy in Westminster Hall. 
 
 On the morning after the visitors took their 
 departure from Kilgobbin, old Kearney, who us- 
 ually relapsed from any exercise of hospitality 
 into a more than ordinary amount of parsimony, 
 sat thinking over the various economies by which 
 the domestic budget could be squared, and after 
 a very long seance with old Gill, in which the 
 question of raising some rents and diminishing 
 certain bounties was discussed, he sent up the 
 steward to Mr. llichard's room to say he wanted 
 to speak to him. 
 
 Dick at the time of the message was stretched 
 full length on a sofa, smoking a meerschaum, and 
 speculating how it was that the "swells" took to 
 Joe Atlee, and what they saw in that confounded 
 snob, instead of himself. Having in a degree sat- 
 isfied himself that Atlee's success was all owing 
 to his intense and outrageous flattery, he was 
 startled from his reverie by the servant's entrance. 
 "How is he this morning, Tim?" asked he, 
 with a knowing look. "Is he fierce — is there 
 any thing up — have the heifers been passing the 
 night in the wheat, or has any one come over 
 from Moate with a bill ?" 
 
 "No, Sir, none of them; but his blood's up 
 about something. Ould Gill is gone down the 
 stair, swearing like mad, and Miss Kate is down 
 the road, with a face like a turkey-cock." 
 
 "I think you'd better say I was out, Tim — 
 that you couldn't find me in my room." 
 
 "I daren't, Sir. He saw that little Skye ter- 
 rier of yours below, and he said to me, ' Mr. Dick 
 is sure to be at home; tell him I want him im- 
 mediately.'" 
 
 " But if I had a bad headache, and couldn't 
 leave my bed, wouldn't that be excuse enough ?" 
 "It would make him come here. And if I 
 was you, Sir, I'd go where I could get away my- 
 self, and not where he could stay as long as he 
 liked." 
 
 "There's something in that. I'll go, Tim. 
 Say I'll be down in a minute." 
 
 Very careful to attire himself in the humblest 
 costume of his wardrobe, and specially mindful 
 that neither studs nor watch-chain should offer 
 offensive matter of comment, he took his way to- 
 ward the dreary little den, which, filled with old 
 top-boots, driving-whips, garden implements, and 
 fishing-tackle, was known as "the lord's study," 
 but whose sole literary ornament was a shelf of 
 antiquated almanacs. There was a strange grim- 
 ness about his father's aspect which struck young 
 Kearney as he crossed the threshold. His face 
 wore tlie peculiar sardonic expression of one 
 who had not only hit upon an expedient, but 
 achieved a surprise, as he held an open letter 
 in one hand and motioned with the other to a 
 seat. 
 
 " I've been waiting till these people were gone, 
 Dick — till we had a quiet house of it — to say a 
 few words to you. I suppose your friend Atlee 
 is not coming back here ?" 
 "I suppose not, Sir." 
 
 " I don't like him, Dick; and I'm much mis- 
 taken if he is a good fellow." 
 
 "I don't think he is actually a bad fellow, Sir. 
 He is often terribly hard up, and has to do scores 
 of shifty things, but I never found him out in any 
 thing dishonorable or false." 
 
 "That's a matter of taste, perhaps. Maybe 
 you and I might differ about what was honorable 
 or what was false. At all events, he was under 
 
I.OKD KILGORBIN. 
 
 our roof here, and if those nobs — or swi-lls. I be- 
 lieve you call them — wore like to lie of use to 
 any of US, we. the people that were entertaining 
 them, were the first to he thought of; hut your 
 pleasant friend thought differently, ami made 
 such good use of his time that lie cut you out al- 
 together, Dick — he left you nowhere." 
 
 •• Really, Sir, it never occurred to me till now 
 to take that view of the situation." 
 
 '• Well, take that view of it now. ami see how 
 you'll like it ! _)/"" have your way to work in life 
 as well as Mr. Atlee. From all I can judge, 
 you're scarcely as well calculated to do it as lie 
 is. You have not his smartness, you have not 
 his brains, and you have not his impudence — and 
 faith. I'm much mistaken hut it's the best of the 
 three!" 
 
 " I don't perceive, Sir. that we are necessarily 
 jutted against each other at all.'' 
 
 "Don't you? Well, so much the worse for 
 you if you don't see that every fellow that has 
 nothing in the world is the rival of every other fel- 
 low that's in the same plight. For every one 
 that swims, ten. at least, sink." 
 
 "Perhaps, Sir, to begin, I never fully realized 
 the first condition. I was not exactly aware that 
 I was without any thing in the world." 
 
 •• Fm coming to that, if you'll have a little pa- 
 tience. Here is a letter from Tom M'Keown, 
 of Abbey Street. I wrote to liini about raising 
 a few hundreds on mortgage, to clear off some 
 of our debts, and have a trifle in hand for drain- 
 age and to buy stock, and he tells me that there's 
 no use in going to any of the money-lenders so 
 long as your extravagance continues to be the 
 talk of the town. Ay. you needn't grow red nor 
 frown that way. The letter was a private one to 
 myself, and Fm only telling it to you in confi- 
 dence. Hear what he says: 'You have a right 
 to make your son a fellow-commoner if you like, 
 and he has a right, by his father's own showing, 
 to behave like a man of fortune: but neither of 
 you have a right to believe that men who advance 
 money will accept these pretensions as good se- 
 curity, or think any thing hut the worse of you 
 both for your extravagance.'" 
 
 "And you don't mean to horsewhip him, Sir?" 
 burst out Dick. 
 
 " Not, at any rate, till I pay off two thousand 
 pounds that I owe him, and two years' interest at 
 mx per cent., that lie ha- Buffered me to become 
 his debtor for." 
 
 "Lame as he is, I'll kick him before twenty- 
 four hour.-, are over." 
 
 '•If you do, hell shoot yon like a dog. and it 
 wouldn't be the first time he handled a pistol. 
 Xo. no. Blaster Dick, Whether for better or 
 wor-". I can't tell, hut the world is not what it 
 was when I was your age. There's no provok- 
 ing a man to a duel nowadays-, nor no posting 
 him when he won't light. Whether it's your for- 
 tune is damaged or your feelings hurt, you must 
 look to the law to lvdie-- you : and to take your 
 into your own hand- is to have the whole 
 
 world against you." 
 "And tin- insult i- then to be submitted to?" 
 "It is, first of all. to he ignored. It- the 
 
 Bame a- if you never heard it. Just get it out of 
 ymir head, and listen to what he Bays. Tom 
 M'Keown is one of the keenest fellow- I know ; 
 and he ha- business with men who know nol only 
 what's doing in Downing Street, but what's going 
 
 to be done there. Now here's two things that 
 are about to take place: one is the same a-dmie. 
 for it's all ready prepared — the taking away the 
 landlord's right, ami making the Stale determine 
 what rent the tenant -hall pay, and how lung his 
 tenure will he. The second won't come lor tWO 
 Sessions after, bul il will he law all the same. 
 There's to be no primogeniture class at all. no 
 
 email on land, hut a subdivision, like in America, 
 and. 1 believe, in France" 
 
 " I don't believe it. Mr. These would amount 
 to a revolution." 
 
 " Well, and why not ? Ain't we always 
 through a sort of mild revolution? What's par- 
 liamentary government hut revolution, weakened, 
 if you like, like watered grog, hut the spirit is 
 there all the same. Don't fancy that, bi 
 you can give it a hard name, you can destroy it. 
 But hear what Tom is coming to. 'Be early," 
 Says he: 'take time by the forelock; get rid of 
 your entail, and get rid of your land. Don'i wait 
 till the Government docs both for you, and have 
 to accept whatever condition the law will cumber 
 you with, but be before them! Get your son to 
 join you in docking the entail; petition before 
 the court for a sale, yourself or somebody for 
 you; and wash your hands clean of it all. It's 
 bad property, in a very ticklish country.' says 
 Tom — and he dashes the words — 'bad property, 
 in a very ticklish country ; and, if you take my 
 advice, you'll get clear of both.' You shall read 
 it all yourself by-and-by ; I am only giving you 
 the substance of it, and" none of the reasons. " 
 
 " This is a question for very grave considera- 
 tion, to say the least of it. It is a bold proposal." 
 
 "So it is, and so says Tom himself: hut he 
 adds, ' There's no time to be lost; for once it gets 
 about how Gladstone's going to deal with land, 
 and what Bright has in his head for eldest SOUS, 
 you might as well whistle as try to dispose of 
 that property.' To he sure, he says," added he. 
 after a pause — "he says, ' If you insist on hold- 
 ing on, if you cling to the dirty acres because they 
 were your father's and your great-grandfather's, 
 and if you think that being Kearney of Kilgob- 
 bin is a sort of title, in the name of Cod stay 
 where you are. hut keep down your expenses. 
 Give up some of your useless servants, reduce 
 your saddle-horses' — my saddle-horses, Dick! 
 • Try if you can live without fox-hunting.' — Fox- 
 hunting! 'Make your daughter know that -he 
 needn't dress like a duchess' — poor Kitty'- very 
 like a duchess: 'and. above all. persuade your 
 lazy, idle, and very self-sufficient son to take to 
 some respectable line of life to gain his li\ Ulg. I 
 wouldn't -ay that he mightn't lie an apothecary; 
 but if he liked law better than physic. I might he 
 able to do something for him in my own office.'" 
 
 " Have you done. Sir?" said Dick, hastily, as 
 his father wiped his spectacles, and seemed to 
 
 prepare for another heat. 
 
 " He goes on td Bay that he always requires 
 one hundred and ftftj guineas fee with a young 
 man : 'but we are old friends, Maurice Kearney, 
 
 -a\ - h''. ' and we'll make it pounds.' " 
 
 " To lit me to be an attorney j" -aid Dick, ar- 
 ticulating each wind with a slow and aim- 
 
 age determination. 
 
 •■ Faith ! it would have been well for us if 
 
 lone of the family had been an attorney before 
 
 now. We'd never have gone into that action 
 
 about the mill-race, nor had to pay those heavy 
 
LOKD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 damages for leveling Moore's barn. A little 
 law would have saved us from evicting those 
 blackguards at Mullenalick, or kicking Mr. Hall's 
 bailiff before witnesses." 
 
 To arrest his father's recollection of the various 
 occasions on which his illegality had betrayed him 
 into loss and damage, Dick blurted out, "I'd 
 rather break stones on the road than I'd be an 
 attorney. " 
 
 "Well, you'll not have to go far for employ- 
 ment, for they're just laying down new metal this 
 moment, and you needn't lose time over it," said 
 Kearney, with a wave of his hand, to show that 
 the audience was over and the conference ended. 
 
 " There's just one favor I would ask, Sir," said 
 Dick, with his hand on the lock. 
 
 "You want a hammer, I suppose," said his 
 father, with a grin — " isn't that it?" 
 
 With something that, had it been uttered aloud, 
 sounded very like a bitter malediction, Dick rush- 
 ed from the room, slamming the door violently 
 after him as he went. 
 
 " That's the temper that helps a man to get on 
 in life," said the old man, as he turned once more 
 to his accounts, and set to work to see where he 
 had blundered in his figures. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 DICKS REVERIE. 
 
 When Dick Kearney left his father he walk- 
 ed from the house, and not knowing, or much 
 caring, in what direction he went, turned into the 
 garden. It was a wild, neglected sort of spot, 
 more orchard than garden, with fruit trees of 
 great size, long past bearing, and close under-wood 
 in places that barred the passage. Here and 
 there little patches of cultivation appeared, some- 
 times flowering plants, but oftener vegetables. 
 One long alley, with tall hedges of box, had been 
 preserved, which led to a little mound planted 
 with laurels and arbutus, and known as " Laurel 
 Hill ;" here a little rustic summer-house had once 
 stood, and still, though now in ruins, showed 
 where, in former days, people came to taste the 
 fresh breeze above the tree-tops, and enjoy the 
 wide range of a view that stretched to the Slieve- 
 Bloom Mountains, nearly thirty miles away. 
 
 Young Kearney reached this spot, and sat down, 
 to gaze upon a scene every detail of which was 
 well known to him, but of which he was utterly 
 unconscious as he looked. "I am turned out to 
 starve," cried he aloud, as though there was a 
 sense of relief in thus proclaiming his sorrow to 
 the winds. "I am told to go and work upon the 
 roads — to live by my daily labor. Treated like a 
 gentleman until I am bound to that condition by 
 every tie of feeling and kindred, and then bid to 
 know myself as an outcast. I have not even Joe 
 Atlee's resource — I have not imbibed the instincts 
 of the lower orders, so as to be able to give them 
 back to them in fiction or in song. 1 can not 
 either idealize rebellion, or make treason tuneful. 
 
 "It is not yet a week since that same Atlee 
 envied me my station as the son and heir to this 
 place, and owned to me that there was that in 
 the sense of name and lineage that more than 
 balanced personal success, and here I am now, a 
 beggar ! I can enlist, however — blessings on the 
 noble career that ignores character and defies ca- 
 
 pacity ! I don't know that I'll bring much loyal- 
 ty to her Majesty's cause, but I'll lend her the" aid 
 of as broad shoulders and tough sinews as my 
 neighbors." And here his voice grew louder and 
 harsher, and with a ring of defiance in it. "And 
 no cutting off the entail, my Lord Kilgobbin ! no 
 escape from that cruel necessity of an heir! I may 
 carry my musket in the ranks, but I'll not surren- 
 der my birthright ! " 
 
 The thought that he had at length determined 
 on the path he should follow aroused his courage 
 and made his heart lighter ; and then there was 
 that in the manner he was vindicating his station 
 and his claim that seemed to savor of heroism. 
 He began to fancy his comrades regarding him 
 with a certain deference, and treating him witli a 
 respect that recognized his condition. " I know 
 the shame my father will feel when he sees to what 
 he has driven me. What an offense to his love 
 of rank and station to behold his son in the coarse 
 uniform of a private ! An only son and heir, 
 too ! I can picture to myself his shock as he 
 reads the letter in which I shall say good-by, and 
 then turn to tell my sister that her brother is a 
 common soldier, and in this way lost to her for- 
 ever ! 
 
 "And what is it all about? What terrible 
 things have I done ? What entanglements have 
 I contracted ? Where have I forged ? Whose 
 name have I stolen? whose daughter seduced? 
 What is laid to my charge, beyond that I have 
 lived like a gentleman, and striven to eat and drink 
 and dress like one ? And I'll wager my life that 
 for one who will blame him there will be ten — 
 no, not ten, fifty — to condemn me. I had a kind, 
 trustful, affectionate father, restricting himself in 
 scores of ways to give me my education among 
 the highest class of my contemporaries. I was 
 largely supplied with means, indulged in every 
 way, and if I turned my steps toward home, wel- 
 comed with love and affection." 
 
 "And fearfully spoiled by all the petting he 
 met with," said a soft voice, leaning over his shoul- 
 der, while a pair of very liquid gray eyes gazed 
 into his own. 
 
 " What, Nina! — Mademoiselle Nina, I mean," 
 said he ; "have you been long there ?" 
 
 "Long enough to hear you make a very piti- 
 ful lamentation over a condition that I, in my ig- 
 norance, used to believe was only a little short of 
 Paradise." 
 
 "You fancied that, did you ?" 
 
 "Yes, I did so fancy it." 
 
 " Might I be bold enough to ask from what 
 circumstance, though ? I entreat you to tell me, 
 what belongings of mine, what resources of lux- 
 ury or pleasure, what incident of my daily life, 
 suggested this impression of yours ?" 
 
 "Perhaps, as a matter of strict reasoning, I 
 have little to show for my conviction, but if you 
 ask me why I thought as 1 did, it was simply from 
 contrasting your condition with my own, and see- 
 ing that in every thing where my lot has gloom 
 and darkness, if not worse, yours, my ungrateful 
 cousin, was all sunshine." 
 
 "Let us see a little of this sunshine, Cousin 
 Nina. Sit down here beside me, and show me, I 
 pray, some of those bright tints that I am long- 
 ing to gaze on." 
 
 "There's not room for both of us on that 
 bench." 
 
 "Ample room ; we shall sit the closer." 
 
LORD KLLGOBBLN. 
 
 "No, Cousin Dick: give me your arm and 
 we'll take a stroll together." 
 
 "Which way shall it be?" 
 
 " Y"u shall choose, cousin." 
 
 " If I have tin 1 choice, then, I'll carry you off', 
 Nina : tor I'm thinking of bidding good-hy to tin' 
 old house and all within it." 
 
 •• I don't think. I'll consent that tar." said she, 
 
 smiling. " 1 have had my experience of what it 
 without a home, or something very near- 
 ly that. I'll not willingly recall the sensation. 
 
 But what has put sueh gloomy thoughts in your 
 head? Whut.orratherw ho, is driving you to this?" 
 "My father. Nina, my father!" 
 ••This is past my comprehending." 
 
 '• I'll make it very intelligible. .My father, by 
 way of curbing my extravagance, tells me I must 
 give up all pretension to the life of a gentleman, 
 
 and go into an office as a clerk. I refuse. He 
 insi.-ts. and tells me. moreover, a number of little 
 pleasant traits of my unfitness to do anything, so 
 that I interrupt him by hinting that I might pos- 
 -ihly break stones on the highway. He seizes 
 the project with avidity, and offers to supply me 
 with a hammer for my work. All fact, on my 
 honor! I am neither adding to nor concealing. 
 I am relating what occurred little more than an 
 hour ago. and I have forgotten nothing of the in- 
 terview. He. as I said, offers to give me a stone- 
 hammer. And now I ask you, is it for me to ac- 
 cept this generous offer, or would it he hetter to 
 wander over that hog yonder, and take my chance 
 ■ ■fa deep pool or the bleak world, where immer- 
 sion and death are just as sure, though a little 
 -lower in coming?" 
 
 " Have you told Kate of this ?" 
 
 •"No. 1 have not seen her. I don't know, 
 if I had seen her, that I should have told her. 
 Xate has so grown to believe all my father's ca- 
 - to lie absolute wisdom that even his sud- 
 den e;u-;s of passion seem to her like flashes of 
 •i bright intelligence, too quick and too brilliant 
 for mere reason. She could give me no comfort, 
 no:- counsel either." 
 
 "I am not of your mind," said she, slowly. 
 " She has the great gift of what people so mis- 
 takingly call ronnnon-sense." 
 
 "And she'd recommend me, perhaps, not to 
 quarrel with my father, and to go and break the 
 stones." 
 
 '• Were you ever in love, Cousin Dick ?" asked 
 she. in a tone every accent of which hetokened 
 earnestness, and even gravity. 
 
 "Perhaps I might say never. I havespooned 
 or flirted, or whatever the name of it might he, 
 hut I was never seriously attached to one girl, 
 and unable to think of any thing hut her. But 
 what has your question to do with this?" 
 
 "Every thing. If yon really loved a girl — 
 that is, if she filled every comer of your heart, if 
 -he was first in every plan and project of your life. 
 not alone her wishes and her likings, hut her very 
 words and the sound of her voice — if you saw her 
 in every thing that was beautiful and heard her in 
 every tone that delighted yon — if to be moving in 
 the air she breathed was ecstasy, and that heaven 
 itself without her was cheerless — if — " 
 
 . " Oh, don't go on, Nina. Nbneofthes* 
 
 rfes could ever he mine. I have no nature to he 
 
 moved or moulded in this fashion. I might he 
 
 very fond of a girl, hut she'd never drive me mail 
 
 if she left me tor another." 
 
 " I hope she may. [hen. if it he with such false 
 
 mone\ you would buy her," said she, fiercely. 
 "Do you know," added she. after a pause, " I 
 was almost on the verge of saying, go and break 
 the stones; the ' me"tier' is not much beneath you, 
 
 after all!" 
 
 " This is scarcely civil, mademoiselle ; see w hat 
 
 my candor has brought upon me !" 
 
 •' I'.e as candid as you like upon the faults of 
 
 your nature. Tell every wickedness thai you 
 
 have done or dreamed of. hut don't own to cold- 
 heartedness. For that there is no S \ mpathy 1" 
 
 "Let us go hack a hit. then," said he, '•and 
 let us suppose that I did love in the same fervent 
 and insane manner you spoke of, what and how 
 would it help me here?" 
 
 "Of course it would. Of all the ingenuity that 
 plotters talk of. of all the imagination that poets 
 dream, there is nothing to compare with love. 
 To gain a plodding subsistence a man will do 
 much. To win the girl lie loves, to make her his 
 own, he will do every thing; he will strive, and 
 strain, and even starve, to win her. Poverty will 
 have nothing mean if confronted for her, hard- 
 ship have no suffering if endured for her sake. 
 With her before him, all the world shows hut one 
 goal : without her, life is a mere dreary task, and 
 himself a hired laborer." 
 
 "I confess, after all this, that I don't see how- 
 breaking stones would be more palatable to me 
 because some pretty girl that I was fond of saw 
 me hammering away at my limestone!" 
 
 " If you could have loved as I would wish you 
 to love, your career had never fallen to this. 
 The heart that loved would have stimulated 
 the head that thought. Don't fancy that people 
 are only better because they are in love, but they 
 are greater, bolder, brighter, more daring in dan- 
 ger, and more read)- in even - emergency. So 
 wonder-working is the real passion that even in 
 the base mockery of Love men have risen to gen- 
 ius. Look what it made Petrarch, and I might 
 say Byron too, though he never loved worthy of 
 the name." 
 
 "And how came you to know all this, cousin 
 mine ? I'm really curious to know that." 
 
 "I was reared in Italy, Cousin Dick, and I 
 have madea deep study of nature through French 
 novels." Now there was a laughing devilry in 
 her eye as she said this that terribly puzzled' the 
 young fellow, for just at the very moment her 
 enthusiasm had begun to stir his breast her 
 merry mockery wafted it away as with a storm- 
 wiud. 
 
 " I wish I knew if yon were serious," said he, 
 gravely. 
 
 "Just as serious as you were when you spoke 
 of being ruined." 
 
 '• I was so, I pledge my honor. The conver- 
 sation I reported to you really took place; and 
 when you joined me I was gravely deliberating 
 with myself whether I should take a header into 
 a deep pool or enlist as a soldier." 
 
 "Fie, tie! how ignoble all that is ! You don't 
 know the hundreds of thousands of thing-one can 
 do in life. Do you -peak French or Italian?" 
 
 "I can read t Iii-iii. Iml not freelj ; but how are 
 
 they to help me ?" 
 
 "You shall sec: first of all, let me be your 
 tutor. We -hall take two hours, three if you 
 like, every morning. Are you free now from ull 
 your college Btudies ?" 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 " I can be after Wednesday next. I ought to 
 go up for my term examination." 
 
 "Well, do so; but mind, don't bring down 
 Mr. Atlee with you." 
 
 "My chum is no favorite of yours?" 
 
 "That's as it may be," said she, haughtily. 
 "I have only said let us not have the embar- 
 rassment, or, if you like it, the pleasure of his 
 company. I'll give you a list of books to bring 
 down, and my life be on it but my course of study 
 will surpass what you have been doing at Trinity. 
 Is it agreed ?" 
 
 " Give me till to-morrow to think of it, Nina." 
 
 "That does not sound like a very warm ac- 
 ceptance; but be it so; till to-morrow." 
 
 "Here are some of Kate's dogs," cried he, an- 
 grily. "Down, Fan, down! I say. I'll leave 
 you now before she joins us. Mind, not a word 
 of what I told you." And without another word 
 he sprang over a low fence, and speedily disap- 
 peared in the copse beyond it. 
 
 " Wasn't that Dick I saw making his escape?" 
 cried Kate, as she came up. 
 
 " Yes ; we were taking a walk together, and he 
 left me very abruptly." 
 
 ' ' I wish I had not spoiled a tete-a-tete, " said 
 Kate, merrily. 
 
 "It is no great mischief: we can always re- 
 new it." 
 
 "Dear Nina," said the other, caressingly, as 
 she drew her arm around her — " dear, dear Nina, 
 do not, do not, I beseech you." 
 
 "Don't what, child ? — you must not speak rid- 
 dles." 
 
 " Don't make that poor boy in love with you. 
 You yourself told me you could save him from it 
 if you liked." 
 
 "And so I shall, Kate, if you don't dictate or 
 order me. Leave me quite to myself and I shall 
 be most merciful." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 maurice keaeney's "study." 
 
 Had Maurice Kearney but read the second 
 sheet of his correspondent's letter, it is more than 
 likely that Dick had not taken such a gloomy 
 view of his condition. Mr. M'Keown's epistle 
 continued in this fashion : " That ought to do for 
 him, Maurice, or my name ain't Tom M'Keown. 
 It is not that he is any worse or better than other 
 young fellows of his own stamp, but he has the 
 greatest scamp in Christendom for his daily asso- 
 ciate. Atlee is deep in all the mischief that goes 
 on in the national press. I believe he is a head- 
 centre of the Fenians, and I know he has a cor- 
 respondence with the French socialists, and that 
 Rights-of-labor-knot of vagabonds who meet at 
 Geneva. Your boy is not too wise to keep him- 
 self out of these scrapes, and he is just by name 
 and station of consequence enough to make these 
 fellows make up to and flatter him. Give him a 
 sound fright, then, and when he is thoroughly 
 alarmed about his failure, send him abroad for 
 a short tour : let him go study at Halle or Hei- 
 delberg — any thing, in short, that will take him 
 away from Ireland, and break off his intima- 
 cy with this Atlee and his companions. While 
 he is with you at Kilgobbin, don't let him make 
 acquaintance with those radical fellows in the 
 
 country towns. Keep him down, Maurice, keep 
 him down ; and if you find that you can not do 
 this, make him believe that you'll be one day lords 
 of Kilgobbin, and the more he has to lose the 
 more reluctant he'll be to risk it. If he'd take to 
 farming, and marry some decent girl, even a little 
 beneath him in life, it would save you all uneasi- 
 ness ; but he is just that thing now that brings 
 all the misery on us in Ireland. He thinks he's 
 | a gentleman because he can do nothing ; and to 
 i save himself from the disgrace of incapacity, he'd 
 like to be a rebel." 
 
 If Mr. Tom M'Keown's reasonings were at 
 times somewhat abstruse and hard of comprehen- 
 sion to his friend Kearney, it was not that he did 
 not bestow on them due thought and reflection ; 
 and over this private and strictly confidential page 
 he had now meditated for hours. 
 
 "Bad luck to me," cried he at last, "if I see 
 what he's at ! If I'm to tell the boy he is ruined 
 to-day, and to-morrow to announce to him that 
 he is a lord — if I'm to threaten him now with 
 poverty, and the morning after I'm to send him 
 to Halle, or Hell, or wherever it is — I'll soon be 
 out of my mind myself through bare confusion. 
 As to having him ' down,' he's low enough ; but 
 so shall I be, too, if I keep him there. I'm not 
 used to seeing my house uncomfortable, and I can 
 not bear it. " 
 
 Such were some of his reflections over his 
 agent's advice ; and it may be imagined that the 
 Machiavelian Mr. M'Keown had fallen upon a 
 very inept pupil. 
 
 It must be owned that Maurice Kearney was 
 somewhat out of temper with his son even before 
 the arrival of this letter. While the "swells," 
 as he would persist in calling the two English vis- 
 itors, were there, Dick took no trouble about them, 
 nor, to all seeming, made any impression on them. 
 As Maurice said, " He let Joe Atlee make all the 
 running, and, signs on it! Joe Atlee was taken 
 off to town as Walpole's companion, and Dick not 
 so much as thought of. Joe, too, did the honors 
 of the house as if it was his own, and talked to 
 Lockwood about coming down for the partridge- 
 shooting as if he was the head of the family. The 
 fellow was a bad lot, and M'Keown was right so 
 far — the less Dick saw of him the better." 
 
 The trouble and distress these reflections, and 
 others like them, cost him would more than have 
 recompensed Dick, had he been hard-hearted 
 enough to desire a vengeance. " For a quarter of 
 an hour, or maybe twenty minutes," said he, "1 
 can be as angry as any man in Europe, and, if it 
 was required of me during that time to do any 
 thing desperate — downright wicked — I could be 
 bound to do it ; and, what's more, I'd stand to it 
 afterward if it cost me the gallows. But as for 
 keeping up the same mind, as for being able to 
 say to myself my heart is as hard as ever, I'm 
 just as much bent on cruelty as I was yesterday 
 — that's clean beyond me ; and the reason, God 
 help me, is no great comfort to me, after all — for 
 it's just this : that when I do a hard thing, wheth- 
 er distraining a creature out of his bit of ground, 
 selling a widow's pig, or fining a fellow for shoot- 
 ing a hare, I lose my appetite and have no heart 
 for my meals ; and as sure as I go to sleep, I 
 dream of all the misfortunes in life happening to 
 me, and my guardian angel sitting laughing all 
 the while and saying to me, 'Didn't you bring it 
 on yourself, Maurice Kearney ? couldn't you bear 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 a little rub without trying to make a calamity of 
 it? Must somebody be always punished when 
 any thing goes wrong in life? .Make up your 
 mind to have >ix troubles every day of your life, 
 
 and Bee how jolly you'll he the day yon can only 
 
 count five, or maybe tour.' " 
 
 A- Mr. Kearney sat brooding in tins wise, Peter 
 (Sill made his entrance into the Study with the 
 
 formidable monthly lists and accounts, whose ex- 
 amination constituted a veritable doomsday to the 
 unhappy master. 
 "Wouldn't next Saturday do, Peter ?" asked 
 
 Kearney, in a tone of almost entreaty. 
 
 " I'm afther ye since Tuesday last, and 1 don't 
 think I'll he able to go on much longer." 
 
 Now as Mr. Gill meant by this speech to imply 
 that he was obliged to trust entirely to his mem- 
 ory for all the details which would have been com- 
 mitted to writing by others, and to a notched 
 stick tor the manifold dates of a vast variety of 
 events, it was not really a very unfair request he 
 had made for a peremptory hearing. 
 
 " I vow to the Lord," sighed out Kearney, " I 
 believe I'm the hardest-worked man in the three 
 kingdoms." 
 
 •• Maybe you are." muttered Gill, though cer- 
 tainly the concurrence scarcely sounded hearty, 
 while he meanwhile arranged the books. 
 
 " Oh, I know well enough what you mean. If 
 a man doesn't work with a spade or follow the 
 plow, you won't believe that he works at all. 
 lie must drive, or dig, or drain, or mow. There's 
 DO labor but what strains a man's back, and makes 
 him weary about the loins; but I'll tell you, Pe- 
 ter Gill, that it's here" — and he touched his fore- 
 head with his finger — " it's here is the real woi k- 
 shop. It's thinking and contriving; setting this 
 against that ; doing one thing that another may 
 happen, and guessing what will come if we do 
 this ami don't do that ; carrying every thing in 
 your brain, and, whether you are sitting over a 
 glass with a friend or taking a nap after dinner, 
 thinking away all the time! What would you 
 call that, Peter Gill— what would you call that ?" 
 
 " .Madness, begorra, or mighty near it !" 
 
 "No: it's just work — brain-work. As much 
 above mere manual labor as the intellect, the fac- 
 ulty that raises us above the brutes, is above the 
 — the—" 
 
 "Yes.'' said Gill, opening the large volume, 
 and vaguely passing his hand over a page. " It's 
 somewhere there about the Conacre!" 
 
 "You're little better than a beast!" said 
 Kearney, angrily. 
 
 "Maybe 1 am, and maybe I'm not. Let us 
 finish this now that we're about it." 
 
 And so saying, he deposited his other books 
 and papers on the table, and then drew from his 
 
 breast pocket a somewhat thick roll of exceed- 
 ingly dirty hank-notes, fastened with a leather 
 thong. 
 
 " I'm glad to see some money at last, Peter," 
 cried Kearney, as his eye caught sight of the 
 
 llote-.. 
 
 " Faix, then, it's little good they'll do ye,"mut- 
 tered the other, gruffly. 
 
 "What d'ye mean by that, Sir?" asked he, 
 angrily. 
 
 " Just what I said, my lord, the divil a more 
 nor less, and that the money you see here is no 
 more yours nor it is mine. It belongs to the 
 land it came from. Ay, ay, stamp away, and 
 
 go red in the face: you must hear the truth, 
 
 whether you like it or no. The place we're ii\. 
 
 ing in is going to rack and rui it of sheer bad 
 
 treatment There's not a hedge on the estate; 
 there isn't a -ate that could he called a gate; the 
 
 holes the | pie li \ c in isn't go. >d enough for 
 
 badgers; there's no water for the mill at the 
 
 cross-roads ; and the I.oeh meadows i- drowned 
 with wet— we're dragging for the hay. like 
 weed! And you think you've a right to these' 
 —and he actually Bhftok the notes at him — " to 
 
 go and squander them on them • impedint' En- 
 glishmen that was laughing at you: Didn't I hear 
 them myself about the table-cloth, that one said 
 was the sail of a boat ?" 
 
 •• Will you hold your tongue?" cried Kearney. 
 wild with passion. 
 
 " I will not ! I'll die on the floore but I'll 
 speak my mind." 
 
 This was not only a favorite phrase of Mr. 
 Gill's, but it was so far significant that it always 
 indicated he was about to give notice to leave 
 — a menace on his part of no unfrequent occur- 
 rence. 
 
 "Yes, going, are ye?" asked Kearney, jeer- 
 in gly. 
 
 "I just am; and I'm come to give up the 
 hooks, and to get my receipts and my charac — 
 ter." 
 
 " It won't be hard to give the last, anyway," 
 said Kearney, with a grin. 
 
 ".So much the better. It will save your hon- 
 or much writing, with all that you have to do." 
 
 " Do you want me to kick vou out of the office, 
 Peter Gill ?" 
 
 "No, my lord, I'm going quiet and peaceable. 
 I'm only asking my rights." 
 
 " You're bidding hard to be kicked out, you 
 are. " 
 
 "Am I to leave them here, or will your hon- 
 or go over the books with me ?" 
 
 " Leave the notes, Sir, and go to the devil." 
 
 " 1 will, my lord ; and one comfort at least 
 I'll have — it won't he harder to put up with his 
 temper." 
 
 Mr. Gill's head barely escaped the heavy ac- 
 count-book which struck the door above him as 
 he escaped from the room, and Maurice Kearney 
 sat back in his chair and grasped the arms of it 
 like one threatened with a fit. 
 
 " Where's Miss Kitty — where's my daughter ?" 
 cried he aloud, as though there was some one 
 within hearing. "Taking the dogs a walk, I'll 
 he bound," muttered he, "or gone to see some- 
 body's child with the measles, devil fear her! 
 She has plenty on her hands to do any where hut 
 at home. The place might be going to rack and 
 ' ruin for her, if there was only a young colt to look 
 at. en- a new litter of pigs ! Anil so you think to 
 frighten me, Peter Gill ! You've been doing the 
 same thing every Easter, and every harvest, these 
 
 five-and-twenty years ! I can only say I wish 
 you had kept your threat long ago. and the prop- 
 erty wouldn't have as many tumble-down cabins 
 and ruined fences 88 it has now, and my rent- 
 roll, too, wouldn't have been the worse. I don't 
 believe there's a man in Ireland more cruelly 
 robbed than myself. There isn't an estate in the 
 
 county has not risen in value excepl my own ! 
 There's not a landed gentleman hasn't laid by 
 
 money in the barony Imt myself, and if you were 
 
 to believe the newspapers, I'm the hardest land- 
 
5G 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 lord in the province of Leinster. Is that Mickey 
 Doolan, there ? Mickey !" cried he, opening the 
 window, "did you see Miss Kearney any where 
 about ?" 
 
 " Yes, my lord. I see her coming up the Bog 
 road with Miss O'Shea." 
 
 "The worse luck mine," muttered he, as he 
 closed the window and leaned his head on his 
 hand. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 AN UNWELCOME VISIT. 
 
 If Maurice Kearney had been put to the ques- 
 tion, he could not have concealed the fact, that 
 the human being he most feared and dreaded in 
 life was his neighbor Miss Betty O'Shea. 
 
 With two years of seniority over him, Miss 
 Betty had bullied him as a child, snubbed him as 
 a youth, and opposed and sneered at him ever aft- 
 er ; and to such an extent did her influence over 
 his character extend, according to his own belief, 
 that there was not a single good trait of his na- 
 ture she had not thwarted by ridicule, nor a sin- 
 gle evil temptation to which he had yielded that 
 had not come out of sheer opposition to that lady's 
 dictation. 
 
 Malevolent people, indeed, had said that Mau- 
 rice Kearney had once had matrimonial designs 
 on Miss Betty, or, rather, on that snug place and 
 nice property called " O'Shea's Barn," of which 
 >]\e was sole heiress; but he most stoutly de- 
 clared this story to be groundless, and in a for- 
 cible manner asseverated that had he been Rob- 
 inson Crusoe and Miss Betty the only inhabitant 
 of the island with him, he would have lived and 
 died in celibacy rather than have contracted clear- 
 er ties. 
 
 Miss Betty, to give her the name by which she 
 was best known, was no miracle of either tact or 
 amiability, but she had certain qualities that 
 could not be disparaged. She was a strict Cath- 
 olic, charitable, in her own peculiar and imperi- 
 
 ous way, to the poor, very desirous to be strictly 
 just and honest, and such a sure foe to every 
 thing that she thought pretension or humbug of 
 any kind — which meant any thing that did not 
 square with her own habits — that she was perfect- 
 ly intolerable to all who did not accept herself and 
 her own mode of life as a model and an example. 
 
 Tims, a stout-bodied copper urn on the tea-ta- 
 ble, a very uncouth jaunting-car, driven by an old 
 man, whose only livery was a cockade, some very 
 muddy port as a dinner wine, and whisky-punch 
 afterward on the brown mahogany, were so many 
 articles of belief with her, to dissent from any of 
 which was a downright heresy. 
 
 Thus, after Nina arrived at the Castle, the ap- 
 pearance of napkins palpably affected her constitu- 
 tion; with the advent of finger-glasses she ceased 
 her visits, and bluntly declined all invitations to 
 dinner. That coffee and some indescribable liber- 
 ties would follow, as post-prandial excesses, she 
 secretly imparted to Kate Kearney, in a note, 
 which concluded with the assurance that when 
 the day of these enormities arrived, O'Shea's Barn 
 would be open to her as a refuge and a sanctuary ; 
 ; "but not," added she, " with your cousin, for I'll 
 ! not let the hussy cross my doors." 
 
 For months now this strict quarantine had last- 
 ed, and except for the interchange of some brief 
 j and very uninteresting notes, all intimacy had 
 ceased between the two houses — a circumstance, 
 I am loath to own, which was most ungallantly 
 recorded every day after dinner by old Kearney, 
 who drank, "Miss Betty's health, and long ab- 
 sence to her." It was, then, with no small aston- 
 ishment Kate was overtaken in the avenue by Miss 
 Betty on her old chestnut mare Judy, a small 
 bog-boy mounted on the croup behind, to act as 
 groom : for in this way Paddy Walshe was ac- 
 customed to travel, without the slightest con- 
 sciousness that he was not in strict conformity 
 with the ways of Rotten Row and the " Bois." 
 
 That there was nothing "stuck-up" or preten- 
 tious about this mode of being accompanied by 
 one's groom — a proposition scarcely assailable — 
 was Miss Betty's declaration, delivered in a sort 
 of challenge to the world. Indeed, certain tickle- 
 some tendencies in Judy, particularly when touch- 
 ed with the heel, seemed to offer the strongest 
 protest against the practice ; for whenever pushed 
 to any increase of speed, or admonished in any 
 way, the beast usually responded by a hoist of 
 the haunches, which invariably compelled Paddy 
 to clasp his mistress round the waist for safety — 
 a situation which, however repugnant to maiden 
 bashfulness, time, and perhaps necessity, had rec- 
 onciled her to. At all events, poor Paddy's ter- 
 ror would have been the amplest refutation of 
 scandal, while the stern immobility of Miss Bet- 
 ty during the embrace woidd have silenced even 
 malevolence. 
 
 On the present occasion, a sharp canter of sev- 
 eral miles had reduced Judy to a very quiet and 
 decorous pace, so that Paddy and his mistress sat 
 almost back to back — a combination that only 
 long habit enabled Kate to witness without laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 "Are you alone up at the Castle, dear?" asked 
 Miss Betty, as she rode along at her side; "or 
 have you the house full of what the papers call 
 ' distinguished company ?' " 
 
 " We are quite alone, godmother. My broth- 
 er is with us, but we have no strangers." 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 " I'm glad of it. I've come over to 'have it 
 out' with your father, and it's pleasant to know 
 we shall be to ourselves." 
 
 Now, as this announcement of having " it out" 
 conveyed to Kate's mind nothing short of an open 
 declaration of war. a day of reckoning on which 
 \ I i - s O'Shea would come prepared with a full in- 
 dictment, and a resolution to prosecute to convic- 
 tion, the poor girl shuddered at a prospect so cer- 
 tain to end in calamity. 
 
 •• Papa is very far from well, godmother," said 
 -he. ill a mild way. 
 
 "So they tell me in the town." said the other, 
 
 snappishly. "His brother magistrates said that 
 
 the day he came in. about that supposed attack — 
 the memorable search for arms — " 
 
 "Supposed attack ! hut. godmother, pray don't 
 imagine we had invented all that. I think 
 yon know me well enough and long enough to 
 know— " 
 
 "To know that you would not have had a 
 young scam]) of a Castle aid-de-camp on a visit 
 during your father's absence, not to say any thing 
 about amusing your English visitor by shooting 
 down your own tenantry." 
 
 "Will you listen to me for five minutes?" 
 
 '•No. not for three." 
 
 "Two, then — one even — one minute, god- 
 mother, will convince you how you wrong me." 
 
 "I won't give you that. 1 didn't come over 
 about you nor your affairs. When the father 
 makes a fool of himself, why wouldn't the daugh- 
 ter? The whole country is laughing at him. 
 Hi- lordship, indeed: a ruined estate and a ten- 
 antry in ra; r s ; and the only remedy, as Peter (Jill 
 tells me, raising the rents — raising the rents where 
 every one is a pauper !" 
 
 "What would you have him do, Miss < ►'Shea?" 
 said Kate, almost angrily. 
 
 " I'll tell you what I'd have him do. I'd have 
 him rise of a morning before nine o'clock, and he 
 our with his laborers at daybreak. I'd haver him 
 reform a whole lazy household of blackguards, 
 good for nothing but waste and wickedness. I'd 
 have him apprentice your brother to a decent 
 trade or a u'ght business. I'd have him declare 
 he'd kick the first man that called him 'My lord;' 
 and for yourself — well, it's no matter — " 
 
 " Yes, hut it is, godmother, a great matter to 
 me at least. What about myself? ' 
 
 "Well, I don't wish to speak of it, hut it just 
 dropped out of my lips by accident: and perhaps, 
 though not pleasant to talk about, it's as well it 
 iid and done with. I meant to tell your 
 father that it must he all over between you and 
 my nephew Gorman; that I won't have him hack 
 here on leave, as 1 intended. I know it didn't go 
 far, dear. There was none of what they call love 
 in the case. You would probably have, liked one 
 another well enough at last ; hut I won't have it, 
 and it's better we came to the right understand- 
 ing at once." 
 
 " Soar curb-chain i- loose, godmother," said 
 the girl, who now. pale a- death and trembling 
 all over, advanced to fasten the link. 
 
 " I declare to the Lord, he's asleep !" said Miss 
 Betty, as the wearied head of her page dropped 
 heavily on her shoulder. '"Take the curb oil'. 
 dear, or I may lose it. Put it in your pocket for 
 me, Kate; that is, if you wear a pocket." 
 
 " Of course I do, godmother. I carry very 
 stout keys in it, too. Look at these." 
 
 " Ay. ay. I liked all that, once on a time, well 
 enough, and used to think you'd be a good thrifty 
 
 wife for a poor man ; hut with the viscount your 
 father, and the young princess your first COUBtn, 
 
 and the devil knows what of your line brother, I 
 
 believe the BooUer we part good fi tends the better; 
 Not but if you like my plan for yon, I'll bej 
 
 ready as ever to aid you." 
 
 " I have not heard the plan yet," said Kate, 
 faintly. 
 
 "Just a nunnery, then — no more nor less than 
 that. The 'Sacred Heart' at Namur, or the Sis- 
 ters of .Mercy here at home in Bagot Street, I he- 
 lieve, if you like better — eh?" 
 
 "It is soon to he able to make up one's mind 
 on such a point. 1 want a little time for this, 
 godmother." 
 
 " You would not want time if your heart were 
 in a holy work. Kate Kearney. It's little time 
 you'd he asking, if I said will you have Gorman 
 
 o'shea f,,r a husband?" 
 
 "There is such a thing as insult. Miss I ►'Shea, 
 and no amount of long intimacy can license 
 that." 
 
 "I ask your pardon, godchild. I wish you 
 could know how sorry I feel." 
 
 '" Say no more, godmother, say no more, I he- 
 seech you," cried Kate, and her tears now gush- 
 ed forth, and relieved her almost bursting heart. 
 '• I'll take this short path through the shrubbery, 
 and he at the door before you," cried she, rush- 
 ing away ; while Miss Hetty, with a sharp touch 
 of the spur, provoked such a plunge as effectual- 
 ly awoke Paddy, and apprised him that his du- 
 ties as groom were soon to he in request. 
 
 While earnestly assuring him that some 
 changes in his diet should he speedily adopted 
 against somnolency. Miss Betty rode briskly on, 
 and reached the hall door. 
 
 "I told you I should he first, godmother," 
 said the girl; and the pleasant ring of her voice 
 showed she had regained lea- spirits, or at leasl 
 such self-control as enabled her to suppress her 
 sorrow. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A DIUIKSTIC DISCUSSION. 
 
 It is a not infrequent distress in small house- 
 holds, especially when some miles from a mar- 
 ket-town, to make adequate preparation for an 
 unexpected guest at dinner; hut even this is a 
 very inferior difficulty to that experienced by 
 those who have to older the repast in conformity 
 with certain rigid notions of a guest who will 
 
 criticise the smallest deviation from the mosl 
 
 bumble standard, and actually rebuke the slight- 
 est pretension to delicacy of food or elegance of 
 
 table equipage. 
 
 No sooner, then, had Kate learned that Misfi 
 
 ( f.shea was to remain for dinner, than she imme- 
 diately set herself to think over all the possible 
 
 reductions that might he made in the fire, and 
 
 all the plainness and simplicity that could be im 
 
 parted to the BeiTice of the meal. 
 
 Napkins had not been the sole reform I I 
 
 ed by the Greek cousin. She had introduced 
 flowers on the table, and so artfully had she deck- 
 ed out the board with fruit and ornamental plant-, 
 that she hail succeeded in effecting by artifice 
 what would have been an egregious failure if more 
 
LORD K1LGOBBIN. 
 
 openly attempted — the service of the dishes, one I 
 by one, to the guests, without any being placed 
 oil the table. These, with finger-glasses, she had 
 already achieved, nor had she in the recesses of 
 her heart given up the hope of seeing the day 
 that her uncle would rise from the table as she 
 did, give her his arm to the drawing-room, and 
 bow profoundly as he left her. Of the inestima- 
 ble advantages, social, intellectual, and moral, of 
 this system, she had indeed been cautious to hold 
 forth ; for, like a great reformer, she was satis- 
 fied to leave her improvements to the slow test 
 of time, " educating her public," as a great au- 
 thority has called it, while she bided the result 
 in patience. 
 
 Indeed, as poor Maurice Kearney was not to be 
 indulged with the luxury of whisky-punch during 
 his dinner, it was not easy to reply to his ques- 
 tion, "When am I to have my tumbler?" as 
 though he evidently believed the aforesaid ' ' tum- 
 bler" was an institution that could not be abro- 
 gated or omitted altogether. 
 
 Coffee in the drawing-room was only a half 
 success so long as the gentlemen sat over their 
 wine ; and as for the daily cigarette Nina smoked 
 with it, Kate, in her simplicity, believed it was 
 only done as a sort of protest at being deserted by : 
 those unnatural protectors who preferred poteen 
 to ladies. 
 
 It was. therefore, in no small perturbation of j 
 mind that Kate rushed to her cousin's room with 
 the awful tidings that Miss Betty had arrived and 
 intended to remain for dinner. 
 
 "Do you mean the odious woman with the 
 boy and bandbox behind her on horseback?" asked 
 Nina, superciliously. 
 
 "Yes, she always travels in that fashion ; she 
 is odd and eccentric in scores of things, but a 
 fine-hearted, honest woman, generous to the poor, 
 and true to her friends." 
 
 " I don't care for her moral qualities, but I do 
 bargain for a little outward decency, and some 
 respect for the world's opinion." 
 
 " You will like her, Nina, when you know her." 
 
 "I shall profit by the warning. I'll take care 
 not to know her." 
 
 "She is one of the oldest, I believe the oldest, 
 friend our family has in the world." 
 
 ' ' What a sad confession, child ! but I have 
 always deplored longevity." 
 
 ' ' Don't be supercilious or sarcastic, Nina, but 
 help me with your own good sense and wise ad- 
 vice. She has not come over in the best of hu- 
 mors. She has, or fancies she has, some differ- 
 ence to settle with papa. They seldom meet 
 without a quarrel, and I fear this occasion is to 
 be no exception ; so do aid me to get things over 
 pleasantly, if it be possible." 
 
 "She snubbed me the only time I met her. I 
 tried to help her oft' with her bonnet, and, unfor- 
 tunately, I displaced, if I did not actually re- 
 move, her wig, and she muttered something 
 ' about a rope-dancer not being a dextrous lady's- 
 maid.'" 
 
 " Oh, Nina, surely you do not mean — " 
 
 " Not that I was exactly a rope-dancer, Kate ; 
 but I had on a Greek jacket that morning of blue 
 velvet and gold, and a white skirt, and perhaps 
 these had some memories of the circus for the 
 old lady.'" 
 
 "You are only jesting now, Nina." 
 
 "Don't you know me well enough to know 
 
 that I never jest when I think, or even suspect, 
 I am injured?" 
 
 "Injured!" 
 
 "It's not the word I wanted, but it will do ; I 
 used it in its French sense." 
 
 "You bear her no malice, I'm sure?" said the 
 other, caressingly. 
 
 "No!" replied she, with a shrug that seemed 
 to deprecate even having a thought about her. 
 
 "She will stay for dinner, and we must, as far 
 as possible, receive her in the way she has been 
 used to here — a very homely dinner, served as she 
 has always seen it — no fruit or flowers on the ta- 
 ble, no claret-cup, no finger-glasses. " 
 
 "I hope no table-cloth; couldn't we have a 
 tray on a corner table, and every one help him- 
 self as he strolled about the room ?" 
 
 " Dear Nina, be reasonable just for this once." 
 
 " I'll come down just as I am, or, better still, 
 I'll take down my hair and cram it into a net ; 
 I'd oblige her with dirty hands, if I only knew how r 
 to do it." 
 
 " I see you only say these things in jest : you 
 really do mean to help me through this diffi- 
 culty." 
 
 " But why a difficulty ? what reason can you 
 offer for all this absurd submission to the whims 
 of a very tiresome old woman ? Is she very rich, 
 and do you expect a heritage ?" 
 
 "No, no ; nothing of the kind." 
 
 " Does she load you with valuable presents ? Is 
 she ever ready to commemorate birthdays and 
 family festivals ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Has she any especial quality or gift beyond 
 riding double and a bad temper ? Oh, I was for- 
 getting ; she is the aunt of her nephew, isn't she 
 — the dashing lancer that was to spend his sum- 
 mer over here ?" 
 
 "You were, indeed, forgetting when you said 
 this," said Kate, proudly, and her face grew scar- 
 let as she spoke. 
 
 "Tell me that you like him or that he likes 
 yon ; tell me that there is something, any thing, 
 between you, child, and I'll be discreet and man- 
 nerly, too ; and more, I'll behave to the old lady 
 with even- regard to one who holds such dear in- 
 terests in her keeping. But don't bandage my 
 eyes, and tell me at the same time to look out 
 and see." 
 
 "I have no confidences to make you," said 
 Kate, coldly. "I came here to ask a favor — a 
 very small favor, after all — and you might have 
 accorded it, without question or ridicule." 
 
 " But which you never need have asked, Kate," 
 said the other, gravely. "You ai - e the mistress 
 here; I am but a very humble guest. Your or- 
 ders are obeyed, as they ought to be ; my sug- 
 gestions may be adopted now and then — partly 
 in caprice, part compliment — but I know they 
 have no permanence, no more take root here than 
 — than myself." 
 
 "Do not say that, my dearest Nina," said 
 Kate, as she threw herself on her neck, and kiss- 
 ed her affectionately again and again. "You 
 are one of us, and we are all proud of it. Come 
 along with me, now, and tell me all that you ad- 
 vise. You know what I wish, and you will for- 
 give me even in my stupidity." 
 
 " Where's your brother?" asked Nina, hastily. 
 
 " Gone out with his gun. He'll not be back till 
 he is certain Miss Betty has taken her departure." 
 
I. OKI) KILCOBBIN. 
 
 .V.) 
 
 "Why did he not offer to take me with him ?" 
 
 "Over the bog, do you moan?" 
 
 •« Any where; Vd not cavil abont the road. 
 Don't yon know that I have days when 'don't 
 care' masters me : when Pd do any tiling, go 
 any where — " 
 
 '•• Marry any one?" said the other, laughing. 
 
 •■ STes ; marry any one. as irresponsibly as it* I 
 was dealing with the destiny of some other that 
 .lid not regard me. On these days I do not be- 
 long to myself, ami this is one of them." 
 
 "I know nothing of such humors, Nina; nor 
 do I believe it a healthy mind that has them." 
 
 "I did not boast of my mind's health, nor tell 
 von to trust to it. Come, let as go down to the 
 dinner-room, and talk that pleasant leg-of-mut- 
 ton talk you know you are fond of." 
 
 "And best fitted for — say that," said Kate, 
 Laughing merrily. 
 
 The other did not seem to have heard her 
 words, for she moved slowly away, calling on 
 Kate to follow her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A SMALL PINXER-rARTY. 
 
 It is sad to have to record that all Kate's per- 
 suasions with her cousin, all her own earnest at- 
 tempts at conciliation, and her ably planned 
 schemes to escape a difficulty, were only so much 
 Labor Lost A stern message from her father 
 commanded her to make no change either in the 
 house or the service of the dinner — an interfer- 
 ence with domestic cares so novel on his part as 
 to show that he had prepared himself for hos- 
 tilities and was resolved to meet his enemy 
 boldly. 
 
 "it'snouse, all Ihavebeen telling you, Nina," 
 said Kate, as she re-entered her room, later in 
 the day. " Papa orders me to have every thing 
 as usual, and won't even let me give Miss Betty 
 an early dinner, though he knows she has nine 
 miles of a ride to reach home." 
 
 '•That explains Bomewhat a message he has 
 sent myself," replied Nina, "to wear my very 
 prettiest toilet and my Greek cap, which he ad- 
 mired so much the other day." 
 
 "I am almost glad that my wardrobe has 
 nothing attractive," said Kate, half sadly. "I 
 certainly shall never be rebuked for my becom- 
 ingness." 
 
 '"And do you mean to say that the old wom- 
 an woidd be rude enough to extend her com- 
 ments to me ?" 
 
 "I have known her do things quite as hardy, 
 though I hope on the present occasion the other 
 novelties may Bhelteryou." 
 
 ••Why isn't your brother here? I should in- 
 sist on his coming down in discreet black, with a 
 white tie, and that look of imposing solemnity 
 young Englishmen assume for dinner." 
 
 "Dick guessed what was coming, and would 
 not encounter it." 
 
 "And yet you tell me you submit to all this 
 for no earthly reason. She can leave you no 
 legacy, contribute in no way to your benefit. 
 She has neither family, fortune, nor connections; 
 and, except her atrocious manners and her in- 
 domitable temper, there is not a tvait of her that 
 claims to he recorded." 
 
 "Oh yes; she rides eapitalh to hounds, and 
 
 huut> her own harriers to perfection." 
 •• I am glad she has one quality that deserves 
 
 your favor." 
 
 "•She has others, too, which I like better than 
 
 what they call accomplishments, she is very 
 
 kind to the poor, never deterred by any sickness 
 from visiting them, and has the same stout-heart- 
 ed courage tor every casualty in life." 
 
 "A commendable gift for a squaw; but what 
 does a gentlewoman want with this same cour- 
 age ?" 
 
 "Look out of the window, Nina, and see 
 where you are Living! Throw your eyes over 
 that great expanse of dark bog, vast as one of 
 the great campagnas you have often described to 
 us, and bethink you how mere loneliness — deso- 
 lation — needs a stout heart to hear it ; how the 
 simple fact that for the long hours of a summer's 
 day. or the longer bonis of a winter's night, a 
 lone woman has to watch and think of all the 
 possible casualties lives of hardship and misery 
 may impel men to. Do you imagine that she 
 does not mark the growing discontent of the 
 people? see their care-worn looks, dashed with a 
 sullen determination, and hear in their voices the 
 rising of a hoarse defiance that was never heard 
 before? Does she not well know that every 
 kindness she has bestowed, every merciful act 
 she has ministered, would weigh for nothing in 
 the balance on the day that she will be arraigned 
 as a land-owner — the receiver of the poor man's 
 rent? And will you tell me, after this, she can 
 dispense with courage?" 
 
 "Bel paese davvero!" muttered the other. 
 "So it is!" cried Kate; "with all its faults, 
 I'd not exchange it for the brightest land that 
 ever glittered in a southern sun. But why should 
 I tell you how jarred and disconcerted we are 
 by laws that have no reference to our ways — con- 
 ferring rights where we were once contented 
 with trustfulness, and teaching men to do every- 
 thing by contract, and nothing by affection, noth- 
 ing by good-w ill ?" 
 
 "No, no; tell me none of all these; but tell 
 me shall I come down in my Suliote jacket of 
 yellow cloth, for I know it becomes me ?" 
 
 •■And if we women had not courage," went 
 on Kate, not heeding the question, "what would 
 our men do? Should we sec them lead lives of 
 bolder daring than the stoutest wanderer in Af- 
 rica ?" 
 
 "And my jacket, and my Theban belt?" 
 "Wear them all. Be as beautiful as you like, 
 but don't be late for dinner." And Kate hurried 
 away before the other could speak. 
 
 When Miss O'Shea, arrayed in a scarlet poplin 
 and a yellow gauze turban— the month being 
 August— arrived in the drawing-room before din- 
 ner, she found no one there — a circumstance that 
 chagrined her so far that she had hurried her 
 toilet and torn one of her -love, in her haste. 
 
 "When they say six for the dinner-hour, thej 
 might surely" lie 'in the drawing-room by that 
 hour," was '.Miss Betty's reflection, a- Bhe turned 
 over bou f the magazines ami circulating-li- 
 brary hooks which sine.- Nina's arrival had found 
 their way to Kilgohbin. The contemptuous man- 
 ner in which -he treated Blackwood and Mac- 
 miUan, and the indignant daBh with which Bhe 
 flung Trollope's last novel down, showed that -he 
 had not been yel corrupted by the light reading 
 
CO 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 of the age. An unopened county newspaper, 
 addressed to the Viscount Kilgobbin, had, how- 
 ever, absorbed all her attention, and she was more 
 than half disposed to possess herself of the envel- 
 ope, when Mr. Kearney entered. 
 
 His bright blue coat and white waistcoat, a 
 profusion of shirt frill, and a voluminous cravat 
 proclaimed dinner dress, and a certain pomposi- 
 ty of manner showed how an unusual costume 
 had imposed on himself, and suggested an impor- 
 tant event. 
 
 "I hope I see Miss O'Shea in good health?" 
 said lie, advancing. 
 
 " How are you, Maurice ?" replied she, dryly. 
 "When I heard that big bell thundering away. 
 I was so afraid to be late that I came down with 
 one bracelet, and I have torn my glove too." 
 
 " It was only the first bell — the dressing-bell,'' 
 he said. 
 
 "Humph! That's something new since I 
 was here la<t." said she, tartly. 
 
 " Yen remind me of how long it is since you 
 dined with us, Miss O'Shea." 
 
 "Well, indeed, Maurice, I meant to be lon- 
 ger, if I must tell the truth. I saw enough the 
 last day I lunched here to show me Kilgobbin 
 was not what it used to be. You were all of you 
 what my poor father — who was always thinking 
 of the dogs — used to call 'on your hind-legs,' 
 walking about very stately and very miserable. 
 There were three or four covered dishes on the 
 table that nobody tasted ; and an old man, in red 
 breeches, ran about in half distraction, and said, 
 ' Sherry, my lord, or Madeira.' Many's the time 
 I laughed over it since." And, as though to 
 vouch for the truth of the mirthfulness, she lay 
 back in her chair, and shook with hearty laughter. 
 
 Before Kearney could reply — for something 
 like a passing apoplexy had arrested his words 
 — the girls entered and made their salutations. 
 
 "If I had the honor of knowing you longer, 
 Miss Costigan," said Miss O'Shea — for it was 
 thus she translated the name Kostalergi — "I'd 
 ask you why you couldn't dress like your cousiu 
 Kate. It may be all very well in the house, and 
 it's safe enough here, there's no denying it ; but 
 my name's not Betty if you'd walk down Kilbeg- 
 gin without a crowd yelling after you and calling 
 names, too, that a respectable young woman 
 wouldn't bargain for; eh, Maurice, is that true ?" 
 
 "There's the dinner-bell now," said Maurice; 
 " may I offer my arm ?" 
 
 " It's thin enough that arm is getting, Maurice 
 Kearney." said she, as he walked along at her 
 side. " Not but it's time, too. You were born 
 in the September of 1809, though your mother 
 used to deny it ; and you're now a year older than 
 your father was when he died." 
 
 "Will you take this place?" said Kearney, 
 placing her chair for her. " We're a small party 
 to-day. I see. Dick does not dine with us." 
 
 " Maybe I hunted him away. The young gen- 
 tlemen of the present day are frank enough to 
 say what they think of old maids. That's very 
 elegant, and I'm sure it's refined," said she, point- 
 ing to the mass of fruit and flowers so tastefully 
 arranged before her. " But I was born in a time 
 when people liked to see what they were going 
 to eat, Maurice Kearney, and as I don't intend 
 to break my fast on a stock-gillyflower, or make 
 a repast of raisins, I prefer the old way. Fill up 
 my glass whenever it's empty," said she to the 
 
 I servant, " and don't bother me with the name of 
 ' it. As long as I know the King's County, and 
 | that's more than fifty years, we've been calling 
 Cape Madeira, sherry!" 
 
 "If we know what we are drinking, Miss 
 O'Shea, I don't suppose it matters much." 
 
 " Nothing at all, Maurice. Calling you the 
 Viscount Kilgobbin, as I read a while ago, won't 
 confuse me about an old neighbor." 
 
 •'Won't you try a cutlet, godmother?" asked 
 Kate, hurriedly. 
 
 "Indeed I will, my dear. I don't know why 
 I was sending the man away. I never saw this 
 way of dining before, except at the poor-house, 
 where each poor creature has his plateful given 
 him. and pockets what he can't eat." And here 
 she laughed long and heartily at the conceit. 
 
 Kearney's good-humor relished the absurdity, 
 and he joined in the laugh, while Nina stared at 
 the old woman as an object of dread and terror. 
 
 "And that boy that wouldn't dine with us — 
 how is he turning out, Maurice ? They tell me 
 he's a bit of a scamp." 
 
 " He's no such thing, godmother ! Dick is as 
 good a fellow and as right-minded as ever lived, 
 and you yourself would be the first to say it, if 
 you saw him," cried Kate, angrily. 
 
 " So would the young lady yonder, if I might 
 judge from her blushes,'' said Miss Betty, looking 
 at Nina. "Not indeed but it's only now I'm re- 
 membering that you're not a boy. That little red 
 cap and that thing you wear round your throat 
 deceived me." 
 
 "It is not the lot of every one to be so fortu- 
 nate in a head-dress as Miss O'Shea," said Nina, 
 very calmly. 
 
 " If it's my wig you are envying me. my dear," 
 replied she, quietly. " there's nothing easier than 
 to have the own brother of it. It was made by 
 Crimp, of Nassau Street, and box and all cost 
 four pound twelve." 
 
 " Upon my life, Miss Betty." broke in Kear- 
 ney. '" you are tempting me to an extravagance." 
 And he passed Ids hand over his sparsely covered 
 head as he spoke. 
 
 "And I would not, if I was you, Maurice 
 Kearney." said she, resolutely. "They tell me 
 that in that House of Lords you are going to 
 more than half of them are bald." 
 
 There was no possible doubt that she meant 
 by this speech to deliver a challenge, and Kate's 
 look, at once imploring and sorrowful, appealed 
 to her for mercy. 
 
 " No, thank you," said Miss Betty, to the serv- 
 ant who presented, a dish. " though, indeed, may- 
 be I'm wrong, for I don't know what's coming." 
 
 "This is the 'menu,'" said Nina, handing a 
 card to her. 
 
 "The bill of fare, godmother," said Kate, 
 hastily. 
 
 " Well, indeed, it's a kindness to tell me : and 
 if there are any more novelties to follow, perhaps 
 you'll be kind enough to inform me, for I never 
 dined in the Greek fashion before." 
 
 " The Russian, I believe, madam, not the 
 Greek," said Nina. 
 
 "With all my heart, my dear. It's about the 
 same, for whatever may happen to Maurice Kear- 
 ney or myself, I don't suspect either of us will go 
 to live at Moscow." 
 
 "You'll not refuse a glass of port with you; 
 cheese ?" said Kearney. 
 
LORD KILGOBBIK 
 
 61 
 
 '• Indeed I will, then, if there's any beer in the 
 house, though perhaps it's too vulgar a liquor to 
 ask for." 
 
 While the beer was being brought, a solemn 
 silence ensued, and a less comfortable party could 
 not easily be imagined. 
 
 When the interval had been so far prolonged 
 that Kearney himself saw the necessity to do 
 something, he placed liis napkin no the table, 
 leaned forward with a half motion of rising, and, 
 addressing Miss Betty, said. "Shall we adjourn 
 to the drawing-room, and take our coffee ?" 
 
 ••I'd rather stay where I am, Maurice Kear- 
 ney, and have that glass of port you offered me 
 a while ago, for the beer was Hat. Not that I'll 
 detain the young people, nor keep yourself away 
 from them very long." 
 
 When the two girls withdrew. Nina's look of 
 insolent triumph at Kate betrayed the tone she 
 was soon to take in treating of the old lady's 
 good manni re. 
 
 "Yon had a very BOrry dinner. Miss Betty, 
 but I can promise you an honest glass of wine," 
 said Kearney, tilling her glass. 
 
 "It's very nice," said she. sipping it, "though, 
 maybe, like myself, it's just a trifle too old." 
 
 •• A good fault. Miss Betty, a good fault." 
 
 ••For the wine, perhaps," said she, dryly; 
 ••hut maybe it would taste better if I had not 
 bought it so dearly." 
 
 •• I don't think I understand you." 
 
 " I wa- about to say that I have forfeited that 
 young lady'- esteem by the way I obtained it. 
 She'll never forgive me, instead of retiring for my 
 Coffee, sitting here like a man — and a man of 
 that old hard-drinking school, Maurice, that has 
 brought all the ruin on Ireland." 
 
 "Here's to their memory, any way," said 
 Kearney, drinking off his glass. 
 
 •• I'll' drink no toasts nor sentiments, Maurice 
 Kearney: and there's no artifice or roguery will 
 make me forget I'm a woman and an O'Shea.'' 
 
 •• Faix, you'll not catch me forgetting either," 
 said Maurice, with a droll twinkle of bis eye, 
 which it was just as fortunate escaped her notice. 
 
 "I doubted for a longtime. Maurice Kearney, 
 whether I'd come over myself, or whether I'd 
 ivrite you a letter ; not that 1 am good at writ- 
 ing, but, somehow, one can put their ideas more 
 clear, and say things in a way that will fix them 
 more in the mind ; but at last I determined I'd 
 come, though it's more than likely it's the last 
 time Kilgobbin will see me here." 
 
 " I sincerely trust you are mistaken, so far." 
 
 "Well, Maurice. I'm not often mistaken. The 
 woman that ha- managed an estate for more than 
 forty years, been her own land-steward and her 
 own law-agent, d n't make a great many blun- 
 ders; and. as I said before, if Maurice lias no 
 friend to tell him the truth among the men of his 
 acquaintance, it's well that there is a woman to 
 the fore who has courage and good sense to go 
 up and do it." 
 
 Looked fixedly at him, as though expecting 
 
 some concurrence in the remark, if not some in- 
 timation to proceed : but neither came, and she 
 coutinued. 
 
 "I suppose you don't read the Dublin news- 
 papers ?" -aid site, civilly. 
 
 '• I do. ami every day the post brings them." 
 "Ton see, therefore, without my telling you, 
 what the world is saying about yon. '> 
 
 how they treat "the ,-eaivh for arm-,' as they 
 
 head it. and • the maid of Saxagossa !' < ih. Mau- 
 rice Kearney! Maurice Kearney! whatever hap- 
 pened the old stock of the land, they never made 
 themselves ridiculous." 
 
 •'lla\e \ou done, .Mi-- Betty?" asked he, 
 with assumed calm. 
 
 '•Done! Why, it's only beginning I am." 
 died she. •' Not but I'd bear a deal of black- 
 guarding from the press ; as the old woman said 
 when the soldier threatened to run his bayonet 
 through her, "Devil thank you, it'- onlv your 
 track'.' But when we come to Bee the head of an 
 old family making ducks and drakes of bis fam- 
 ily property, threatening the old tenant- that have 
 been on the laud as long as his own people, rais- 
 ing the rent here, evicting there, distressing the 
 people's minds when they've just a- much a- the;. 
 can to bear up with — then it's time for an old 
 friend and neighbor to give a timely warning, 
 and cry "stop.' " 
 
 •• Have you done. Miss Betty?" And now his 
 voice was more stent than before. 
 
 " I have not, nor near done, Maurice Kearney. 
 I've said nothing of the way you're bringing up 
 your family — that son, in particular — to make 
 him think himself a young man of fortune, when 
 you know in your heart you'll leave him little 
 more than the mortgages on the estate. I have 
 not told you that it's one of the jokes of the cap- 
 ita] to call him the Honorable Dick Kearney, and 
 to ask him after his father the viscount." 
 
 "You haven't done yet. Miss O'Shea?" said 
 he. now with a thickened voice. 
 
 •• No. not yet," replied she, calmly ; " not yet ; 
 for I'd like to remind you of the way you're be- 
 having to the best of the whole of you — the only 
 one, indeed, that's worth much in the family — 
 your daughter Kate." 
 
 "Well, what have I clone to wrong her?" said 
 he, earned bejond his prudence by so astounding 
 a charge. 
 
 '• The very worst you could do. Maurice Kear- 
 ney; the only mischief it was in your power, may- 
 be. Look at the companion you have given her! 
 Look at the respectable young lady you've brought 
 home to live with your decent child!" 
 
 "You'll not stop?" cried he, almost choking 
 with passion. 
 
 "Not till I've told you why I came here, Mau- 
 rice Kearney ; for I'd beg you to understand it 
 was no interest about yourself or your doings 
 brought me. 1 came to tell you that I mean to 
 be free about an old contract we once made — that 
 I revoke it all. 1 was fool enough to believe that 
 an alliance between our families would have 
 made me entirely happy, and my nephew, Gor- 
 man O'Shea, was brought up to think the same. 
 I have lived to know better. Maurice Kearney : 
 I have lived to see that we don't suit each other 
 at all, and I have come here to declare to v.,n 
 formally that it's all off. No nephew of mine 
 shall ci'mie here for a wife. The heir to Shea's 
 Barn sha'n't bring the mistress of it out of Kil- 
 gobbin ( astle." 
 
 "Trust me for that, old lady." cried 1 
 getting all his good manners in hi- violent pa- 
 
 don. 
 
 "You'll be all the freer to catch a young aid- 
 
 de-camp from the Castle," said Bhe, sneeringly; 
 
 ••or maybe, indeed, a young lord — a rank equal 
 to your own." 
 
e,2 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 "Haven't you said enough?" screamed he, 
 wild with rage. 
 
 ' ' No, nor half, or you wouldn't he standing 
 there wringing your hands with passion, and your 
 hair bristling like a porcupine. You'd be at my 
 feet, Maurice Kearney — ay, at my feet. " 
 
 " So I would, Miss Betty," chimed he in, with 
 a malicious grin, "if I was only sure you'd be 
 as cruel as the last time I knelt there. Oh dear! 
 oh dear ! and to think that I once wanted to mar- 
 ry that woman !" 
 
 "That you did! You'd have put your hand 
 in the fire to win her." 
 
 " By my conscience, I'd have put myself alto- 
 gether there, if I had won her." 
 
 "You understand now, Sir," said she, haugh- 
 tily, "that there's no more between us." 
 
 "Thank God for the same!" ejaculated he, 
 fervently. 
 
 "And that no nephew of mine comes courting 
 a daughter of yours ?" 
 
 ' ' For his own sake, he'd better not. " 
 
 "It's for his own sake I intend it, Maurice 
 Kearney. It's of himself I'm thinking. And now 
 thanking you for the pleasant evening I've passed, 
 and your charming society, I'll take my leave." 
 
 "I hope you'll not rob us of your company till 
 you take a dish of tea," said he, with well- feigned 
 politeness. 
 
 ' ' It's hard to tear one's self away, Mr. Kear- 
 ney ; but it's late already. " 
 
 " Couldn't we induce you to stop the night, 
 Miss Betty ?" asked he, in a tone of insinuation. 
 " Well, at least you'll let me ring to order your 
 horse ?" 
 
 " You may do that, if it amuses you, Maurice 
 Kearney; but, meanwhile, I'll just do what I've 
 always done in the same place — I'll just go look 
 for my own beast and see her saddled myself; 
 and as Peter Gill is leaving you to-morrow, I'll 
 take him back with me to-night." 
 
 " Is he going to you ?" cried he, passionately. 
 
 "He's going to me, Mr. Kearney, with your 
 leave, or without it, I don't know which I like 
 best." And with this she swept out of the room, 
 while Kearney closed his eyes and lay back in 
 his chair, stunned and almost stupefied. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A CONFIDENTIAL TALK. 
 
 Dick Kearney walked the bog from early 
 morning till dark without firing a shot. The 
 snipe rose almost at his feet, and, wheeling in 
 circles through the air, dipped again into some 
 dark crevice of the waste, unnoticed by him. 
 One thought only possessed, and never left him, 
 as he went. He had overheard Nina's words to 
 his sister as he made his escape over the fence, 
 and learned how she promised to " spare him ;" 
 and that if not worried about him, or asked to 
 pledge herself, she should be "merciful," and 
 not entangle the boy in a hopeless passion. 
 
 He would have liked to have scoffed at the in- 
 solence of this speech, and treated it as a trait of 
 overweening vanity : he would have gladly ac- 
 cepted her pit}' as a sort of challenge, and said. 
 "Be it so : let us see who will come safest out of 
 this encounter," and yet he felt in his heart he 
 could not. 
 
 First of all, her beauty had really dazzled him, 
 and the thousand graces of a manner of which 
 he had known nothing captivated and almost be- 
 wildered him. He could not reply to her in the 
 same tone he used to any other. If he fetched 
 her a book or a chair, he gave it with a sort of 
 deference that actually reacted on himself, and 
 made him more gentle and more courteous, 
 for the time. "What would this influence end 
 in making me ?" was his question to himself. 
 " Should I gain in sentiment or feeling ? Should 
 I have higher and nobler aims? Should I be 
 any thing of that she herself described so glow- 
 ingly, or should I only sink to a weak desire to 
 be her slave, and ask for nothing better than 
 some slight recognition of my devotion? I take 
 it that she would say the choice lay with her, 
 and that I should be the one or the other as she 
 willed it, and though I would give much to be- 
 lieve her wrong, my heart tells me that I can not. 
 I came down here resolved to resist any influence 
 she might attempt to have over me. " Her like- 
 ness showed me how beautiful she was, but it 
 could not tell me the dangerous fascination of her 
 low liciuid voice, her half-playful, half-melancholy 
 smile, and that bewitching walk, with all its 
 stately grace, so that every fold as she moves 
 sends its own thrill of ecstasy. And now that I 
 know all these, see and feel them, I am told that 
 to me they can bring no hope ! That I am too 
 poor, too ignoble, too undistinguished, to raise my 
 eyes to such attraction. I am nothing, and must 
 live and die nothing. 
 
 " She is candid enough, at all events. There 
 is no rhapsody' about her when she talks of pov- 
 erty. She chronicles every stage of the misery, 
 as though she had felt them all ; and how un- 
 like it she looks ! There is an almost insolent 
 well-being about her that puzzles me. She will 
 not heed this, or suffer that, because it looks 
 mean. Is this the subtle worship she offers 
 Wealth, and is it thus she offers up her prayer to 
 Fortune ? 
 
 "But why should she assume I must be her 
 slave ?" cried he aloud, in a sort of defiance. " I 
 have shown her no such preference, nor made 
 any advances that would show I want to win her 
 favor. Without denying that she is beautiful, is 
 it so certain it is the kind of beauty I admire? 
 She has scores of fascinations — I do not deny it ; 
 but should I say that I trust her ? And if I 
 should trust her, and love her too, where must it 
 all end in ? I do not believe in her theory that 
 love will transform a fellow of my mould into a 
 hero, not to say that I have my own doubt if she 
 herself believes it. I wonder if Kate, reads her 
 more clearly ? Girls so often understand each 
 other by traits we have no clew to ; and it was 
 Kate who asked her, almost in tone of entreaty. 
 ' to spare me,' to save me from a hopeless passion, 
 just as though I were some peasant-boy who had 
 set his affection on a princess. Is that the way, 
 then, the world would read our respective condi- 
 tions ? The son of a ruined house or the guest 
 of a beggared family leaves little to choose be- 
 tween! Kate — the world — would call my lot 
 the better of the two. The man's chance is not 
 irretrievable, at least such is the theory. Those 
 half-dozen fellows, who in a century or so con- 
 trive to work their way up to something, make a 
 sort of precedent, and tell the others what the" 
 might be if they but knew how. 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 68 
 
 " I'm not vain enough to suppose I an one of 
 these, and it is quite plain that she does not think 
 me bo." He pondered long over this thought, 
 and then suddenly cried aloud, " Is it possible 
 she may read Joe Atlee in this fashion? is that 
 the stuff out of which she hopes to make a hero?" 
 There was more bitterness in this thought than 
 he had first imagined, and there was that of 
 jealousy in it. too, that pained him deeply. 
 
 Had she preferred either of the two English- 
 men to himself, he eould have understood ami, 
 
 in a measure, accepted it. They were, as he 
 called them, "swells." They might become, he 
 
 knew not what. The career of the Saxon in 
 fortune was a thing incommensurable by Irish 
 
 ideas : hut Joe was like himself, or in reality less 
 than himself, in worldly advantages. 
 
 This pang of jealousy was very hitter; but 
 still it served to stimulate him and rouse him 
 from a depression that was gaining fast upon 
 him. It is true, he remembered she had spoken 
 slightingly of Joe Atlee. Called him noisy, pre- 
 tentious, even vulgar; snubbed him openly on 
 more than one occasion, and seemed to like to 
 turn the laugh against him ; hut with all that 
 she hail sung duets with him. corrected some 
 Italian verses he wrote, and actually made a lit- 
 tle sketeh in his note-book for him as a souve- 
 nir. A souvenir ! and of what ? Not of the 
 ridicule she had turned upon him ; not the jest 
 she had made upon his boastfulness. Now which 
 of these two did this argue? was this levity, or 
 was it falsehood? Was she so little mindful of 
 honesty that she would show these signs of favor 
 to one she held most cheaply, or was it that her 
 distaste to this man was mere pretense, and only 
 assumed to deceive others? 
 
 After all. doe Atlee was a nobody; flattery 
 might call him an adventurer, hut he was not 
 even so much. Among the men of the dan- 
 gerous party he mixed with he was careful never 
 to compromise himself. He might write the 
 songs of rebellion, hut he was little likely to tam- 
 per with treason it-elf. So much he would tell 
 her when he got hack. Not angrily, nor pas- 
 sionately — for that would hetray him and dis- 
 close his jealousy — hut in the tone of a man re- 
 vealing something he regretted — confessing to the 
 blemish of one he would have liked hotter to 
 speak well of. There was not, he thought, any 
 thing unfair in this. He was hut warning her 
 against a man who was unworthy of her. Un- 
 worthy of her! What words could express the 
 disparity between them? Not hut if she liked 
 him — and this he said with a certain bitterness 
 — or thought she liked him, the disproportion al- 
 ready ceased to exist. 
 
 Hour after hour of that long summer day he 
 walked, revolving such thoughts as these; all 
 his conclusions tending to the one point, that 
 /"• was not the easy victim she thought him, and 
 
 that, come what might, /»- should not he offered 
 up as a sacrifice to her worship of doe Atlee. 
 
 •• There i- nothing would gratify the fellow's 
 vanity," thought he, " like a BUCCessfdl rivalry 
 of him. Tell him he was preferred to me, anil 
 he would he ready to fall down and worship 
 whoever had made the choice." 
 
 By dwelling on all the possible and impossible 
 issues of such an attachment, he had at length 
 convinced himself of its existence, and even 
 more, persuaded himself to fancy it was some- 
 
 thing to he regretted and grieved over for world- 
 ly considerations, hut not in any way regarded 
 
 as personally unpleasant 
 
 A- he came in sight of home and saw a lighl 
 in the small tower where Kate's hedroom lay, he 
 
 determined he would go up to his sister and tell 
 
 her so much of his mind as he believed was final- 
 ly settled, and in such a way as would certainly 
 lead her to repeat it to Nina. 
 
 "Kate shall tell her that it' I have left her 
 
 suddenly ami gone hack to Trinity to keep mj 
 
 term. I ha\e not lied the field in a moment of 
 
 faint-heartedness. I do not deny her beauty. I 
 
 do not disparage one of her attraction-:, and Bhe 
 has scores of them. I will not even say that 
 when I have sat beside her, heard her low soft 
 voice, and watched the tremor of that lovely 
 mouth vibrating with wit or tremulous with feel 
 ing, I have been all indifference; hut this I will 
 say, she shall not number /»< among the victims 
 of her fascinations ; and when she counts the 
 trinkets on her wrist that record the hearts she 
 has broken — a pastime I once witnessed — not one 
 of them shall record the initial of Dick Kearney." 
 
 "With these brave words he mounted the nar- 
 row- stair and knocked at his sister's door. No 
 answer coming, he knocked again, and after wait- 
 ing a few seconds he slowly opened the door and 
 saw that Kate, still dressed, had thrown herself 
 on her bed, and was sound asleep. The table 
 was covered with account-hooks and papers : 
 tax receipts, law notices, and tenants' letters lay 
 littered about, showing what had been the task 
 die was last engaged on ; and her heavy breathing 
 told the exhaustion which it had left behind it. 
 
 " I wish I could help her with her work," 
 muttered he to himself, as a pang of self-re- 
 proach shot through him. This certainly should 
 have been his own task rather than hers ; the 
 question was, however, Could he have done it? 
 And this doubt increased as he looked over the 
 long column of tenants' names, whose holdings 
 varied in every imaginable quantity of acres, 
 roods, and perches. Besides these there were 
 innumerable small details of allowances for this 
 and compensation for that. This one had given 
 so many days' horse-and-car hire at the bog ; 
 that other had got advances "in seed potatoes;" 
 such a one had a claim for reduced rent, b 
 the mill-race had overflowed and deluged his 
 wheat crop; such another had fed two pigs of 
 " the lord's" and fattened them, while himself 
 and his own were nigh starving. 
 
 Through an entire column there was not one 
 case without its complication, either in the shape 
 of argument for increased liability, or claim for 
 
 compensation. It was make-shifl every where, 
 and Dick could not hut ask himself whether any 
 tenant on the estate really knew how far he was 
 hopelessly in debt or a solvent man. it only 
 needed l'eter GUI's peculiar mode of collectinj 
 
 the moneys due, and recording the payment h\ 
 the notched stick, to make the complication per 
 feet; and there, indeed, upon the table, amidst 
 accounts, and bills, and sale-warrants, lay the 
 memorable bits of wood thorn-elves, as that wor- 
 thy steward had deposited them before quitting 
 
 hi- master's service. 
 
 Peter's character, too, written out in Kate's 
 hand, and only awaiting her father's signature, 
 was on the table— the first intimation Dick Kear- 
 ney had that old Gill had quitted hi- po-t. 
 
64 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 "All this must have occurred to-day," thought 
 Dick : "there were no evidences of these changes 
 when I left this morning. Was it the back- 
 water of my disgrace, I wonder, that has over- 
 whelmed poor Gill ?" thought he ; " or can I de- 
 tect Miss Betty's fine Roman hand in this inci- 
 dent ?" 
 
 In proportion to the little love he bore Miss 
 
 him as he read them, indicating as they did her 
 difficulty, if not utter incapacity, to deal with the 
 condition of the estate. Thus : 
 
 " There is no warranty for this concession. It 
 can not be continued." — "The notice in this case 
 was duly served, and Gill knows that it was to 
 papa's generosity they were indebted for remnin- 
 ing." — " These arrears have never been paid ; u.i 
 
 O'Shea, were his convictions the stronger that she 
 was the cause of all mischief. She was one of 
 those who took very " utilitarian" notions of his 
 own career, and he bore her small gratitude for 
 the solicitude. There were short sentences in 
 pencil along the margin of the chief book in 
 Kate's handwriting which could not fail to strike 
 
 that point I am positive!" — "Malone's holding 
 was not fairly measured ; he has a just claim to 
 compensation, and shall have it." — "Hannigari's 
 right to tenancy must not be disputed, but can 
 not be used as a precedent by others on the same 
 part of the estate, and I will state why." — " More 
 of Peter Gill's conciliatory policy ! The Regans, 
 
LORD KLLGOBBIN. 
 
 for having been twice in jail, and once indicted, 
 and nearly convicted of Wbbonism, have estab- 
 lished a claim to live ten! free ! This I will 
 promise to rectify." — " 1 shall make no more al- 
 lowances for improvements without a guarantee, 
 and a penalty besides on non-completion." 
 
 Ami la>t of all came these ominous words: 
 '"It will thus In- seen thai our rent-roll since 
 
 '64 has been progressively decreasing, ami that 
 we have only been able to supply oar expenses by 
 sales of property. Dick must he spoken to on 
 
 this, and at once." 
 
 Several entries had been already rubbed out, 
 ami it was clear that she had been occupied in 
 the task of erasiou on that very night Poor 
 girl ! her sleep was the heavy repose of one ut- 
 terly exhausted : and her closely clasped lips and 
 corrugated brow showed in what frame of intense 
 thought she had sunk to rest. He closed the 
 book noiselessly as he looked at her, replaced the 
 
 various objects on the table, ami rose to steal 
 quietly away. 
 
 The accidental movement of a chair, however, 
 startled her ; she turned, and leaning on her el- 
 bow, she saw him as he tried to move away. 
 " Don't go, Dick; don't go. I'm awake, and 
 quite fresh again. Is it late?" 
 
 '•It's not far from one o'clock," said he, half 
 roughly, to hide his emotion ; for her worn ami 
 wearied features struck him now more forcibly 
 than when she slept. 
 
 " And are you only returned now ? How hun- 
 gry you must be ! Poor fellow — have you dined 
 to-day ?" 
 
 '• Yes; I got to Owen MoIIoy's as they were 
 straining the potatoes, and sat down with them, 
 and ate very heartily, too." 
 
 " Weren't they proud of it? Won't they tell 
 how the young lord shared their meal with them ?" 
 
 " I don't think they are as cordial as they used 
 to be, Kate; they did not talk so openly, nor seem 
 at their ease, as I once knew them. And they 
 did one thing significant enough in its way, that 
 I did not like. They quoted the county newspa- 
 )< sr twice or thrice when we talked of the land." 
 
 "I am aware of that, Dick; they have got 
 other counselors than their landlords now," said 
 -he. mournfully, "and it is our own fault if they 
 have." 
 
 •• What, are you turning nationalist, Kitty ?" 
 said he, laughing. 
 
 "I was always a nationalist in one sense," said 
 she', "and mean to continue so; but let us not 
 get upon this theme. Do vou know that Peter 
 Gill has left us?" 
 
 •■ What, for America?' 1 
 
 '• No; for 'O'Shea's Barn.' Miss Betty has 
 taken him. .She came here to-day to ' have it 
 out' with' papa, as Bhe said ; and she has kept 
 her word. Indeed, not alone with him, but with 
 all of us — even Nina did not escape." 
 
 " Insufferable old woman ! What did she dare 
 to Bay to Nina ?" 
 
 '•she got off the cheapest of us all. Dick," 
 said she, laughing. " It was only some Btupid 
 
 remark she made her about looking like a boy. or 
 being dressed like a rope-dancer. A small civil- 
 ity of this BOTt was her share of the general at- 
 tention." 
 
 •• And how did Nina take the insolence?" 
 
 '•With great good-temper, or good-breeding. 
 
 I don't know exactly which covered the indiffer- 
 E 
 
 ence she displayed, till Miss Betty, when Caking 
 
 her leave, renewed the impertinence in the hall 
 by saying something about tin' triumphant suc- 
 cess such a COBtnme Would achieve in the circus, 
 
 wIimi Nina courtesied, ami said, '1 am charmed 
 
 to hear you say so, madam, and shall wear it for 
 my benefit; and, if I could onlv secure the ap 
 
 pearance of yourself ami your little groom, my 
 
 triumph would be, indeed, complete.' I did not 
 dare to wait for more, but hurried out to aifect to 
 busy myself with the saddle, and pretend that it 
 was not tightly girthed." 
 
 "I'd have given twenty pounds, if I had it, to 
 have seen the old woman's face. No one ever 
 ventured before to pay her back with her own 
 money." 
 
 " But I give you such a wrong version of it, 
 Dick. I only convey the coarseness of the re- 
 joinder, and I can give you no idea of the inef- 
 fable grace and delicacy which made her words 
 sound like a humble apology. Her eyelids 
 drooped as she courtesied, and when she looked 
 up again, in a way that seemed humility itself, to 
 have reproved her would have appeared down- 
 right cruelty." 
 
 " She is a finished coquette," said he, bitterly ; 
 "a finished coquette." 
 
 Kate made no answer, though he evidently ex- 
 pected one; and after waiting a while he went 
 on. "Not but her high accomplishments are 
 , clean thrown away in such a place as this, and 
 ' among such people. What chance of fitting ex- 
 ercise have they with my father or myself'/ ( );• 
 is it on Joe Atlee she would try the range of her 
 artillery ?" 
 
 " Not so very impossible this, after all," mut- 
 tered Kate, quietly. 
 
 '• What ! and is it to that her high ambitions 
 tend ? Is he the prize she would strive to win ?" 
 
 "I can be no guide to you in this matter, 
 Dick. She makes no confidences with me, and 
 of myself I see nothing." 
 
 " You have, however, some influence over her." 
 
 " No ; not much." 
 
 " I did not say much ; but enough to induce 
 her to yield to a strong entreaty, as when, for 
 instance, you implored her to spare your brother 
 — that poor fellow about to fall so hopelessly in 
 love — " 
 
 " I'm not sure that my request did not come 
 too late, after all," said she, with a laughing mal- 
 ice in her eye. 
 
 " Don't be too sure of that," retorted he, almost 
 
 fiercely. 
 
 " Oh, I never bargained for what you might do 
 in a moment of passion or resentment." 
 
 " There is neither one nor the other here. I 
 am perfectly cool, calm, and collected, and I tell 
 
 you this, that whoever your pretty Greek friend is 
 
 to make a fool of, it shall not be Dick Kearney." 
 " It might be very nice fooling, all the same. 
 Dick." 
 
 " I know — that is,. I believe I know — what you 
 mean. Vou have listened In some of those high 
 heroics she ascends to in Bhowing what the exal- 
 tation of a great passion can make of any man who 
 
 has ;1 breast capable of emotion, and you want to 
 see the experiment tried in its least favorable con- 
 ditions, on a cold, soulless, selfish fellow of my 
 own older; but, take my word for it, Kate, i: 
 
 would prove a si i' lo-s of time to u- both. 
 
 Whatever she might make of me, it would not be 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 a hero ; and whatever I should strive for, it would 
 not be her love." 
 
 " I don't think I'd say that if I were a man." 
 
 He made no answer to these words, but arose 
 and walked the room with hasty steps. " It was 
 not about these things I came here to talk to you, 
 Kitty," said he, earnestly. " I had my head full 
 of other things, and now I can not remember 
 them. Only one occurs to me. Have you got 
 any money ? I mean a mere trifle — enough to 
 pay my fare to town ?" 
 
 " To be sure I have that much, Dick ; but you 
 are surely not going to leave us ?" 
 
 " Yes. I suddenly remembered I must be up 
 for the last day of term in Trinity. Knocking 
 about here — I'll scarcely say amusing myself — I 
 had forgotten all about it. Atlee used to jog my 
 memory on these things when he was near me, 
 and now, being away, I have contrived to let the 
 whole escape me. You can help me, however, 
 with a few pounds ?" 
 
 "I have got five of my own, Dick ; but if you 
 want more — " 
 
 " No, no ; I'll borrow the five of your own, and 
 don't blend it with more, or I may cease to regard 
 it as a debt of honor." 
 
 " And if you should, my poor dear Dick — " 
 
 "I'd be only pretty much what I have ever 
 been, but scarcely wish to be any longer," and he 
 added the last words in a whisper. " It's only 
 to be a brief absence, Kitty," said he, kissing her ; 
 " so say good-by for me to the others, and that I 
 shall be soon back again." 
 
 " Shall I kiss Nina for you, Dick?" 
 
 " Do ; and tell her that I gave you the same 
 commission for Miss O'Shea, and was grieved that 
 both should have been done by deputy!" 
 
 And with this he hurried away. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A HAP-HAZARD VICEROY. 
 
 When the Government came into office, they 
 were sorely puzzled where to find a lord-lieuten- 
 ant for Ireland. It is, unhappily, a post that the 
 men most fitted for generally refuse, while the 
 Cabinet is besieged by a class of applicants whose 
 highest qualification is a taste for mock royalty 
 combined with an encumbered estate. 
 
 Another great requisite, besides fortune and a 
 certain amount of ability, was at this time looked 
 for. The Premier was about, as newspapers call 
 it "to inaugurate a new policy," and he wanted a 
 man who knew nothing about Ireland ! Now, it 
 might be carelessly imagined that here was one 
 of those essentials very easily supplied. Any man 
 frequenting club-life or dining out in town could 
 have safely pledged himself to tell off a score or 
 two of eligible viceroys, so far as this qualification 
 went. The minister, however, wanted more than 
 mere ignorance : he wanted that sort of indiffer- 
 ence on which a character for impartiality could 
 so easily be constructed. Not alone a man un- 
 acquainted with Ireland, but actually incapable 
 of being influenced by an Irish motive or affect- 
 ed by an Irish view of any thing. 
 
 Good luck would have it that he met such a 
 man at dinner. He was an embassador at Con- 
 stantinople, on leave from his post, and so utter- 
 ly dead to Irish topics as to be uncertain whether 
 
 O'Donovan Rossa was a Fenian or a queen's coun- 
 sel, and whether he whom he had read of as the 
 "Lion of Judah"was the king of beasts or the 
 Archbishop of Tuam ! 
 
 The minister was pleased with his new ac- 
 quaintance, and talked much to him, and long. 
 He talked well, and not the less well that his list- 
 ener was a fresh audience, who heard every thing 
 for the first time, and with all the interest that at- 
 taches to a new topic. Lord Danesbury was, in- 
 deed, that " sheet of white paper" the head of the 
 Cabinet had long been searching for, and he 
 hastened to inscribe him with the characters he 
 wished. 
 
 "You must go to Ireland for me, my lord," 
 said the minister. " I have met no one as yet 
 so rightly imbued with the necessities of the sit- 
 uation. You must be our viceroy." 
 
 Now, though a very high post and with great 
 surroundings, Lord Danesbury had no desire to 
 exchange his position as an embassador, even to 
 become a lord-lieutenant. Like most men who 
 have passed their lives abroad, he grew to like 
 the ways and habits of the Continent. He liked 
 the easy indulgences in many things, he liked the 
 cosmopolitanism that surrounds existence, and 
 even in its littleness is not devoid of a certain 
 breadth ; and best of all, he liked the vast inter- 
 ests at stake, the large questions at issue, the for- 
 tunes of States, the fate of Dynasties ! To come 
 down from the great game, as played by kings 
 and kaisers, to the small traffic of a local govern- 
 ment, wrangling over a road^bill or disputing over 
 a harbor, seemed too horrible to confront, and 
 he eagerly begged the minister to allow him to 
 return to his post, and not risk a hard-earned 
 reputation on a new and untried career. 
 
 " It is precisely from the fact of its being new 
 and untried I need you," was the reply, and his 
 denial was not accepted. 
 
 Refusal was impossible ; and, with all the re- 
 luctance a man consents to what his convictions 
 are more opposed to even than his reasons, Lord 
 Danesbury gave in, and accepted the viceroyalty 
 of Ireland. 
 
 He was deferential to humility in listening to 
 the great aims and noble conceptions of the mighty 
 minister, and pledged himself — as he could safely 
 do — to become as plastic as wax in the powerful 
 hands which were about to remodel Ireland. 
 
 He was gazetted in due course, went over to 
 Dublin, made a State entrance, received the usual 
 deputations, complimented every one, from the 
 Provost of Trinity College to the Chief Commis- 
 sioner of Pipewater ; praised the coast, the cor- 
 poration, and the city ; declared that he had at 
 length reached the highest goal of his ambition ; 
 entertained the high dignitaries at dinner; and 
 the week after retired to his ancestral seat in 
 North Wales, to recruit after his late fatigue, and 
 throw off the effects of that damp, moist climate 
 which already, he fancied, had affected him. 
 
 He had been sworn in with every solemnity of 
 the occasion ; he had sat on the throne of state, 
 named the officers of his household, made a mas- 
 ter of the horse, and a state steward, and a grand 
 chamberlain; and, till stopped by hearing that 
 he could not create ladies and maids of honor, he 
 fancied himself every inch a king ; but now that 
 he had got over to the tranquil quietude of his 
 mountain home, his thoughts went away to the 
 old channels, and he began to dream of the Rus- 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 67 
 
 dans in tlic Balkan and the Greeks in Thessaly. 
 
 Of all the precious schemes thai had taken him 
 
 months to weave, what was to comeof then now ' 
 
 How and with what would his successor, whoever 
 
 he should be, oppose the rogueries of Sumayloff 
 
 or the chicanery oflgnatief ; what would any man 
 not trained to the especial watchfulness of this 
 
 subtle game know of the steps by which men ad- 
 vanced ? Who was to watch Bulgaria, and see 
 how far Kussian gold was embellishing the life of 
 Athens? There was not a hungry agent that 
 lounged about the Kussian embassy in Greek pet- 
 ticoats and pistols whose photograph the English 
 embassador did not possess, with a biographical 
 note at the hack to tell the fellow's name and 
 birth place, what lie was meant for and what he 
 cost. Of every interview of his countrymen with 
 the Grand Vizier lie was kept fully informed: and 
 whether a forage magazine was established on the 
 Pruth, or a new frigate laid down at Nikolaief, j 
 the news reached him by the time it arrived at i 
 St. Petersburg. It is true he was aware how ] 
 hopeless it was to write home about these things. 
 The embassador who writes disagreeable dispatch- 
 es is a bore or an old woman. He who dares to 
 shake the security by which we daily boast we are 
 surrounded is an alarmist, if not worse. Not- 
 withstanding this, he held his cards well "up," 
 and played them shrewdly. And now he was to 
 turn from this crafty game, with all its excite- 
 ment, to pore over constabulary reports and snub 
 justices of the peace ! 
 
 But there was worse than this. There was an 
 Albanian spy, who hail been much employed by 
 him of late, a clever fellow, with access to socie- 
 ty, and great facilities for obtaining information. 
 Seeing that Lord Danesbury should not return 
 to the embassy, would this fellow go over to the 
 enemy ? If so. there were no words for the mis- 
 chief he might effect. By a subordinate position 
 in a (ireek government office, he had often been 
 selected to convey dispatches to Constantinople, 
 and it was in this way his lordship first met him ; 
 and as the fellow frankly presented himself with 
 a very momentous piece of news, he at once 
 showed how he trusted to British faith not to be- 
 tray him. It was not alone the incalculable mis- 
 chief such a man might do by change of alle- 
 giance, but the whole fabric on which Lord Danes- 
 bury s reputation rested was in this man's keep- 
 ing; and of all that wondrous prescience on which 
 he used to pride himself before the world, all the 
 skill with which he baffied an adversary, and all 
 the tact with which he overwhelmed a colleague, 
 this Bame " Speridionides'' could give the secret 
 and Bhow the trick. 
 
 How much more constantly, then, did his lord- 
 ship's thoughts revert to the Bosphorus than the 
 Liffey ! All this home news was mean, common- 
 place, and vulgar. The whole drama — scenery, j 
 actors, plot — all were low and ignoble ; and as 
 for this '• something that was to be done for Ire- 
 land," it would of course be some slowly germi- 
 nating policy to take root now, and blossom in 
 another half century : one of those blessed parlia- 
 mentary enactments which men who dealt in he. 
 roic remedies like himself regarded as the chronic 
 placebo of tbe political quack. 
 
 •" I am well aware.'' cried he. aloud, " for what 
 they are sending me over. I am to ' make a 
 case' in Ireland tor a political legislation, and the 
 bill is already drawn and ready ; and while I am 
 
 demonstrating to Irish Churchmen that they will 
 
 In' more pious without a religion, and the land- 
 lords richer without rent, the Russians will be 
 
 mounting guard at tin- Golden Horn, and the 
 last British squadron Bteamingdown the Levant.'' 
 It was in a temper kindled by these reflections 
 he wrote this note: 
 
 "PLMNunnia Castle, Nobtii Walks. 
 
 "Dear WaIPOLB, — I can make nothing out 
 of the papers you have sen1 me; nor am I able to 
 discriminate between what you admit to be news- 
 paper slander and the attack on the castle with 
 the unspeakable name. At all events, your account 
 is far too graphic for the Treasury lords, who 
 have less of the pictorial about them than Mr. 
 Mudie's subscribers. If the Irish peasants are so 
 impatient to assume their rights that they will not 
 wait for the " Ilatt-lloumaiotin,"or Bill in Par- 
 liament that is to endow them, I suspect a little 
 farther show of energy might save us a debate 
 and a third reading. I am, however, for more 
 eager for news from Therapia. Tolstai has been 
 twice over with dispatches: and Boustikoff, pre- 
 tending to have sprained his ankle, can not leave 
 Odessa, though I have ascertained that he has 
 laid down new lines of fortification, and walked 
 oxer twelve miles per day. You may have heard 
 of the great 'Speridionides,' a scoundrel that 
 supplied me with intelligence. I should like 
 much to get him over here while I am on my 
 leave, confer with him, and, if possible, save him 
 from the necessity of other engagements. It is not 
 every one could be trusted to deal with a man of 
 this stamp, nor would the fellow himself easily 
 hold relations with any but a gentleman. Are 
 you sufficiently recovered from your sprained arm 
 to undertake this journey for me? If so, come 
 over at once, that I may give you all necessa- 
 ry indications as to the man and his where- 
 abouts. 
 
 " Maude has been ' on the sick-list,' but is bet- 
 ter, and able to ride out to-day. I can not till 
 the law appointments till I go over, nor shall I go 
 over till I can not help it. The Cabinet is scat- 
 tered over the Scotch lakes. C. alone in town, 
 and preparing for the War Ministry by practicing 
 the goose-step. Telegraph, if possible, that you 
 are coming, and believe me yours, 
 
 "Danesbury." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 TWO FRIENDS AT BREAKFAST. 
 
 Irishmen may reasonably enough travel for 
 climate ; they need scarcely go abroad in search 
 of scenery. Within even a very short distance 
 from the capital there are landscapes which, for 
 form, outline, and color, equal some of the mosl 
 celebrated spots of Continental beauty. 
 
 One of these is the view from Bray Head met 
 the wide expanse of the bay of Dublin, with 
 Howth and Lambay in the far distance. Nearer 
 at band lies the sweep of that graceful shore to 
 Killiney, with the Dnlkey Islands dotting thecalm 
 sea ; while inland, in wild confusion, arc grouped 
 
 the Wicklow Mountains, massive with wood and 
 teeming with a rich luxuriance. 
 
 When BOIllighl and BtUlriesfl spread color over 
 the blue mirror of the sen —as is essential to the 
 
68 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 scene — I know of nothing, not even Naples or 
 Amalfi, can surpass this marvelous picture. 
 
 It was on a terrace that commanded this view 
 that Walpole and Atlce sat at breakfast on a calm 
 autumnal morning ; the white-sailed boats scarce- 
 ly creeping over their shadows; and the whole 
 scene, in its silence and softened effect, presenting 
 a picture of almost rapturous tranquillity. 
 
 " With half a dozen days like this," said At- 
 lee, as he smoked his cigarette in a sort of lan- 
 guid grace, "one would not say O'Connell was 
 wrong in his glowing admiration for Irish scen- 
 ery. If I were to wake every day for a week to 
 this, I suspect I should grow somewhat crazy 
 myself about the green island." 
 
 "And dash the description with a little trea- 
 son too," said the other, superciliously. " I have 
 always remarked the ingenious connection with 
 which Irishmen bind up a love of the picturesque 
 witli a hate of the Saxon. " 
 
 "Why not? they are bound together in the 
 same romance. Can you look on the l'arthenon 
 and not think of the Turk?" 
 
 " Apropos of the Turk," said the other, laying 
 his hand on a folded letter which lay before him, 
 "here's a long letter from Lord Danesbury about 
 that wearisome 'Eastern question,' as they call 
 the ten thousand issues that await solution on 
 the Bosphorus. Do you take interest in these 
 things?" 
 
 "Immensely. After I have blown myself 
 with a sharp burst on Home politics I always 
 t:ike a canter among the Druses and the Leba- 
 1 ites ; and I am such an authority on the ' Grand 
 idea' that Kansgabe refers to me as 'the illus- 
 trious statesman whose writings relieve England 
 from the stain of universal ignorance about 
 Greece.' " 
 
 " And do you know any thing on the subject ?" 
 
 "About as much as the present cabinet does 
 of Ireland. I know all the clap-traps : the grand 
 traditions that have sunk down into a present 
 barbarism — of course through ill government ; 
 the noble instincts depraved by gross ill usage. 
 I know the inherent love of freedom we cherish, 
 which makes men resent rents as well as laws, 
 and teaches that taxes are as great a tyranny as 
 the rights of property." 
 
 "And do the Greeks take this view of it?" 
 
 "Of course they do; and it was in experi- 
 menting on them that your great ministers learn- 
 ed how to deal with Ireland. There was but 
 one step from Thebes to Tipperary. Corfu was 
 ' pacified' — that's the phrase for it — by abolish- 
 ing the landlords. The peasants were told they 
 might spare a little if they liked to the ancient 
 possessor of the soil ; and so they took the 
 ground, and they gave him the olive-trees. You 
 may imagine how fertile these were when the 
 soil around them was utilized to the last fraction 
 of productiveness." 
 
 " is that a fair statement of the case?" 
 
 "Can you ask the question? I'll show it to 
 you in print." 
 
 " Perhaps written by yourself." 
 
 "And why not? What convictions have not 
 broken on my mind by reading my own writings ? 
 You smile at this ; but how do you know your 
 face is clean till you look in a glass ?" 
 
 Walpole, however, had ceased to attend to the 
 speaker, and was deeply engaged with the letter 
 before him. 
 
 "I see here," cried he, "his Excellency is 
 good enough to say that some mark of royal fa- 
 vor might be advantageously extended to" those 
 Kilgobbin people in recognition of their heroic 
 defense. What should it be, is the question." 
 
 "Confer on him the peerage, perhaps." 
 
 " That is totally out of the question." 
 
 " It was Kate Kearney made the defense ; why 
 not give her a commission in the army ? — make 
 it another 'woman's right.'" 
 
 " You are absurd, Mr. Atlee." 
 
 "Suppose you endowed her out of the Con- 
 solidated Eund ? Give her twenty thousand 
 pounds, and I can almost assure you that a very 
 clever fellow I know will marry her." 
 
 " A strange reward for good conduct." 
 
 "A prize of virtue. They have that sort of 
 thing in Erance, and they say it gives a great 
 support to purity of morals." 
 
 "Young Kearney might accept something, if 
 we knew what to offer him." 
 
 " I'd say a pair of black trowsers ; for I think 
 I'm now wearing his last in that line." 
 
 "Mr. Atlee," said the other, grimly, "let me 
 remind you once again that the habit of light 
 jesting — 'persiflage' — is so essentially Irish, you 
 should keep it for your countrymen ; and if yon 
 persist in supposing the career of a private sec- 
 retary suits you, this is an incongruity that will 
 totally unfit you for the walk." 
 
 " I am sure you know your countrymen, Sir, 
 and I am grateful for the rebuke." 
 
 Walpole's cheek flushed at this, and it was 
 plain that there was a hidden meaning in the 
 words which he felt and resented. 
 
 "I do not know," continued Walpole, "if I 
 am not asking you to curb one of the strongest 
 impulses of your disposition ; but it rests entirely 
 with yourself whether my counsel be worth fol- 
 lowing." 
 
 " Of course it is, Sir. I shall follow your ad- 
 vice to the letter, and keep all my good spirits 
 and my bad manners for my countrymen." 
 
 It was evident that Walpole had to exercise 
 some strong self-control not to reply sharply; 
 but he refrained, and turned once move to Lord 
 Danesbury's letter, in which he was soon deeply 
 occupied. At last he said: "His Excellency 
 wants to send me out to Turkey, to confer with 
 a man with whom he has some confidential re- 
 lations. It is quite impossible that, in my present 
 state of health, I could do this. Would the thing 
 suit you, Atlee — that is, if, on consideration, I 
 should opine that^oa would suit it?" 
 
 " I suspect," replied Atlee, but with every 
 deference in his manner, "if you would enter- 
 tain the last part of the contingency first, it would 
 be more convenient to each of us. I mean 
 whether 1 were fit for the situation." 
 
 "Well, perhaps so," said the other, carelessly ; 
 "it is not at all impossible it may be one of the 
 things you would acquit yourself well in. It is 
 a sort of exercise for tact and discretion — an oc- 
 casion in which that light hand of yours would 
 have a field for employment, and that acute skill 
 in which I know you pride yourself, as regards 
 reading character — " 
 
 "You have certainly piqued my curiosity," 
 said Atlee. 
 
 "I don't know that I ought to have said so 
 much ; for, after all, it remains to be seen 
 whether Lord Danesburv would estimate these 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 gifts of yonn as highly :is I do. What I think 
 of doing is this : l shall Bend you over to Ins Ex- 
 cellency in your capacity as my own private sec- 
 retary, to explain how unfit 1 am in my presenl 
 disabled condition to undertake a journey. I 
 shall tell my hud how useful I have found your 
 services with regard to Ireland, how much you 
 know- of the country and the people, and now 
 
 woithv of trust I have found your information 
 ami your opinions; and I Bhall hint— hut only 
 hint, remember — that, for the mission he speaks 
 of, lie might possibly do worse than lix upon 
 yourself. As, of course, it rests with him to be 
 like-minded with me or not upon this matter — 
 to take, in faet, his own estimate of Mr. Atlee 
 from his own experiences of him, you are not to 
 know any thing whatever of this project till his 
 [Excellency thinks proper to open it to you. You 
 understand that ?" 
 
 "Thoroughly." 
 
 •• Your mission will he to explain — when asked 
 to explain— certain difficulties of Irish life and 
 habits, and if his lordship should direct conversa- 
 tion to topics of the East, to he careful to know 
 nothing of the subject whatever — mind that." 
 
 " I shall he careful. I have read the ' Arabian 
 Nights' — but that's all." 
 
 "And of that tendency to small joking and 
 weak epigram I would also caution you to be- 
 ware: they will have no success in the quarter 
 to which you are going, and they will only dam- 
 age other qualities which you might possibly rely 
 on." 
 
 Atlee bowed a submissive acquiescence. 
 
 "I don't know that you'll see Lady Maude 
 Bickerstafie, his lordship's niece" (he stopped 
 as if he had unwittingly uttered an awkward- 
 ness, and then added; : " I mean she has not 
 been well, and may not appear while you are at 
 the castle; but if you should, and if — which is 
 not at all likely, but still possible — you should 
 be led to talk of Kilgobbin and the incident that 
 has got into the papers, you must be very guard- 
 ed in all you say. It is a county family of sta- 
 tion and repute. We were there as visitors. 
 The ladies — I don't know that I'd say very much 
 of the ladies." 
 
 " Except that they were exceedingly plain in 
 looks, and somewhat jxissdes besides," added At- 
 lee, gravely. 
 
 " I don't see why you should say that, Sir," re- 
 plied the other, stirlly. " If you are not bent on 
 compromising me by an indiscretion, I don't per- 
 ceive the' necessity of involving me in a false- 
 hood." 
 
 "You shall be perfectly safe in my hands," 
 said Atlee. 
 
 ••Ami that I may be so. say as little about me 
 as you can. I know the injunction has its dif- 
 ficulties, Mr. Atlee, but pray try and observe it." 
 
 The conversation had now arrived at a point 
 in which one angry word more must have pro- 
 duced a rupture between them; and though At- 
 lee took in the whole situation and its conse- 
 quences at a glance, there was nothing in tin- easy 
 jaunttness of hi- manner that gave any clew to a 
 sense of anxiety or discomfort. 
 
 "Is it likely," asked he at length, "that his 
 Excellency will advert to the idea of recognizing 
 or rewarding these people for their brave de- 
 fence ?" 
 
 "I am coming to that, if you will spare me 
 
 [a little patience: Saxon slowness is a blemish 
 
 you'll have to grow accustomed to. If Lord 
 
 Danesbury should know that you are an AC 
 qiiaintance of the Kilgobbin family, and ask yoil 
 what would l>e a suitable mode of showing how 
 
 their conduct has been appreciated in a high 
 
 quarter, you should be prepared With an an- 
 swer." 
 
 Atlee's eyes twinkled with a malicious drollery, 
 
 and he had to bite his lips to repress an imper- 
 tinence that seemed almost to master his pru- 
 dence, and at last he said, carelessly. 
 
 "Dick Kearney might get something." 
 
 " I suppose you know that his qualifications 
 will be tested. You bear that in mind, 1 hope—" 
 
 " Yes. I was just turning it over in my head, 
 and 1 thought the best thing to do would be to 
 make him a Civil Service Commissioner. They 
 are the only people taken on trust." 
 
 '• You are severe, Mr. Atlee. Have these gen- 
 tlemen earned this dislike on your part?" 
 
 " Do you mean by having rejected me? No, 
 that they have not. I believe I could have sur- 
 vived that; and if, however, they had come to 
 the point of telling me that they were content 
 with my acquirements, and had what is called 
 ' passed' me, I fervently believe I should have 
 been seized with an apoplexy." 
 
 " Mr. Atlee's opinion of himself is not a mean 
 one," said Walpole, with a cold smile. 
 
 "On the contrary, Sir, I have occasion to feel 
 pretty often in every twenty-four hours what an 
 ignominious part a man plays in life who has to 
 affect to be taught what he knows already, to be 
 asking the road where he has traveled every step 
 of the way, and to feel that a threadbare coat 
 and broken boots take more from the value of his 
 opinions than if he were a knave or a blackleg." 
 
 "I don't see the humility of all this." 
 
 "I feel the shame of it, though," said Atlee; 
 and as he arose and walked out upon the terrace 
 the veins in his forehead were swelled and knot- 
 ted, and his lips trembled with suppressed pas- 
 sion. 
 
 In a tone that showed how thoroughly indif- 
 ferent he felt to the other's irritation, Walpole 
 went on to say : " You will, then, make it your 
 business, Mr. Atlee, to ascertain in what way 
 most acceptable to those people at Kilgobbin his 
 Excellency may be able to show them some mark 
 of royal favor — bearing in mind not to commit 
 yourself to any thing that may raise great expec- 
 tations. In fact, a recognition is what is intend- 
 ed, not a reward." 
 
 Atlee's eyes fell upon the opal ring, which he 
 always wore since the day Walpole had given i' 
 to him, and there was something so signifi- 
 cant in the glance that the other Bushed as he 
 caught it. 
 
 "I believe I appreciate the distinction," said 
 Atlee, quietly. " It is to be something in which 
 the generosity of the donor is more commemo- 
 rated than the merits of the person rewarded, and, 
 
 consequently, a most appropriate recognition of 
 
 the Celt by the Saxon. Do you think I ought 
 to go down to Kilgobbin Castle, Sir?" 
 
 " I am not quite sure about that ; I'll turn it 
 over in my mind. .Meanwhile I'll telegraph to 
 my lord that, if he approves, I shall send you 
 over to Wales; and you bad better make what 
 arrangements you have to make to be ready to 
 start at any moment. ' 
 
70 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 "Unfortunately, S>r, I have none. lam in 
 the full enjoyment of such complete destitution 
 that I am always ready to go any where." 
 
 Walpole did not notice the words, but arose 
 and walked over to a writing-table to compose 
 his message for the telegraph. 
 
 "There," said he, as he folded it, " have the 
 kindness to dispatch this at once, and do not be 
 out of the way about five, or half past, when I 
 shall expect an answer." 
 
 "Am I free to go into town meanwhile?" 
 asked Atlee. 
 
 Walpole nodded assent without speaking. 
 
 "I wonder if this sort of flunkevdom be good 
 for a man," muttered Atlee to himself as he 
 sprang down the stairs. "I begin to doubt it. 
 At all events, I understand now the secret of the 
 first lieutenant's being a tyrant: he has once 
 been a middy. And so I say, let me only reach 
 the ward-room, and Heaven help the cockpit!" 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 atlee's embarrassment. 
 
 When Atlee returned to dress for dinner he 
 was sent for hurriedly by Walpole, who told him 
 that Lord Danesbury's answer had arrived, with 
 the order, "Send him over at once, and write 
 fully at the same time." 
 
 /' There is an eleven-o'clock packet, Atlee, to- 
 night,"-said he : " you must manage to start by 
 that. You'll reach Hollyhead by four or there- 
 about, andean easily get to the castle by mid-day." 
 
 " I wish I had had a little more time," muttered 
 the other. "If I am to present myself before 
 his Excellency in such a ' rig' as this — " 
 
 "I have thought of that. We are nearly of 
 the same size and build ; you are, perhaps, a 
 trifle taller, but nothing to signify. Now Buck- 
 master has just sent me a mass of things of all 
 sorts from town; they are in my dressing-room, 
 not yet unpacked. Go up and look at them after 
 dinner : take what suits you — as much — all, if 
 you like — but don't delay now. It only wants a 
 few minutes of seven o'clock." 
 
 Atlee muttered his thanks hastily, and went 
 his way. If there was a thoughtfulness in the 
 generosity of this action, the mode in which it 
 was performed, the measured coldness of the 
 words, the look of impassive examination that 
 accompanied them, and the abstention from any 
 thing that savored of explanation or apology for 
 a liberty — were all deeply felt by the other. 
 
 It was true, Walpole had often heard him tell 
 of the freedom with which he had treated Dick 
 Kearney's wardrobe, and how poor Dick was 
 scarcely sure he could call an article of dress his 
 own whenever Joe had been the first to go out into 
 the town. The innumerable straits to which he 
 reduced that unlucky chum, who had actually to 
 deposit a dinner suit at a hotel to save it from 
 Atlee's rapacity, had amused Walpole ; but then 
 these things were all done in the spirit of the 
 honest familiarity that prevailed between them — 
 the tie of true camaraderie that neither suggested 
 a thought of obligation on one side nor of painful 
 inferiority on the other. Here it was totally dif- 
 ferent. These men did not live together with that 
 daily interchange of liberties which, with all their 
 passing contentions, so accustom people to each 
 
 other's humors as to establish the soundest and 
 strongest of all friendships. Walpole had adopt- 
 ed Atlee because he found him useful in a variety 
 of ways. He was adroit, ready-witted, and in- 
 telligent ; a half explanation sufficed with him 
 on any thing — a mere hint was enough to give 
 him for an interview or a reply. He read people 
 readily, and rarely failed to profit by the knowl- 
 edge. Strange as it may seem, the great blem- 
 ish of his manner— his snobbery — Walpole rather 
 liked than disliked it. It was a sort of qualify- 
 ing element that satisfied him, as though it said, 
 " With all that fellow's cleverness, he is not ' one 
 of us.' He might make a wittier reply, or write 
 a smarter note ; but society has its little tests — 
 not one of which he could respond to." And 
 this was an inferiority Walpole loved to cherish 
 and was pleased to think over. 
 
 Atlee felt that Walpole might, with very little 
 exercise of courtesy, have dealt more consider- 
 ately by him. 
 
 "I am not exactly a valet," muttered he to 
 himself, "to whom a man flings a waistcoat as 
 he chucks a shilling to a portei\ I am more than 
 Mr. Walpole's equal in many things, which are 
 not accidents of fortune. " 
 
 He knew scores of things he could do better 
 than him ; indeed, there were very few he could 
 not. 
 
 Poor Joe was not, however, aware that it was 
 in the "not doing" lay Walpole's secret of supe- 
 riority ; that the inborn sense of abstention is the 
 great distinguishing element of the class Walpole 
 belonged to ; and he might harass himself for- 
 ever and yet never guess where it was that the 
 distinction evaded him. 
 
 Atlee's manner at dinner was unusually cold 
 and silent. He habitually made the chief efforts 
 of conversation ; now he spoke little and seldom. 
 When Walpole talked it was in that careless 
 discursive way in which it was his wont to dis- 
 cuss matters with a familiar. He often put ques- 
 tions, and as often went ou without waiting for 
 the answers. 
 
 As they sat over the dessert and were alone 
 he adverted to the other's mission, throwing out 
 little hints and cautions as to manner, which At- 
 lee listened to in perfect silence, and without the 
 slightest sign that could indicate the feeling they 
 produced. 
 
 "You are going into a new country, Atlee," 
 said he at last, " and I am sure you will not be 
 sorry to learn something of the geography." 
 
 " Though it may mar a little of the adventure," 
 said the other, smiling. 
 
 "Ah, that's exactly what I want to warn you 
 against. With us in England there are none 
 of those social vicissitudes you are used to here. 
 The game of life is played gravely, quietly, and 
 calmly. There are no brilliant successes of bold 
 talkers, no coups de theatre of amusing racon- 
 teurs : no one tries to push himself into any po- 
 sition of eminence." 
 
 A half movement of impatience, as Atlee 
 pushed his wine-glass before him, arrested the 
 speaker. " I perceive," said he, stiffly, "you re- 
 gard my counsels as unnecessary." 
 
 "Not that, Sir, so much as hopeless," rejoined 
 the other, coldly. 
 
 " His Excellency will ask you, probably, some 
 questions about this country: let me warn you 
 not to give him Irish answers." 
 
.OKI) KILGOBBIN. 
 
 71 
 
 "I don't think I understand you, Sir." 
 
 "[ mean, don't deal in any exaggerations, 
 avoid extravagance, and never be Blap-daah." 
 
 ••oil. these arc [riah, then ?" 
 
 Withont deigning reply to iliis Walpole wont 
 on: "Of coarse you have your remed] for all 
 the evils of Ireland. I never mot an Irishman 
 who had not. Hut, I begyou, Bpare his lordship 
 your theory, whatever it is. and simply answer 
 the questions he will ask you." 
 
 " I will try. Sir.'' was [he meek reply. 
 
 "Above all things, let me warn you against a 
 favorite blander of yoar conntrymen. Don't en- 
 deavor to explain peculiarities of action in this 
 country by singularities of race or origin ; don't 
 try to make out that there are special points of 
 view held that are unknown on the other side of 
 the channel, or that there are other differences 
 between the two peoples, except such as more 
 rags and greater wretchedness produce. We 
 have got over that very venerable and time-hon- 
 ored blunder, and do not endeavor to revive it." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Fact. 1 assure you. It is possible in some 
 remote country house to chance upon some anti- 
 quated Tory who still cherishes these notions ; 
 but you'll not find them among men of mind or 
 intelligence, nor among any class of our people." 
 
 It was on Atlee's lip to ask, " Who w^ere our 
 people ?" but he forbore by a mighty effort, and 
 was silent. 
 
 " I don't know if I have any other cautions to 
 give you. Do you ?" 
 
 "No, Sir. I could not even have reminded 
 you of these if you had not yourself remembered 
 them. " 
 
 "Oh, I had almost forgotten it. If his Ex- 
 cellency should give you any thing to write out 
 or to copy, don't smoke while you are over it; 
 he abhors tobacco. I should have given you a 
 warning to be equally careful as regards Lady 
 Maude's sensibilities, but, on the whole, I sus- 
 pect you'll scarcely see her." 
 
 "Is that all, Sir?" said the other, rising. 
 
 " Well, I think so. I shall be curious to hear 
 how you acquit yourself, how you get on with 
 his Excellency, and how he takes you ; and you 
 must write it all to me. Ain't you much too 
 early? it's scarcely ten o'clock." 
 
 " A quarter past ten ; and I have some miles 
 to drive to Kingstown." 
 
 "And not yet packed, perhaps?" said the 
 other, listlessly. 
 
 " N". Sir; nothing ready." 
 
 " Oh ! you'll be in ample time ; I'll vouch for 
 it. You are one of the rough-and-ready order, 
 who are never late. Not but in this sa:>ie flurry 
 of yours you have made me forget sou ething I 
 know I had to say ; and you tell me you can't 
 remember it ?" 
 
 "No. Sir." 
 
 " And yet," said the other, sententiously, "the 
 crowning merit of a private secretary is exactly 
 that sort of memory. Your intellects, ifproper- 
 ly trained, should he the complement of your 
 chiefs, 'flic infinite number of things that are 
 too small and too insignificant lor him are to 
 have their place, duly docketed and dated, in 
 your brain ; and the very expression of his face 
 should he an indication to you of what he is 
 looking for and yet can not remember. Do you 
 mark me?" 
 
 " Half past ten," cried Atl.v. as the clock 
 chimed on the mantel piece ; au.l he hurried awa\ 
 without another word. 
 
 It was onh as he saw the pitiable penury of 
 his own scanty wardrobe that he could persuade 
 
 himself to accept of W'alpolo's offer. 
 
 "After all.' he said, "the loan of a dreSG 
 coat may he the turning-point of a whole destiny. 
 Junot sold all he had to buy a sword to make 
 his first campaign ; all / have is my shame, and 
 here it goes for a suit of clothes! Ami with 
 these words he rushed down to Walpole's dress- 
 ing-room, and. not taking time to inspect and se- 
 lect the contents, carried off the box as it was 
 with him. " I'll tell him all when I write," mut- 
 tered he, as he drove away. 
 
 :-«f 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 dick Kearney's chambers. 
 
 When Dick Kearney quitted Kilgobbin Cas- 
 tle for Dublin he was very far from having any 
 projects in his head excepting to show his cousin 
 Nina that he could live without her. 
 
 "I believe," muttered he to himself, "she 
 counts upon me as another ' victim.' These co- 
 quettish damsels have a theory that the 'whole 
 drama of life' is the game of their fascinations 
 and the consequences that come of them, and that 
 we men make it our highest ambition to win them, 
 ami subordinate all we do in life to their favor. 
 I should like to show her that one man at least 
 refuses to yield this allegiance, and that, whatever 
 her blandishments do with others, with him they 
 arc powerless." 
 
 These thoughts were his traveling companions 
 for nigh fifty miles of travel, and, like most trav- 
 eling companions, grew to be tiresome enough 
 toward the end of the journey. 
 
 When he arrived in Dublin he was in no burn- 
 to repair to his quarters in Trinity ; they were 
 not particularly cheery in the best of times, and 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 now it was long vacation, with few men in town, 
 and every thing sad and spiritless ; besides this, 
 he was in no mood to meet Atlee, whose free 
 and easy jocularity he knew he would not en- 
 dure even with his ordinary patience. Joe had 
 never condescended to write one line since he had 
 left Kilgobhin, and Dick, who felt that in pre- 
 senting him to his family he had done him im- 
 mense honor, was proportionately indignant at 
 this show of indifference. But, by the same 
 easy formula with which he could account for 
 any thing in Nina's conduct by her "coquetry," 
 he* was able to explain every deviation from de- 
 corum of Joe Atlee's by his "snobbery.'' And 
 it is astonishing how comfortable the thought 
 made him that this man, in all his smartness 
 and ready wit, in his prompt power to acquire, 
 and his still greater quickness to apply knowl- 
 edge, was after all a most consummate snob. 
 
 He had no taste for a dinner at commons, so 
 he ate his mutton-chop at a tavern, and went to 
 the play. Ineffably bored, he sauntered along 
 the almost deserted" streets of the city, and just 
 as midnight was striking he turned under the 
 arched portal of the college. Secretly hoping 
 that Atlee might be absent, he iuserted the key 
 and entered his quarters. 
 
 The grim old coal bunker in the passage, the 
 silent corridor, and the dreary room at the end 
 of it never looked more dismal than as he sur- 
 veyed them now by the light of a little wax match 
 he* had lighted to guide his way. There stood 
 the massive old table in the middle, with its lit- 
 ter of books and papers — memories of many a 
 headache ; and there was the paper of coarse 
 Cavendish, against which he had so often pro- 
 tested, as well as a pewter pot — a new infraction 
 against propriety since he had been away. 
 Worse, however, than all assaults on decency 
 were a pair of coarse high-lows, which had been 
 placed within the fender, and had evidently en- 
 joyed the fire so long as it lingered in the grate. 
 "So like the fellow! so like him!" was all 
 that Dick could mutter, and he turned away in 
 disgust. 
 
 As Atlee never went to bed till daybreak, it 
 was quite clear that he was from home, and as 
 the college gates could not re-open till morning, 
 Dick was not sorry to feel that he was safe from 
 all intrusion for some hours. With this consola- 
 tion he betook him to his bedroom, and proceed- 
 ed to undress. Scarcely, however, had he thrown 
 off his coat than a heavy, long-drawn respiration 
 startled him. He stopped and listened : it came 
 again, and from the bed. He drew nigh, and 
 there, to his amazement, on his own pillow, lay a 
 massive head of a coarse-looking, vulgar man of 
 about thirty, with a silk handkerchief fastened 
 over it as a night-cap. A brawny arm lay out- 
 side the bedclothes, with an enormous hand of 
 very questionable cleanness, though one of the 
 fingers wore a heavy gold ring. 
 
 Wishing to gain what knowledge he might of 
 his guest before awaking him, Dick turned to 
 inspect his clothes, which, in a wild disorder, lay 
 scattered through the room. They were of the 
 very poorest, but such still as might have be- 
 longed to a very humble clerk or a messenger in 
 a counting-house. A large black leather pock- 
 et-book fell from a pocket of the coat, and, in 
 replacing it, Dick perceived it was filled with let- 
 ters. On one of these, as he closed the clasp, 
 
 he read the name " Mr. Daniel Donogan, Dart- 
 mouth Jail." 
 
 " What !" cried he, "is this the great head- 
 centre, Donogan, I have read so much of? and 
 how is he here ?" 
 
 Though Dick Kearney was not usually quick 
 of apprehension, he was not long here in guess- 
 ing what the situation meant : it was clear enough 
 that Donogan, being a friend of Joe Atlee's, had 
 been harbored here as a safe refuge. Of all 
 places in the capital, none were so secure from 
 the visits of the police as the college ; indeed, it 
 would have been no small hazard for the public 
 force to have invaded these precincts. Calcula- 
 ting, therefore, that Kearney was little likely to 
 leave Kilgobbin at present, Atlee had installed 
 his friend in Dick's quarters. The indiscretion 
 was a grave one; in fact, there was nothing — 
 even to expulsion itself — might not have follow- 
 ed on discovery. 
 
 " So like him ! so like him !" was all he could 
 mutter, as he arose and walked about the room. 
 While he thus mused he turned into Atlee's 
 bedroom, and at once it appeared why Mr. Don- 
 ogan had been accommodated in his room. At- 
 lee's was perfectly destitute of every thing : bed, 
 chest of drawers, dressing-table, chair, and bath 
 were all gone. The sole object in the chamber 
 was a coarse print of a well-known informer of 
 the year '98, "Jemmy O'Brien," under whose 
 portrait was written, in Atlee's hand, " Bought 
 in at four-pence half-penny, at the general sale, 
 in affectionate remembrance of his virtues, by 
 one who feels himself to be a relative. — J. A." 
 Kearney tore down the picture in passion, and 
 stamped upon it ; indeed, his indignation with 
 his chum had now passed all bounds of restraint. 
 "So like him in every thing!" again burst 
 from him, in utter bitterness. 
 
 Having thus satisfied himself that he had read 
 the incident aright, he returned to the sitting- 
 room, and at once decided that he would leave 
 Donogan to his rest till morning. 
 
 "It will be time enough then to decide what 
 is to be done," thought he. 
 
 He then proceeded to relight the fire, and, 
 
 drawing a sofa near, he wrapped himself in a 
 
 railway rug and lay down to sleep. For a long 
 
 time he could not compose himself to slumber ; 
 
 j he thought of Nina and her wiles — ay, they were 
 
 (wiles: he saw them plainly enough. It was 
 
 ! true, he was no prize — no "catch," as they call 
 
 it — to angle for; and such a girl as she w:;s 
 
 could easily look higher ; but still he might swell 
 
 the list of those followers she seemed to like to 
 
 behold at her feet offering up every homage to 
 
 her beauty, even to their actual despair. And 
 
 he thought of his own condition — very hopeless 
 
 and purposeless as it was. 
 
 " What a journey, to be sure, was life, without 
 a goal to strive for ! Kilgobbin would be his one 
 day ; but by that time would it be able to pay off 
 the mortgages that were raised upon it ? It was 
 true, Atlee was no richer, but Atlee was a shifty, 
 artful fellow, with scores of contrivances to go 
 to windward of Fortune in even the very worst 
 of weather. Atlee would do many a thing he 
 would not stoop to." 
 
 | And as Kearney said this to himself he was 
 cautious in the use of his verb, and never said 
 ; " could," but always " would" do ; and, oh dear ! 
 is it not in this fashion that we many of us keep 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 our courage ill life, and attribute to the want of 
 will what we well know lies in the wanl of power? 
 Last of all, he bethought himself of this man 
 Donogan — a dangerous fellow in a certain way, 
 and one whose companionship must be got nd 
 of at an j juice. Plotting over in his mind how 
 this should be done in the morning, he at last fell 
 fast asleep. 
 
 So overcome was he by slnmher that he never 
 awoke when that venerable institution, called the 
 college woman — the hag whom the virtue of 
 unerring dons insists on imposing as a servant on 
 resident students— entered, made up the fire, 
 swept the room, and arranged the breakfast-table. 
 It was only as she jogged his arm to ask him for 
 an additional penny to buy more milk that he 
 awoke and remembered where he was. 
 
 •• Will I get yer honor a bit of bacon ?" asked 
 she, in a tone intended to be insinuating. 
 " Whatever you like," said he, drowsily. 
 "It's himself there likes a rasher — when he 
 ean get it." said she. with a leer, and a motion 
 of her thumb toward the adjoining room. 
 
 " Whom do you mean?" asked he. half to learn 
 what and how much she knew of his neighbor. 
 
 "Oh! don't I know him well? — Dan Dono- 
 gan." replied she. with a grin. "Didn't I see 
 him in the dock with Smith O'Brien in '4S, and 
 wasn't he in trouble again after he got his par- 
 don; and won't he always be in trouble?'' 
 
 " Hush : don't talk so loud," cried Diek, warn- 
 inglv. 
 
 " He'd not hear me now if I was screechin'; 
 it's the only time he sleeps hard ; for he gets up 
 about three or half past — before it's day — and he 
 squeezes through the bars of the window, and 
 gets out into the Park, and he takes his exercise 
 there for two hours, most of the time running full 
 speed and keeping himself in fine wind. Do 
 you know what he said to me the other day ? 
 •.Molly.' says he, 'when I know I can get be- 
 tween those bars there, and run round the Col- 
 lege Park in three minutes and twelve seconds, I 
 feel that there's not many a jail in Ireland can 
 howld, and the divil a policeman in the island 
 could catch me.'" And she had to lean over 
 the back of a (hair to steady herself while she 
 laughed at the conceit. 
 
 "I think, after all, "said Kearney, " I'd rather 
 keep out of the scrape than trust to that way of 
 escaping it." 
 
 '•//< wouldn't," said she. "He'd rather be 
 seducin' the soldiers in Barrack Street, or swear- 
 ing in a new Fenian, or nailing a death-warnin' 
 on a hail door, than he'd be lord mayor! If he 
 wasn't in mischief he'il like to be in his grave." 
 "And what comes of it all?" said Kearney, 
 scarcely giving any exact meaning to his word's. 
 "That's what I do be saying myself," cried 
 the hag. "When they can transport you for 
 singing a ballad, and Bend you to jack oakum for 
 a green cravat, it's time to take to some other 
 trade than patriotUm !" And with this reflection 
 she shuttled away to procure the materials for 
 breakfa-t. 
 The fresh rolls, the water-cress, a couple of red 
 
 herrings, deviled as those ancient damsels are 
 exjiert in doing, and a smoking dish of rashers 
 and eggs, flanked by a hissing tea-kettle, -non 
 made their appearance, the hag assuring Kear- 
 ney that a stout knock with the poker on the back 
 of the grate would summon Mr. Donogan almost 
 
 instantaneously — BO rapidly, indeed, and with 
 
 such indifference as to raiment, that, as ahe i I 
 
 cstly declared. " I have to take to my heels the 
 moment I call him :" and the modest avowal was 
 
 confirmed by her hast] departure. 
 
 The assurance was so far correct that scarcely 
 had Kearney replaced the poker when the door 
 Opened, and one of the strangest figures he had 
 ever beheld presented itself in the room, lie was 
 a short, thickset man with a profusion of yellow- 
 ish hair, which, divided in the middle of the head. 
 hung down on either side to his neck ; heard and 
 mustache of the same hue left little of the face 
 to be seen but a pair of lustrous blue eves, deep- 
 sunken in their orbits, and a short, wide-nos- 
 triled nose, which bore the closest resemblance 
 to a lion's. Indeed, a most absurd likeness to 
 the king of beasts was the impression produced 
 on Kearney as this wild-looking fellow bounded 
 forward and stood there amazed at finding a 
 stranger to confront him. 
 
 his dress was a flannel shirt and trowsers, and 
 a pair of old slippers which had once been Kear- 
 ney's own. 
 
 " I was told by the college woman how I was to 
 summon you, Mr. Donogan, "said Kearney, good- 
 naturedly. "You're not offended with the lib- 
 erty ?" 
 
 "Are you Dick?"' asked the other, coming 
 forward. 
 
 " Yes. I think most of my friends know me 
 by that name." 
 
 " And the old devil has told you mine ?" asked 
 he, quickly. 
 
 "No, I believe I discovered that for myself. 
 I tumbled over some of your things last night, 
 and saw a letter addressed to you." 
 " You didn't read it?" 
 
 "Certainly not. It fell out of your pocket- 
 book, and I put it. back there." 
 
 •"So the old hag didn't blab on me? I'm 
 anxious about this, because it's got out somehow 
 that I'm back again. I landed at Kemnare in a 
 fishing-boat from the New York packet, the <>s- 
 prey, on Tuesday fortnight, ami three of the 
 new spapers had it before I was a week on shore.'' 
 " < )ur breakfast is getting cold ; sit down here 
 and let me help you. Will you begin with a 
 rasher ?" 
 
 Not rejdying to the invitation, Donogan cov- 
 ered his plate with bacon, and leaning his arm 
 on the table, stared fixedly at Kearney. 
 
 " I am as glad as fifty pound of it," muttered 
 he, slowly, to himself. 
 "Glad of what?" 
 
 "Glad that you're not a swell, Mr. Kearney." 
 said he, gravely. "'The honorable Richard 
 Kearney:' whenever I repeated that to myself it 
 gave me a cold sweat. I thought of velvet col- 
 lars and a cravat with a grand pin in it, and a 
 Stuck-up creature behind both, that wouldn't con- 
 descend to sit down with me." 
 
 " I am sure Joe Atlee gave you no such im- 
 pression of me." 
 
 A short grunt that might mean any thing was 
 all the reply. 
 
 " He was my chum, and knew me better," re- 
 iterated the other. 
 
 " He knows many a thin;: he doesn't say, and 
 he says plenty that he doesn't know. ' Kearn.\ 
 will he a swell,' said I, 'and hi' II turn upon me 
 just out of contempt for my condition.' " 
 
7i 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 "That was judging me hardly, Mr. Donogan." 
 
 "No, it wasn't; it's the treatment the mangy 
 dog meets all the world over. Why is England 
 insolent to us, but because we're poor? — answer 
 me that. Are we mangy? Don't you feel 
 mangy ? — I know / do !" 
 
 Dick smiled a sort of mild contradiction, but 
 said nothing. ^ . 
 
 " Now that I see you, Mr. Kearney," said the 
 other, "I'm as glad as a ten-pound note about 
 a letter I wrote you — " 
 
 " I never received a letter from you." 
 
 "Sure I know you didn't! haven't I got it 
 here ?" and he drew forth a square-shaped pack- 
 et and held it up before him. "I never said 
 that I sent it, nor I won't send it now ; here's its 
 present address," added he, as he threw it on the 
 fire and pressed it down with his foot. 
 
 "Why not have given it to me now?" asked 
 the other. 
 
 " Because three minutes will tell you all that 
 was in it, and better than writing ; for I can re- 
 ply to any thing that wants an explanation, and 
 that's what a letter can not. First of all, do you 
 know that Mr. Claude Barry, your county mem- 
 ber, has asked for the Chiltern, and is going to 
 resign ?" 
 
 " No, I have not heard it." 
 
 "Well, it's a fact. They are going to make 
 him a second secretary somewhere, and pension 
 him off. He has done his work : he voted an 
 Arms Bill and an Insurrection Act, and he had 
 the influenza when the amnesty petition was pre- 
 sented, and sure no more could be expected from 
 any man." 
 
 " The question scarcely concerns me ; our in- 
 terest in the county is so small now, we count 
 very little. " 
 
 " And don't you know how to make your in- 
 fluence greater?" 
 
 "I can not say that I do." 
 
 " Go to the poll yourself, Richard Kearney, 
 and be the member." 
 
 "You are talking of an impossibility, Mr. 
 Donogan. First of all, we have no fortune, no 
 large estates in the county, with a wide tenantry 
 and plenty of votes ; secondly, we have no place 
 among the county families, as our old name and 
 good blood might have given us ; thirdly, we are 
 of the wrong religion, and, I take it, with as wrong 
 politics ; and lastly, we should not know what 
 to do with the prize if we had won it." 
 
 "Wrong in every one of your propositions — 
 wholly wrong," cried the other. "The party 
 that will send you in won't want to be bribed, 
 and they'll be proud of a man who doesn't ovei - - 
 top them with his money. You don't need the 
 big families, for you'll beat them. Yonr religion 
 is the right one, for it will give you the Priests ; 
 and your politics shall be Repeal, and it will give 
 you the Peasants ; and as to not knowing what 
 to do when you're elected, are you so mighty 
 well off in life that you've nothing to wish for ?" 
 
 " I can scarcely say that," said Dick, smiling. 
 
 "Give me a few minutes' attention," said 
 Donogan, ' ' and I think I'll show you that I've 
 thought this matter out and out ; indeed, before 
 I sat down to write to you I went into all the 
 details. " 
 
 And now, with a clearness and a fairness that 
 astonished Kearney, this strange-looking fellow 
 proceeded to prove how he had weighed the whole 
 
 difficulty, and saw how, in the nice balance of 
 the two great parties who would contest the seat, 
 the Repealer would step in and steal votes from 
 both. 
 
 He showed not only that he knew every bar- 
 ony of the county, and every estate and property, 
 but that he had a clear insight into the different 
 localities where discontent prevailed, and places 
 where there was something more than discontent. 
 
 "It is down there," said he, significantly, 
 "that I can be useful. The man that has had 
 his foot in the dock, and only escaped having his 
 head in the noose, is never discredited in Ireland. 
 Talk Parliament and parliamentary tactics to the 
 j small shop-keepers in Moate, and leave me to talk 
 treason to the people in the bog." 
 
 " But I mistake you and your friends greatly," 
 said Kearney, "if these were the tactics you al- 
 ways followed ; I thought that you were the 
 physical force party, who sneered at constitu- 
 tionalism, and only believed in the pike." 
 
 " So we did, so long as we saw O'Connell and 
 the lawyers working the game of that grievance 
 for their own advantage, and teaching the En- 
 glish government how to rule Ireland by a system 
 of concession to them and to their friends. Now, 
 however, we begin to perceive that to assault 
 that heavy bastion of Saxon intolerance, we must 
 have spies in the enemy's fortress, and for this we 
 send in so many members to the Whig party. 
 There are scores of men who will aid us by their 
 vote who would not risk a bone in our cause. 
 Theirs is a sort of subacute patriotism ; but it 
 has its use. It smashes an Established Church, 
 breaks down Protestant ascendency, destroys the 
 prestige of landed property, and will in time ab- 
 rogate entail and primogeniture, and many an- 
 other fine thing ; and in this way it clears the 
 ground for our operations, just as soldiers fell 
 trees and level houses lest they interfere with the 
 range of heavy artillery." 
 
 "So that the place you would assign me is 
 that very honorable one you have just called a 
 ' spy in the camp ?' " 
 
 "By a figure I said that, Mr. Kearney; but 
 you know well enough what I meant was, that 
 there's many a man will help us on the Treasury 
 benches, that would not turn out on Tallaght; 
 and we want both. I won't say," added he, after 
 a pause, "I'd not rather see you a leader in our 
 ranks than a Parliament man. I was bred a 
 doctor, Mr. Kearney, and I must take an illus- 
 tration from my own art. To make a man sus- 
 ceptible of certain remedies you are often obliged 
 to reduce his strength and weaken his constitu- 
 tion. So it is here. To bring Ireland into a 
 condition to be bettered by Repeal, you must 
 crush the Church and smash the bitter Protest- 
 ants. The Whigs will do these for us, but we 
 must help them. Do you understand me now ?" 
 
 "I believe I do. In the case you speak of, 
 then, the government will support my election." 
 
 " Against a Tory, yes ; but not against a pure 
 Whig — a thorough-going supporter, who would 
 bargain for nothing for his country, only some- 
 thing for his own relations." 
 
 "If your project has an immense fascination 
 for me at one moment, and excites my ambition 
 beyond all bounds, the moment I turn my mind 
 to the cost, and remember my own poverty, I 
 see nothing but hopelessness." 
 
 "That's not my view of it, nor, when you listen 
 
1.0111) KII.OoHlUX. 
 
 to me patiently, will it. I believe, be yours. Can 
 
 we have another talk over this in the evening?" 
 
 "To be Bare! well dine here together at six." 
 
 ••oh, never mind me; think of yourself, Mr. 
 
 Kearney, and your own engagements. As to the 
 
 matter of dining, a cruel of bread and a couple 
 
 of apples arc fully as much as 1 want or care tor." 
 
 •• We'll dine together to-day al six." said Dick, 
 
 "and bear in mind I am more interested in this 
 
 than you are." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 A CRAFTY COUNSELOR. 
 
 As they were about to sit down to dinner on 
 that day a telegram, redirected from Kilgobbin, 
 
 reached Kearney's hand. It bore the date of 
 that morning, from Plmnuddm Castle, and was 
 
 signed " Atlee." Its contents were these : "H. 
 E. wants to mark the Kilgobbin defense with 
 some sign of approval. What shall it be ? Reply 
 by wire." 
 
 '' Head that, and tell us what you think of it." 
 
 "Joe Atlee at the Viceroy's castle in Wales!" 
 cried the other. "We are going up the ladder 
 hand over head. Mr. Kearney ! A week ago his 
 ambition was bounded on the south by Ship 
 Street, and on the east by the Lower Castle Yard. " 
 
 "How do you understand the dispatch?" 
 asked Kearney, quickly. 
 
 "Easily enough. His Excellency wants to 
 know what you'll have for shooting down three — 
 I think they were three — Irishmen." 
 
 " The fellows came to demand arms, and with 
 loaded guns in their hands." 
 
 "And if they did ! Is not the first right of a 
 man the weapon that defends him ? He that can 
 not use it or does n.it po-sess it is a slave. By 
 what prerogative has Kilgobbin Castle within 
 its walls what can take the life of any, the mean- 
 est, tenant on the estate?" 
 
 "I am not going to discuss this with you; I 
 think I have heard most of it before, and was not 
 impressed when I did so. What I asked was, 
 what sort of a recognition one might safely ask 
 for and reasonably expect ?" 
 
 "That's not long to look for. Let them sup- 
 port you in the county. Telegraph back, ' I'm 
 going to stand, and, if I get in, will be a Whig, 
 whenever I'm not a Nationalist. Will the party 
 stand by me ?' " 
 
 "Scarcely with that programme." 
 
 "And do you think that the priests' nomi- 
 nees, who are three- fourths of the Irish members, 
 otter better terms ? Do you imagine that the men 
 that crowd the Whig lobby have not reserved 
 their freedom of action about the Pope, and the 
 Fenian prisoners, and the Orange, processionists? 
 If they were not free so far, I'd ask you, with the 
 old Duke, how i- her Majesty's government to 
 be carried on?" 
 
 Kearney shook his head in dissent 
 
 "And that's not all," continued the other; 
 •'but yon must write to the papers a Hat con- 
 tradiction of that shooting story. You must 
 either declare that it never occurred at all, or 
 was done by that young scamp from the Castle, 
 who happily got as much as he gave." 
 
 "That I could not do," said Kearney, firmly. 
 
 "And ir is that precisely that you must do," 
 rejoined the other. "If you go into the House 
 
 to represent the popular feeling of Irishmen, the 
 band that si^ns the roll must not be >tained with 
 Irish blood.' 1 
 
 " You forget ; I was not within fifty miles of 
 the place" 
 
 "And another reason to disavow it. Look 
 here. Mr. Kearney: it a man in a battle was to 
 say to himself, I'll never give any but a fair blow, 
 he'd make a mighty bad soldier. Now public 
 life is a battle, and worse than a battle in al! that 
 touches treachery and falsehood. If yon mean 
 to do any good in the world, to yourself and 
 your country, take my word for it. you'll have 
 to do plenty of things that you don't like, and. 
 what's worse, can't defend." 
 
 " The soup is getting cold all this time. Shall 
 we sit down ?" 
 
 " No, not till we answer the telegram. Sit 
 down and say what I told you. " 
 
 "Atlee will say I'm mad. He knows I have 
 not a shilling in the world." 
 
 "Riches is not the badge of the representa- 
 tion," said the other. 
 
 " They can, at least, pay the cost of the elec- 
 tions." 
 
 " Well, we'll pay ours, too — not all at once, 
 but later on ; don't fret yourself about that." 
 
 "They'll refuse me flatly." 
 
 "No, we have a lien on the fine gentleman 
 with the broken arm. What would the Tories 
 give for that story, told as I could tell it to them? 
 At all events, whatever you do in life, remember 
 this— that if asked your price for any thing you 
 have done, name the highest, and take nothing 
 if it's refused you. It's a waiting race, but I 
 never knew it fail in the end." 
 
 Kearney dispatched his message, and sat down 
 to the table, far too much flurried and excited 
 to care for his dinner. Not so his guest, who 
 ate voraciously, seldom raising his head, and 
 never uttering a word. " Here's to the new 
 member for King's County," said he at last, and 
 he drained off his glass; and I don't know a 
 pleasanter way of wishing a man prosperity than 
 in a bumper. " Has your father any politics, 
 Mr. Kearney ?" 
 
 " He thinks he's a Whig, but, except hating 
 the Established Church, and having a print of 
 Lord Russell over the lire place, I don't know he 
 has other reason for the opinion." 
 
 " All right ; there's nothing finer for a young 
 man entering public life than to be able to sneer 
 at his father for a noodle. That's the practical 
 way to show contempt for the wisdom of our an- 
 cestors. There's no appeal the public respond 
 to with the same certainty as that of the man 
 who quarrels with his relations for the sake of 
 his principles; and whether it be a change in 
 
 your politics or your religion, they're sure to up- 
 hold you." 
 
 "If (littering with my father will insure suc- 
 
 cess, I can afford to be confident," said Dick, 
 
 smiling. 
 
 " Your sister has her notions about Ireland, 
 
 hasn't she?" 
 
 "Yes, I believe she has; but she fancies that 
 
 laws and acts of Parliament arc not the things in 
 fault, but ourselves and our modes of dealing 
 with the people, that were not often just, and 
 were always capricious. I am not sure how she 
 works out her problem, bin I believe we OUghl 
 to educate each other; and that, in tarn for 
 
70 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIX. 
 
 teaching the people to read and write, there are 
 scores of things to be learned from them." 
 
 "And the Greek girl?" 
 
 "The Greek girl" — began Dick, haughtily, 
 and with a manner that betokened rebuke, but 
 which suddenly changed as he saw that nothing 
 in the other's manner gave any indication of in- 
 tended freedom or insolence — "the Greek is 
 my first cousin, Mr. Donogan," said he, calmly ; 
 "but I am anxious to know how you have heard 
 of her, or, indeed, of any of us." 
 
 "From Joe — Joe Atlee. I believe we have 
 talked you over — every one of you — till I know 
 you all as well as if I lived in the Castle and called 
 you by your Christian names. Do you know, 
 Mr. Kearney" — and his voice trembled now as 
 he spoke — " that to a lone and desolate man like 
 myself, who has no home, and scarcely a coun- 
 try, there is something indescribably touching in 
 the mere picture of the fireside, and the family 
 gathered round it, talking over little homely cares, 
 and canvassing the changes of each day's fortune. 
 I could sit here half the night and listen to Atlee 
 telling how you lived, and the sort of things that 
 interested you." 
 
 "So that you'd actually like to look at us?" 
 
 Donogan's eyes grew glassy, and his lips trem- 
 bled, but he could not utter a word. 
 
 "So you shall, then," cried Dick, resolutely. 
 "We'll start to-morrow by the early train. You'll 
 not object to a ten miles' walk, and well arrive 
 for dinner." 
 
 " Do you know who it is you are inviting to 
 your father's house? Do you know that I am 
 an escaped convict, with a price on my head this 
 minute ? Do you know the penalty of giving me 
 shelter, or even what the law calls comfort ?"' 
 
 ' ' I know this, that in the heart of the Bog of 
 Allen you'll be far safer than in the city of Dub- 
 lin ; that none shall ever learn who you are, nor, 
 if they did, is there one — the poorest in the place 
 — would betray you." 
 
 "It is of you, Sir, I'm thinking, not of me," 
 said Donogan, calmly. 
 
 "Don't fret yourself about us. We are well 
 known in our county, and above suspicion. 
 Whenever you yourself should feel that your pres- 
 ence was like to be a danger, I am quite willing 
 to believe you'd take yourself off." 
 
 "You judge me rightly, Sir, and I'm proud to 
 see it ; but how are you to present me to your 
 friends?" 
 
 "As a college acquaintance — a friend of At- 
 lee's and of mine — a gentleman who occupied the 
 room next me. I can surely say that with truth. " 
 
 "And dined with you every day since you 
 knew him. Why not add that ?" 
 
 He laughed merrily over this conceit, and at 
 last Donogan said, "I've a little kit of clothes 
 — something decenter than these — up in Thomas 
 Street, No. 13, Mr. Kearney; the old house Lord 
 Edward was shot in, and the safest place in Dub- 
 lin now, because it is so notorious. I'll step up 
 for them this evening, and I'll be ready to start 
 when you like." 
 
 "Here's good fortune to us, whatever we do 
 next," said Kearney, filling both their glasses; 
 and they touched the brims together and clinked 
 them before thev drained them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 "on the leads." 
 
 Kate Kearney's room was on the top of the 
 Castle, and "gave" by a window over the leads 
 of a large square tower. On this space she had 
 made a little garden of a few flowers, to tend 
 which was one of what she called her "dissipa- 
 tions." 
 
 Some old packing-cases, filled with mould, 
 sufficed to nourish a few stocks and carnations, 
 a rose or two, and a mass of mignonette, which 
 possibly, like the children of the poor, grew up 
 sturdy and healthy from some of the adverse cir- 
 cumstances of their condition. It was a very fa- 
 vorite spot with her ; and if she came hither in 
 her happiest moments, it was here also her sad- 
 dest hours were passed, sure that in the cares and 
 employments of her loved plants she would find 
 solace and consolation. It was at this window 
 Kate now sat with Nina, looking over the vast 
 plain, on which a rich moonlight was streaming, 
 the shadows of fast-flitting clouds throwing 
 strange and fanciful effects over a space almost 
 wide enough to be a prairie. 
 
 "What a deal have mere names to do with 
 our imaginations, Nina!" said Kate. "Is not 
 that boundless sweep before us as fine as your 
 boasted Campagna ? Does not the night wind 
 career over it as joyfully, and is not the moon- 
 light as picturesque in its breaks by turf-clump 
 and hillock as by ruined wall and tottering tem- 
 ple ? In a word, are not we as well here, to drink 
 in all this delicious silence, as if we were sitting 
 on your loved Pincian ?" 
 
 " Don't ask me to share such heresies. I see 
 nothing out there but bleak desolation. I don't 
 know if it ever had a past ; I can almost swear 
 it will have no future. Let us not talk of it." 
 
 " What shall we talk of?" asked Kate, with 
 an arch smile. 
 
 " You know well enough what led me up here. 
 I want to hear what you know of that strange 
 man Dick brought here to-day to dinner." 
 
 "I never saw him before — never even heard 
 of him." 
 
 "Do you like him?" 
 
 "I have scarcely seen him." 
 
 " Don't be so guarded and reserved. Tell me 
 frankly the impression he makes on you. Is he 
 not vulgar — very vulgar?" 
 
 " How should I say, Nina? Of all the people 
 you ever met, who knows so little of the habits 
 of society as myself? Those fine gentlemen who 
 were here the other day shocked my ignorance 
 by numberless little displays of indifference. Yet 
 I can feel that they must have been paragons of 
 good-breeding, and that what I believed to be 
 a very cool self-sufficiency was in reality the very 
 latest London version of good manners. " 
 
 "Oh, you did not like that charming careless- 
 ness of Englishmen that goes where it likes and 
 when it likes, that does not wait to be answered 
 when it questions, and only insists on one thing, 
 which is — ' not to be bored.' If you knew, dear- 
 est Kate, how foreigners school themselves, and 
 strive to catch up that insouciance, and never 
 succeed — never!" 
 
 " My brother's friend certainly is no adept in 
 it." 
 
 "He is insufferable. I don't know that the 
 man ever dined in the company of ladies before ; 
 
LORD KLLGOBBIN. 
 
 did yon remark thai he did not open the door as 
 we left the dinner-room? and if your brother had 
 not come over, I Bhonld have had to open it for 
 myself. I declare I'm not sure he stood up as 
 we passed." 
 
 "Oh \es; I saw him rise from his chair." 
 " I II tell TOO what von did not see. You did 
 
 ma- to excite suspicion ofhis class, and I want to 
 know n hal 1 lick means by introducing him here." 
 
 "Papa liked him; at leas) he said that after 
 we left the room a good deal of his bIij ness wore 
 off, and that he conversed pleasantly and well. 
 Above all. he Beems to know Ireland perfectly." 
 
 " indeed!" said she, half disdainfully. 
 
 not see him open his napkin at dinner. He Btole 
 his roll of bread very slyly from the folds, and 
 then placed the napkin, carefully folded, beside 
 
 him." 
 
 ••Von seem to have observed him closely, 
 Nina." 
 
 "I did so, because I saw enough in his man- | 
 
 "So much so that I was heartily sorry to leave 
 
 the room when I heard them begin the topic; 
 
 hut I saw papa wished to have some talk with 
 
 him. and I went." 
 
 '•They were gallant enough not to join us aft- 
 erward, though I think we waited tea till ten." 
 "Till nigh eleven, Nina; so that I am sure 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 they must have been interested in their conversa- 
 tion." 
 
 "I hope the explanation excuses them." 
 
 " I don't know that they are aware they needed 
 an apology. Perhaps they were affecting a little 
 of that British insouciance you spoke of." ' 
 
 "They had better not. It will sit most awk- 
 wardly on their Irish habits. " 
 
 "Some day or other I'll give you a formal bat- 
 tle on this score, Nina, and I warn you you'll not 
 come so well out of it." 
 
 " Whenever you like. I accept the challenge. 
 Make this brilliant companion of your brother's 
 the type, and it will test your cleverness, I prom- 
 ise you. Do you even know his name ?" 
 
 " Mr. Daniel, my brother called him ; but I 
 know nothing of his country or of his belongings." 
 
 "Daniel is a Christian name, not a family 
 name, is it not ? We have scores of people like 
 that — Tommasini, Riccardi, and such like — in 
 Italy, but they mean nothing." 
 
 "Our friend below stairs looks as if that was 
 not his failing. I should say that he means a 
 good deal." 
 
 "Oh, I know you are laughing at my stupid 
 phrase — no matter; you understood me, at all 
 events. I don't like that man. " 
 
 " Dick's friends are not fortunate with you. I 
 remember how unfavorably you judged of Mr. 
 Atlee from his portrait." 
 
 •■ Well, he looked rather better than his picture 
 — less false, I mean ; or perhaps it was that he 
 had a certain levity of manner that carried off 
 the perfidy." 
 
 " What an amiable sort of levity !" 
 
 " You are too critical on me by half this even- 
 ing," said Nina, pettishly; and she arose and 
 strolled out upon the leads. 
 
 For some time Kate was scarcely aware she 
 had gone. Her head was full of cares, and she 
 sat trying to think some of them "out," and see 
 her way to deal with them. At last the door of 
 the room slowly and noiselessly opened, and Dick 
 put in his head. " I was afraid you might be 
 asleep, Kate, " said he, entering, ' ' finding all so 
 still and quiet here." 
 
 " No. Nina and I were chatting here — squab- 
 bling, I believe, if I were to tell the truth ; and 
 I can't tell when she left me." 
 
 " What could you be quarreling about ?" asked 
 he, as he sat down beside her. 
 
 "I think it was about that strange friend of 
 yours. We were not quite agreed whether his 
 manners were perfect, or his habits those of the 
 well-bred world. Then we wanted to know more 
 of him, and each was dissatisfied that the other 
 was so ignorant ; and, lastly, we were canvassing 
 that very peculiar taste you appear to have in 
 friends, and were wondering where you find your 
 odd people." 
 
 " So, then, you don't like Donogan ?" said he, 
 hurriedly. 
 
 " Like whom ? And you call him Donogan !" 
 
 " The mischief is out," said he. " Not that I 
 wanted to have secrets from you ; but all the 
 >ame, I am a precious bungler. His name is 
 Donogan, and what's more, it's Daniel Donogan. 
 He was the same who figured in the clock at, I 
 lielieve, sixteen years of age, with Smith O'Brien 
 and the others, and was afterward seen in En- 
 gland in '59, known as a head-centre, and appre- 
 hended on suspicion in 'GO, and made his escape 
 
 from Dartmoor the same year. There's a very 
 pretty biography in skeleton, is it not?" 
 
 "But, my dear Dick, how are you connected 
 with him ?" 
 
 " Not very seriously. Don't be afraid. I'm 
 not compromised in any way, nor does he desire 
 that I should be. Here is the whole story of our 
 acquaintance." And now he told what the read- 
 er already knows of their first meeting and the 
 intimacy that followed it. 
 
 "All that will take nothing from the danger 
 of harboring a man charged as he is," said she, 
 gravely. 
 
 "That is to say, if he be tracked and discov- 
 ered." 
 
 "It is what I mean." 
 
 " Well, one has only to look out of that win- 
 dow, and see where we are and what lies around 
 us on every side, to be tolerably easy on that 
 score." And as lie spoke he arose and walked 
 out upon the terrace. "What! were you here 
 all this time ?" asked he, as he saw Nina seated 
 on the battlement, and throwing dried leaves 
 carelessly to the wind. 
 
 "Yes; I have been here this half hour, per- 
 haps longer." 
 
 " And heard what we have been saying within 
 there ?" 
 
 "Some chance words reached me, but I did 
 not follow them." 
 
 "Oh, it was here you were, then, Nina!" cried 
 Kate. "I am ashamed to say I did not know 
 it." 
 
 " W T e got so warm in discussing your friend's 
 merits or demerits that we parted in a sort of 
 huff," said Nina. "I wonder was he worth 
 quarreling for?" 
 
 "What should you say?" asked Dick, inquir- 
 fhgly, as he scanned her face. 
 
 "In any other land I might say he was — that 
 is, that some interest might attach to him ; but 
 here, in Ireland, you all look so much brighter, 
 and wittier, and more impetuous, and more out 
 of the common than you really are, that I give 
 up all divination of you, and own I can not read 
 you at all." 
 
 " I hope you like the explanation," said Kate 
 to her brother, laughing. 
 
 " I'll tell my friend of it in the morning," said 
 Dick ; " and as he is a great national champion, 
 perhaps he'll accept it as a defiance." 
 
 "You do not frighten by the threat," said 
 Nina, calmly. 
 
 Dick looked from her face to his sister's and 
 back again to hers, to discern if he might how 
 much she had overheard ; but he coidd read 
 nothing in her cold and impassive bearing, and 
 he went his way in doubt and confusion. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 ON A VISIT AT KILGOBBIN. 
 
 Before Kearney had risen from his bed the 
 next morning Donogan was in his room, his 
 look elated, and his cheek glowing with recent 
 exercise. "I have had a burst of two hours' 
 sharp walking over the bog," cried he ; " and it 
 has put me in such spirits as I have not known 
 for many a year. Do you know, Mr. Kearney, 
 that what with the fantastic effects of the morn- 
 
LORD Kll.iiuBBIN. 
 
 re 
 
 iug mists, as they lift themselves over these vast 
 wastes, the glorious patches of bine heather ami 
 purple anemone thai the sun displays through 
 
 the fog. ami. better than all. the springiness of 
 
 a soil that semis a thrill to the heart, like a throb 
 of youth itself, there is no walking in the world 
 can compare with a hoi; at sunrise! There's a 
 sentiment to open n paper on nationalities! I 
 came up with the postboy, ami took his letters, to 
 save him a couple of miles. Here's one for you, 
 I think from Atlee; ami this is also to your ad- 
 dress, from Dnblin; ami here's the last number 
 of the Pike; and you'll see they have lost no time. 
 There's a few lines about you. ' Our readers 
 will be grateful to us for the tidings we announce 
 to-day. with authority— that Richard Kearney, 
 Esq., son of Maurice Kearney, of Kilgobbin Cas- 
 tle, will contest his native county at the approach- 
 ing election. It will he a proud day for Ireland 
 when she shall see her representation in the 
 names of those who dignify the exalted station 
 they hold in virtue of their birth and blood by 
 claims of admitted talent and recognized ability. 
 .Mr. Kearney, junior, has swept the university of 
 its prizes, and the college gate has long seen his 
 name at the head of her prizemen. He contests 
 the seat in the National interest. It is needless 
 to say all our sympathies and hopes and best 
 wishes go with him.' " 
 
 Dick shook with laughing while the other read 
 out the paragraph in a high-souuding and pre- 
 tentious tone. 
 
 "1 hope," said Kearney at last, "that the 
 information as to my college successes is not 
 vouched for on authority.'' 
 
 • • Who cares a fig about them ? The phrase 
 rounds oft* a sentence, and nobody treats it like 
 an affidavit." 
 
 " Hut some one may take the trouble to re- 
 mind the readers that my victories have been de- 
 feats, and that in my last examination but one I 
 got 'cautioned.' " 
 
 "Do you imagine, Mr. Kearney, the House 
 of Commons in any way reflects college distinc- 
 tion ? Do you look for senior wranglers and 
 double-firsts on the Treasury bench? and are 
 not the men who carry away distinction the men 
 of breadth, not depth ? Is it not the wide ac- 
 quaintance with a large field of knowledge, and 
 the subtle power to know how other men regard 
 these topics, that make the popular leader of the 
 present day? And remember, it is talk, and not 
 oratory, is the mode. You must be common- 
 plan', and even vulgar, practical, dashed with a 
 small morality, so as not to be classed with the 
 low Radical ; and if then you have a bit of hi- 
 falutin for the peroration, you'll do. The morn- 
 ing papers will call you a young man of great 
 promise, and the whip will never pass you with- 
 out a shake ban. Is. " 
 
 •• I'm there are good speakers." 
 
 "There is Bright — I don't think I know an- 
 other — and he only at times. Take my word 
 for it, the secret of success with 'the collective 
 wisdom' is reiteration. Tell them the same 
 thing, not once or twice, or even ten, but fifty 
 times, and don't vary very much even the way 
 you tell it. Go on repeating your platitudes, and 
 by the time you find yon are cursing' your own 
 stupid persistence, you may Bwearyou have made 
 a convert to your opinions, [f yon are bent on 
 variety, and must indulge it, ring your changes 
 
 on the man who brought these views before them 
 
 —yourself, hut beyond these never si par. O'CoD 
 neil. who had variety at will for his own country- 
 men, never tried it in England: he knew better. 
 
 The chawbacons thai we sneer at are DOt always 
 in Smock-frocks, take my word for it : they many 
 
 of them wear wide-brimmed hats and broadcloth, 
 
 and sit above the gangway. Ay, Sir," cried he, 
 warming with the theme: "once 1 can get mj 
 countrymen folly awakened to the fact of who 
 ami what are the men who rule them. I'll ask for 
 
 no Catholic Associations, or Repeal < mittees, 
 
 or Nationalist Clubs ; the card house of British 
 supremacy will tumble of itself; there will be no 
 conflict., but simply submission." 
 
 '• We're a long day's journey from these con- 
 victions, 1 suspect," saiti Kearney, doubtfully. 
 
 "Not so far, perhaps, as you think. Do you 
 remark how little the English press deal in abuse 
 of us to what was once their custom ? They have 
 not, I admit, come down to civility ; but they 
 don't deride us in the old fashion, nor tell us. as 
 I once saw, that we are intellectually and phys- 
 ically stamped with inferiority. If it was true, 
 Mr. Kearney, it was stupid to tell it to us." 
 
 "I think we could do better than dwell upon 
 these things." 
 
 "I deny that: deny it in toto. The moment 
 you forget, in your dealings with the Knglishman, 
 the cheap estimate he entertains, not alone of 
 your brains and your skill, but of your resolution, 
 your persistence, your strong will — ay, your very 
 integrity — that moment, I say, places him in a 
 ] position to treat you as something below him. 
 Bear in mind, however, how he is striving to re- 
 gard you, and it's your own fault if you're not 
 his equal, and something more perhaps. There 
 was a man more than the master of them all, 
 and his name was Edmund Burke; and how did 
 they treat him ? How insolently did they behave 
 to O'Connell in the House till he put his heel on 
 them! Were they generous to Sheil? Were 
 they just to Plunked? No. no. The element 
 that they decry in our people they know they 
 have not got, and they'd like to crash the race, 
 when they can not extinguish the quality." 
 
 Donogan had so excited himself now that he 
 walked up and down the room, his voice ringing 
 with emotion, and his arms wildly tossing in all 
 the extravagance of passion. ' ' 'Ibis is from Joe 
 Atlee," said Kearney, as he tore open the envel- 
 ope : 
 
 "'Dear Dick, — I can not account for the 
 madness that seems to have seized you, except 
 that Dan Donogan, the most rabid dog I know, 
 has bitten you. If so, for Heaven's sake have the 
 
 piece cut out at once, and use the strongest cau- 
 tery of COmmon-8ense, if you know of any one 
 
 who has a little to spare. 1 only remembered yes 
 
 terday that I oughl to have told you I had shel- 
 tered Dan in our rooms, hut I can already detect 
 
 that you have made his acquaintance. He IS not 
 a had fellow. He is sincere in his opinions, and 
 it rruptible, if that he tin; name for a man who, 
 
 if bought to-morrow, would not l.e worth sixpence 
 to bis owner. 
 
 " 'Though 1 resigned all respect for my own 
 good sense in telling it, I was obliged to let 11. 
 B. know the contents of your dispatch, and then, 
 as I saw he bad never heard of Kilgobbin or the 
 great Kearney family, 1 told more lies of your 
 
so 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 estated property, your county station, your influ- 
 ence generally, and your abilities individually, 
 than the fee-simple of your property, converted 
 into masses, will see me safe through purgatory ; 
 and I have consequently baited the trap that has 
 caught myself; for, persuaded by my eloquent 
 advocacy "of you all, H. E. has written to \Val- 
 pole to make certain inquiries concerning you, 
 which, if satisfactory, he, Walpole, will put him- 
 self in communication with you, as to the extent 
 and the mode to which the government will sup- 
 port you. I think I can see Dan Donogan's fine 
 hand in that part of your note which foreshad- 
 ows a threat, and hints that the Walpole story 
 would, if published abroad, do enormous damage 
 to the ministry. This, let me assure you, is a 
 fatal error, and a blunder which could only be 
 committed by an outsider in political life. The 
 days are long past since a scandal could smash 
 an administration; and we are so strong now 
 that arson or forgery could not hurt, and I don't 
 think that infanticide would affect us. 
 
 " 'If you are really bent on this wild exploit, 
 you should see Walpole and confer with him. 
 You don't talk well, but you write worse ; so avoid 
 correspondence, and do all your indiscretions 
 verbally. Be angry, if you like, with my can- 
 dor, but follow my counsel. 
 
 " ' See him and show him, if you are able, that, 
 all questions of nationality apart, he may count 
 upon your vote ; that there are certain imprac- 
 ticable and impossible conceits in politics — like 
 repeal, subdivision of land, restoration of the con- 
 fiscated estates, and such like — on which Irish- 
 men insist on being free to talk balderdash and 
 air their patriotism ; but that, rightfully con- 
 sidered, they are as harmless and mean just as 
 little as a discussion on the Digamma or a de- 
 bate on perpetual motion. The stupid Tories 
 could never be brought to see this. Like genu- 
 ine dolts, they would have an army of support- 
 ers one-minded with them in every thing. We 
 know better, and hence we buy the Radical vote 
 by a little coquetting with communism, and the 
 model working-man and the rebel by an occa- 
 sional jail delivery, and the papist by a sop to 
 the Holy Father. Bear in mind, Dick — and it 
 is the grand secret of political life — it takes all 
 sorts of people to make "a party." When you 
 have thoroughly digested this aphorism you are 
 fit to start in the world. 
 
 " ' If you are not so full of what I am sure you 
 would call your " legitimate ambitions," I'd like 
 to tell you the glorious life we lead in this place. 
 Disraeli talks of "the well -sustained splendor 
 of their stately lives," and it is just the phrase for 
 an existence in which all the appliances to ease 
 and enjoyment are supplied by a sort of magic, 
 that never shows its machinery, nor lets you hear 
 the sound of its working. The saddle-horses 
 know when I want to ride by the same instinct 
 that makes the butler give me the exact wine I 
 wish at my dinner. And so on throughout the 
 day, "the sustained splendor" being an ever- 
 present luxuriousness that I drink in with a thirst 
 that knows no slaking. 
 
 " 'I have made a hit with H. E., and, from 
 copying some rather muddle-headed dispatches, 
 I am now promoted to writing short skeleton ser- 
 mons on politics, which, duly filled out and fat- 
 tened with official nutriment, will one day as- 
 tonish the Irish Office, and make one of the Nes- 
 
 tors of bureaucracy exclaim, "See how Danes- 
 bury has got up the Irish question !" 
 
 " ' I have a charming collaborateur, my lord's 
 niece, who was acting as his private secretary up 
 to the time of my arrival, and whose explanation 
 of a variety of things I found to be so essential 
 that, from being at first in the continual necessi- 
 ty of seeking her out, I have now arrived at a 
 point at which we write in the same room, and 
 pass our mornings in the library till luncheon. 
 She is stunningly handsome, as tall as the Greek 
 cousin, and with a stately grace of manner and 
 a cold dignity of demeanor I'd give my heart's 
 blood to subdue to a mood of womanly tender- 
 ness and dependence. Up to this, my position 
 is that of a very humble courtier in presence of 
 a queen, and she takes care that by no moment- 
 ary forgetfulness shall I lose sight of the "situa- 
 tion." 
 
 " 'She is engaged, they say, to be married to 
 Walpole ; but as I have not heard that he is heir- 
 apparent, or has even the reversion to the crown 
 of Spain, I can not perceive what the contract 
 means. 
 
 " 'I rode out with her to-day by special invi- 
 tation, or permission — which was it ? — and in the 
 few words that passed between us she asked me 
 if I had long known Mr. Walpole, and put her 
 horse into a canter without waiting for my an- 
 swer. 
 
 " ' With H. E. 1 can talk away freely, and 
 without constraint. I am never very sure that 
 he does not know the things he questions me on 
 better than myself — a practice some of his order 
 rather cultivate; but, on the whole, our inter- 
 course is easy. I know he is not a little puzzled 
 about me, and I intend that he should remain so. 
 
 " ' When you have seen and spoken with Wal- 
 pole, write me what has taken place between 
 you ; and though I am fully convinced that what 
 you intend is unmitigated folly, I see so many 
 difficulties in the way, such obstacles, and such 
 almost impossibilities to be overcome, that I think 
 Fate will be more merciful to you than your am- 
 bitions, and spare you, by an early defeat, from 
 a crushing disappointment. 
 
 " 'Had you ambitioned to be a governor of a 
 colony, a bishop, or a Queen's messenger — they 
 are the only irresponsible people I can think of 
 — I might have helped you ; but this conceit to 
 be a Parliament man is such irredeemable folly, 
 one is powerless to deal witli it. 
 
 " ' At all events, your time is not worth much, 
 nor is your public character of a very grave im- 
 portance. Give them both, then, freely to the 
 effort, but do not let it cost you money, nor let 
 Donogan persuade you that you are one of those 
 men who can make patriotism self-supporting. 
 
 " ' H. E. hints at a very confidential mission 
 on which he desires to employ me ; and though 
 I should leave this place now with much regret, 
 and a more tender sorrow than I could teach you 
 to comprehend, I shall hold myself at his orders 
 for Japan if he wants me. Meanwhile, write to 
 me what takes place with Walpole, and put your 
 faith firmly in the good-will and efficiency of 
 " ' Yours truly, Joe Atlke. 
 
 " ' If you think of taking Donogan down with 
 you to Kilgobbin, I ought to tell you that it 
 would be a mistake. Women invariably dislike 
 him, and he would do you no credit.' " 
 
LOUD K I Hi 01? 15 IX. 
 
 si 
 
 Dick Kearney, who had begun to read this let- 
 ter aloml, saw himself constrained to continue, 
 
 ami went on boldly, without stop or hesitation, 
 to the last word. 
 '•I am ?ery grateful to yon, Mi - . Kearney," 
 
 said Donogan, "for this mark of trustfulness. 
 and I'm not in the least sore about all Joe has 
 said of me." 
 
 "He is not overcomplimentary to myself." 
 said Kearney, and the irritation he felt was not 
 to he concealed. 
 
 "There's one passage in his letter," said the 
 other, thoughtfully, " well worth all the stress he 
 lays on it. He tells you never to forget it ' takes 
 all sorts of men to make a party.' Nothing can 
 more painfully prove the fact than that we need 
 Joe Atlee among ourselves! And it is true. 
 Mr. Kearney." said lie. sternly, "treason must 
 now, to have any chance at all, he many-handed. 
 We want not only all sorts of men, but in all 
 sorts of places; and at tables where rebel opin- 
 ions dared not be boldly announced and defended 
 we want people who can coquet with felony, and 
 get men to talk over treason with little if any 
 ceremony. Joe can do this — he can write, and, 
 what is better, sing you a Fenian ballad, and if 
 be sees he has made a mistake, he can quiz him- 
 self and his song as cavalierly as be has sung it. 
 And now, on my solemn oath, I say it, 1 don't 
 know that any thing worse has befallen us than 
 the fact that there are such men as Joe Atlee 
 among us, and that we need them — ay, Sir, we 
 need them!" 
 
 "This is brief enough, at any rate," said Kear- 
 ney, as he broke open the second letter : 
 
 "'DniT.iN Castle, Wednesday "Evening. 
 " 'Dear Sir, — Would you do me the great 
 favor to call on me here at your earliest conven- 
 ient moment? I am still an invalid, and confined 
 to a sofa, or would ask for permission to meet 
 you at your chambers. 
 
 *" 'Believe me, yours faithfully, 
 
 "'Cecil Walpole.' 
 
 "That can not be delayed, I suppose?" said 
 Kearney, in the tone of a question. 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 " I'll go up by the night mail. You'll remain 
 where you are. ami where I hope you feel you are i 
 with a welcome." 
 
 " I feel it. Sir — I feel it more than I can say." 
 And his face was blood-red as he spoke. 
 
 "There are scores of things you can do while 
 I am away. You'll have to study the county in 
 all its baronies and subdivisions : there my sis- 
 ter can help you: and you'll have to learn tin- 
 names and places of our great county swells, and 
 mark BUCh a- may he likely to as-ist us. You'll 
 have to stroll about in our own neighborhood, and 
 learn what the people near borne say of the in- 
 tention, and pick np what you can of public opin- 
 ion in our towns of Moate and Kilbeggan." 
 
 "I have bethought me of all that — " lie 
 paused here and seemed to hesitate if he should 
 gay more; and, after an effort, he went on: 
 "You'll not take amiss what I'm going to say, 
 Mr. Kearney. You'll make full allowance for a 
 man placed as I am. But I want, before you go, 
 to learn from you in what way. or as what, you 
 have presented me to your family. Am I a poor 
 
 sizar of Trinity, whose hard straggle with pov- 
 
 erty has caught your sympathy ? Am I a chance 
 acquaintance, whose only claim on you i> being 
 
 known to doe Atlee? I'm sure I need not ask 
 you have you called me by my real name and 
 given me my real character?" 
 
 Kearney flushed np to the eyes, and laying his 
 hand On the other's shoulder- -"This is exactly 
 what I have done. I have told my sister that 
 you were the noted Daniel Donogan, United 
 Irishman and rebel." 
 
 " But only to your sister?" 
 
 "To none other." 
 
 '•'■Shell not betray me, I know that." 
 
 " You are right there, Donogan. Here's how 
 it happened, for it was not intended.'' And now 
 he related how the name had escaped him. 
 
 •• So that the cousin knows nothing?" 
 
 "Nothing whatever. My sister Kate is not 
 one to make rash confidences, and yon may rely 
 on it she has not told her." 
 
 " I hope and trust that this mistake will sorvc 
 you for a lesson, Mr. Kearney, and show you that 
 to keep a secret it is not enough to have an hon- 
 est intention, but a maivmust have a watch over 
 his thoughts and a padlock on his tongue. And 
 now to something of more importance. In your 
 meeting with Walpole mind one thing : no mod- 
 esty, no humility ; make your demands boldly, 
 and declare that your price is well worth the 
 paying; let him feel that, as he must make a 
 choice between the priests and the Nationalists. 
 that we are the easier of the two to deal with : 
 first of all, we don't press for prompt payment; 
 and secondly, we'll not shock Exeter Hall ! 
 Show him that strongly, and tell him that there 
 are clever fellows among us who'll not compro- 
 mise him or his party, and will never desert him 
 on a close division. Oh, dear me, how I wish I 
 was going in your place !" 
 
 " So do I, with all my heart ; but there's ten 
 striking, and we shall be late for breakfast." 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE MOATE STATION. 
 
 The train by which Miss Betty O'Shea ex- 
 pected her nephew was late in its arrival at 
 Moate, and Peter Gill, who had been sent with 
 the car to fetch him over, was busily discuss- 
 ing his second supper when the passengers ar- 
 rived. 
 
 "Are you Mr. Gorman O'Shea, Sir?" asked 
 Peter of a well-dressed and well looking man, 
 who had just taken his luggage from the train. 
 
 " No; here he is," replied he, pointing to a 
 tall, powerful young fellow, whose tweed suit and 
 hilly-cock hat could not completely conceal a sol- 
 dier-like hearing and a sort of compactness that 
 come- of "drill." 
 
 "That's my name. What do you want with 
 me?" cried he, in a loud hut pleasant voice. 
 
 " Only that Miss Betty has sent me over with 
 the car for your honor, if it's pla/.ing to you to 
 drive across." 
 
 •• What about this broiled bone, Miller?" asked 
 ( (Shea. " I rather think I like the notion bet- 
 ter than when you proposed it." 
 
 "I suspect you do," said the other; " but we'll 
 
 have to step over to the ' Bine Goat.' It's onlj 
 a few yards off, and they'll he ready, for I tele 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 graphed them from town to be prepared as the 
 train came in." 
 
 " You seem to know the place well." 
 
 "Yes. I may say I know something about it. 
 I canvassed this part of the county once for one 
 of the Idlers, and I secretly determined, if I ever 
 thought of trying for a seat in the House, I'd 
 make the attempt here. They are the most pre- 
 tentious set of beggars, these small towns-folk, 
 and they'd rather hear themselves talk politics, 
 and give their notions of what they think ' good 
 for Ireland,' than actually pocket bank-notes; 
 and that, my dear friend, is a virtue in a con- 
 stituency never to be ignored or forgotten. The 
 
 moment, then, I heard of M 's retirement, 
 
 I sent off a confidential emissary down here to 
 get up what is called a requisition, asking me to 
 stand for the county. Here it is, and the answer, 
 in this morning's Freeman. You can read it at 
 your leisure. Here we are now at the ' Blue 
 Goat;' and I see they are expecting us." 
 
 Not only was there a capital fire in the grate, 
 and the table ready laid for supper, but half a 
 dozen or more of the notabilities of Moate were 
 in waiting to receive the new candidate, and con- 
 fer with him over the coming contest. 
 
 "My companion is the nephew of an old neigh- 
 bor of yours, gentlemen," said Miller : " Captain 
 Gorman O'Shea, of the Imperial Lancers of Aus- 
 tria. I know you have heard of, if you have not 
 seen him. " 
 
 A round of very hearty and demonstrative salu- 
 tations followed, and Gorman was well pleased 
 at the friendly reception accorded him. 
 
 Austria was a great country, one of the com- 
 pany observed. They had got liberal institutions 
 and a free press, and they were good Catholics, 
 who would give those heretical Prussians a fine 
 lesson one of these days ; and Gorman O'Shea's 
 health, coupled with these sentiments, was drunk 
 with all the honors. 
 
 "There's a jolly old face I ought to remem- 
 ber well," said Gorman, as he looked up at the 
 portrait of Lord Kilgobbin over the chimney. 
 "When I entered the service, and came back 
 here on leave, he gave me the first sword I ever 
 wore, and treated me as kindly as if I was his son." 
 
 The hearty speech elicited no response from the 
 hearers, who only exchanged significant looks 
 with each other, while Miller, apparently less 
 under restraint, broke in with, "That stupid ad- 
 venture the English newspapers called ' the gal- 
 lant resistance at Kilgobbin Castle' has lost that 
 man the esteem of Irishmen." 
 
 A perfect burst of approval followed these 
 words ; and while young O'Shea eagerly pressed 
 for an explanation of an incident of which he 
 heard for the first time, they one and all pro- 
 ceeded to give their versions of what had oc- 
 curred ; but with such contradictions, correc- 
 tions, and emendations that the young man 
 might be pardoned if he comprehended little of 
 the event. 
 
 " They say his son will contest the county with 
 you, Mr. Miller," cried one. 
 
 " Let me have no weightier rival, and I ask no 
 more." 
 
 "Faix, if he's going to stand," said another, 
 "his father might have taken the trouble to ask 
 us for our votes. Would you believe it, Sir, it's 
 going on six months since he put his foot in this 
 room ?" 
 
 " And do the ' Goats' stand that ?" asked Mil- 
 ler. 
 
 " I don't wonder he doesn't care to come into 
 Moate. There's not a shop in the town he doesn't 
 owe money to." 
 
 " And we never refused him credit — " 
 
 "For any thing but his principles," chimed in 
 an old fellow, whose oratory was heartily relished. 
 
 ' ' He's going to stand in the National interest," 
 said one. 
 
 "That's the safe ticket when you have no 
 money," said another. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Miller, who rose to his legs 
 to give greater importance to his address, "if 
 we want to make Ireland a country to live in, 
 the only party to support is the Whig govern- 
 ment. The Nationalist may open the jails, 
 give license to the press, hunt down the Orange- 
 men, and make the place generally too hot for 
 the English. But are these the things that you 
 and I want or strive for ? We want order and 
 quietness in the land, and the best places in it 
 for ourselves to enjoy these blessings. Is Mr. 
 Casey down there satisfied to keep the post-office 
 in Moate, when he knows he could be first secre- 
 tary in Dublin, at the head office, with two thou- 
 sand a year? Will my friend Mr. M'Gloin say 
 that he'd rather pass his life here than be a 
 Commissioner of Customs, and live in Merrion 
 Square ? Ain't we men ? Ain't we fathers and 
 husbands? Have we not sons to advance and 
 daughters to marry in the world ? and how much 
 will Nationalism do for these ? 
 
 " I will not tell you that the Whigs love us or 
 have any strong regard for us ; but they need us, 
 gentlemen, and they know well that, without the 
 Radicals, and Scotland, and our party here, they 
 couldn't keep power for three weeks. "Now why is 
 Scotland a great and prosperous country ? I'll "tell 
 you. Scotland has no sentimental politics. Scot- 
 land says, in her own homely adage, ' Ca' me and 
 I'll ca' thee.' Scotland insists that there should 
 be Scotchmen every where — in the Post-office, in 
 the Privy Council, in the Pipe-water and in the 
 Punjaub ! Does Scotland go on vaporing about 
 an extinct nationality or the right of the Stuarts ? 
 Not a bit of it. She says, Burn Scotch coal 
 in the navy, though the smoke may blind you 
 and you never get up steam! She has no na- 
 tional absurdities : she neither asks for a flag nor 
 a parliament. She demands only what will pay. 
 And it is by supporting the Whigs you will make 
 Ireland as prosperous as Scotland. Literally, 
 the Fenians, gentlemen, will never make my 
 friend yonder a baronet, nor put me on the Bench ; 
 and now that we are met here in secret com- 
 mittee, I can say all this to you, and none of it 
 get abroad. 
 
 "Mind, I never told you the Whigs love us, 
 or said that we love the Whigs ; but we can 
 each of us help the other. When they smash the 
 Protestant party, they are doing a fine stroke of 
 work for Liberalism in pulling down a cruel as- 
 cendency and righting the Romanists. And 
 when we crush the Protestants, we are opening 
 the best places in the land to ourselves by getting 
 rid of our only rivals. Look at the Bench, 
 gentlemen, and" the high offices of the courts. 
 Have not we papists, as they call us, our share in 
 both? And this is only the beginning, let me 
 tell you. There is a university in College Green 
 due to us, and a number of fine palaces that their 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 83 
 
 bishops once lived in, and grand old cathedrals 
 whose very names Bhow t lie rightful ownership; 
 and when we have got all these — as the Whigs 
 
 will give them one day — even then, we are only 
 beginning. And now turn the other vide, and 
 B66 what \on have to expect from the Nationalists. 
 Some very hard fighting and a great number of 
 broken heads. I give in that you'll drive the 
 
 English out. take the Pigeon-house Fort, cap- 
 ture the .Magazine, and earn away the Lord 
 Lieutenant in chains. And what will yon have 
 for it. after all, but another scrimmage among 
 yourselves for the spoils? Mr. Mullen, of the 
 / . will want something that Mr. Darby 
 M'Keown, of the Convicted Felon, hasjusl ap- 
 propriated : Tom Cassidy, that burned the Grand 
 .Master of the Orangemen, finds that he is not to 
 be pensioned for life; and Phil Costigan, that 
 blew up the Lodge in the Park, discovers that he 
 is not even to get the ruins as building materials. 
 I tell you. my friends, it's not in such convulsions 
 as these that you and I, and other sensible men 
 like ns, want to pass our lives. We look for a 
 comfortable berth and quarter-day ; that's what 
 we compound for — quarter-day — and 1 give it to 
 yon as a toast with all the honors." 
 
 And certainly the rich volume of cheers that 
 greeted the sentiment vouched for a hearty and 
 sincere recognition of the toast. 
 
 "The chaise is ready at the door, counselor," 
 cried the landlord, addressing Mr. Miller; and 
 after a friendly shake-hands all round. Miller 
 Flipped his arm through O'.Shea's and drew him 
 apart. 
 
 " I'll be back this way in about ten days or so, 
 and I'll ask you to present me to your aunt. 
 bhe has got above a hundred votes on her prop- 
 ertv, and I think I can count upon you to stand 
 by in''." 
 
 "I can. perhaps, promise 3-011 a welcome at 
 the Barn," muttered the young fellow in some 
 confusion; ''but when you have seen my aunt 
 you'll understand why I give you no pledges on 
 the score of political support.'' 
 
 "Oh, is that the way?'' asked Miller, with a 
 knowing laughi 
 
 "Yes, that's the way. and no mistake about 
 it," replied O'Shea, and they parted. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 HOW THE "GOATS" REVOLTED. 
 
 Iv less than a week after the events last re- 
 lated the members of the." Goat club" were sum- 
 moned to an extraordinary and general meeting 
 by an invitation from the vice-president, Mi. 
 91'Gloin, the chief grocer and hardware-dealer 
 of Kilbeggan. The terms of this circular seemed 
 to indicate importance, for it said — "To take 
 into consideration a matter of vital interest to the 
 society." 
 
 Though only the denizen of a very humble 
 country town, M'Gloin possessed certain gifts 
 and qualities which might have graced a higher 
 station, lie was the most self-contained and Be 
 cretof men ; he detected mysterious meanings in 
 every — the smallest — event of life: and as he di 
 ridged none of his discoveries, and only pointed 
 vaguely and dimly to the consequences, he got 
 credit for the correctness of his unuttered predic- | 
 
 tions ns completely as though be had registered 
 his prophecies as copyright at Stationers' Hall. 
 It is needier to say that on every question, re 
 
 ligious. social, or political, he was the paramount 
 authority of (he town. It was but rarely indeed 
 that a rebellious spirit dared to set up an opinion 
 
 in opposition to bis; but if such a hazardous event 
 were to occur, be would suppress it with a dig- 
 nity of manner which derived no small aid from 
 the resources of a mind rich in historical para] 
 lei; and it was really curious for those who be 
 
 Iieve that history is always repeating itself to re- 
 1 mark how frequently John M'Gloin represented 
 
 the mind and character of Lycurgus, and how oft 
 
 en poor old dreary ami bog-surrounded Moate re- 
 called the image of Sparta and its "sunny slopes. " 
 Now there is one feature, of Ireland which I 
 am not quite sure is very generally known or ap- 
 preciated on the other side of St. George's Chan- 
 nel, and this is the fierce spirit of indignation 
 called up in a country habitually quiet when the 
 newspapers bring it to public notice as the scene 
 of some law less violence. For once there is union 
 among Irishmen. Every class, from the estated 
 proprietor to the humblest peasant, is loud in 
 asserting that the story is an infamous false- 
 hood. Magistrates, priests, agents, middlemen, 
 tax-gatherers, and tax-payers rush into print to 
 abuse the "blackguard"— -he is always the black- 
 guard — who invented the lie ; and men upward 
 of ninety are quoted to show that, so long as 
 they could remember, there never was a man in- 
 jured, nor a rick burned, nor a heifer hamstrung 
 in the six baronies round! Old newspapers are 
 adduced to show how often the going judge of 
 assize has complimented the grand jury on the 
 catalogue of crime; in a word, the whole pop- 
 ulation is ready to make oath that the county is 
 little short of a terrestrial paradise, and that it 
 is a district teeming with gentle landlords, pious 
 priests, and industrious peasants, without a 
 plague-spot on the face of the county, except it 
 be the police barrack, and the company of lazy 
 vagabonds with cross-belts and carbines that 
 lounge before it. When, therefore, the press of 
 Dublin at first, and afterward of the empire at 
 large, related the night attack for arms at Kil- 
 gobbin Castle, the first impulse of the county at. 
 large was to rise up in the face of the nation and 
 deny the slander! Magistrates consulted together 
 whether the high sheriff should not convene a 
 meeting of the county. Priests took counsel with 
 the. bishop whether notice should not be taken 
 of the calumny from the altar. The small shop- 
 keepers of the small towns, assuming their trade 
 would be impaired by these rumors of disturb- 
 ance — just as Parisians used to declaim against 
 barricades in the streets — are violent in denoun- 
 cing the malignant falsehoods upon a quiet and 
 harmless community : so that, in fact, every rank 
 
 and condition vied with its neighbor in declaring 
 
 that the. whole Story was a ba8e tissue of lies, and 
 which could only impose upon those who knew 
 nothing of the county, nor of the peaceful, happy, 
 and brother-like creatures who inhabited it. 
 Itwas not to be supposed that, at such a crisis, 
 
 Mr. John M'Gloin would be inactive or indiffer- 
 ent. As a man ot considerable influence at elec- 
 tions, he had his weight with a county member, 
 
 Mr. Price; and to him he wrote, demanding that 
 
 he should ask in the House what correspondence 
 
 had passed between Mr. Kearney and theCastie 
 
84 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 authorities with reference to this supposed out- 
 rage, and whether the law officers of the Crown, 
 or the adviser of the Viceroy, or the chief of the 
 local police, or — to quote the exact words— " any 
 sane or respectable man in the county" believed 
 one word of the story. Lastly, that he would 
 also ask whether any and what correspondence 
 had passed between Mr. Kearney and the Chief 
 Secretary with respect to a small house on the 
 Kilgobbin property which Mr. Kearney had sug- 
 gested as a convenient police station, and for 
 which he asked a rent of twenty-five pounds per 
 annum ; and if such correspondence existed, 
 whether it had any or what relation to the ru- 
 mored attack on Kilgobbin Castle. 
 
 If it should seem strange that a leading mem- 
 ber of the " Goat Club" should assail its presi- 
 dent, the explanation is soon made : Mr. M'Gloin 
 had long desired to be the chief himself. He 
 and many others had seen, with some irritation 
 and displeasure, the growing indifference of Mr. 
 Kearney for the "Goats." For many months 
 he had never called them together, and several 
 members had resigned, and many more threat- 
 ened resignation. It was time, then, that some 
 energetic step should be taken. The opportu- 
 nity for this was highly favorable. Any thing 
 unpatriotic, any thing even unpopular in Kear- 
 ney's conduct, would, in the then temper of the 
 club, be sufficient to rouse them to actual rebell- 
 ion; and it was to test this sentiment, and, if 
 necessary, to stimulate it, Mr. M'Gloin convened 
 a meeting, which a by-law of the society enabled 
 him to do at any period when, for the three pre- 
 ceding months, the president had not assembled 
 the club. 
 
 Though the members generally were not a 
 little proud of their president, and deemed it 
 considerable glory to them to have a viscount 
 for their chief, and though it gave great dignity 
 to their debates that the rising speaker should 
 begin, "My Lord and Buck Goat," yet they 
 were not without dissatisfaction at seeing how 
 cavalierly lie treated them, what slight value he 
 appeared to attach to their companionship, and 
 how perfectly indifferent he seemed to their 
 opinions, their wishes, or their wants. 
 
 There were various theories in circulation to 
 explain this change of temper in their chief. 
 Some ascribed it to young Kearney, who was a 
 "stuck-up" young fellow, and wanted his father 
 to give himself greater airs and pretensions. 
 Others opinioned it was the daughter, who, 
 though she played Lady Bountiful among the 
 poor cottiers, and affected interest in the people, 
 was in reality the proudest of them all. And 
 last of all, there were some who, in open defi- 
 ance of chronology, attributed the change to a 
 post-dated event, and said that the swells from 
 the Castle were the ruin of Maurice Kearney, 
 and that he was never the same man since the 
 day he saw them. 
 
 Whether any of these were the true solution 
 of the difficulty or not, Kearney's popularity was 
 on the decline at the moment when this unfor- 
 tunate narrative of the attack on his castle 
 aroused the whole county and excited their feel- 
 ings against him. Mr. M'Gloin took every 
 step of his proceeding with due measure and 
 caution ; and having secured a certain number 
 of promises of attendance at the meeting, he 
 next notilied to his lordship how, in virtue of a 
 
 certain section of a certain law, he had exercised 
 his right of calling the members together ; and 
 that he now begged respectfully to submit to the 
 chief that some of the matters which would be 
 submitted to the collective wisdom would have 
 reference to the "Buck Goat" himself, and that 
 it would be an act of great courtesy on his part 
 if he should condescend to be present and afford 
 some explanation. 
 
 That the bare possibility of being called to 
 account by the "Goats" would drive Kearney 
 into a ferocious passion, if not a fit of the gout, 
 M'Gloin knew well ; and that the very last thing 
 on his mind would be to come among them, he 
 was equally sure of: so that in giving his invita- 
 tion there was no risk whatever. Maurice 
 Kearney's temper was no secret ; and whenever 
 the necessity should arise that a burst of indis- 
 creet anger should be sufficient to injure a cause 
 or damage a situation, "the lord" could be cal- 
 culated on with a perfect security. M'Gloin un- 
 derstood this thoroughly ; nor was it matter of 
 surprise to him that a verbal reply of "There is 
 no answer" was returned to his note ; while the 
 old servant, instead of stopping the ass-cart as 
 usual for the weekly supply of groceries at 
 M'Gloin's, repaired to a small shop over the way, 
 where colonial products were rudely jostled out 
 of their proper places by coils of rope, sacks of 
 rape-seed, glue, glass, and leather, amidst which 
 the proprietor felt far more at home than amidst 
 mixed pickles and Mocha. 
 
 Mr. M'Gloin, however, had counted the cost 
 of his policy ; he knew well that, for the ambi- 
 tion to succeed his lordship as chief of the club, 
 he should have to pay by the loss of the Kilgob- 
 bin custom ; and whether it was that the great- 
 ness in prospect was too tempting to resist, or 
 that the sacrifice was smaller than it might have 
 seemed, he was prepared to risk the venture. 
 
 The meeting was in so far a success that it 
 was fully attended. Such a flock of "Goats"' 
 had not been seen by them since the memory of 
 man, nor was the unanimity less remarkable 
 than the number ; and every paragraph of Mr. 
 M'Gloin's speech was hailed with vociferous 
 cheers and applause; the sentiment of the as- 
 sembly being evidently highly national, and the 
 feeling that the shame which the Lord of Kil- 
 gobbin had brought down upon their county was 
 a disgrace that attached personally to each man 
 there present ; and that if now their once happy 
 and peaceful district was to be proclaimed under 
 some tyranny of English law, or, worse still, 
 made a" mark for the insult and sarcasm of the 
 Times newspaper, they owed the disaster and 
 the shame to no other than Maurice Kearney 
 himself. 
 
 " I will now conclude with a resolution," said 
 M'Gloin, who, having filled the measure of al- 
 legation, proceeded to the application. "I shall 
 move that it is the sentiment of this meeting that 
 Lord Kilgobbin be called on to disavow, in the 
 newspapers, the whole narrative which has been 
 circulated of the attack on his house ; that he 
 declare openly that the supposed incident was a 
 mistake caused by the timorous fears of his 
 household, during his own absence from home — 
 terrors aggravated by the unwarrantable anxiety 
 of an English visitor, whose ignorance of Ireland 
 had worked upon an excited imagination ; and 
 that a copy of the resolution be presented to his 
 
LORD K1U.015BIN. 
 
 85 
 
 lordship, either in letter or by a deputation, as 
 the meeting shall decide." 
 
 While the discussion was proceeding as to the 
 mode in which this hold resolution should he 
 most becomingly brought under Lord Kilgob- 
 bin's notice, a messenger on horseback arrived 
 with a letter tor .Mr. M'Cloin. The bearer was 
 in the Kilgobbin livery, and a massive seal, with 
 the noble lord's arms, attested the dispatch to 
 he from himself. 
 
 " Shall I pat the resolution to the vote, or read 
 this letter first, gentlemen?" Bald the chairman. 
 
 " Head ! read ! " was the cry ; and lie broke the 
 seal. It ran thus : 
 
 '•Mi:. M'Gi.oiv, — Will you please to inform 
 the members of the ' Goat Club' at Moate that I 
 retire from the presidency, and cease to be a 
 member of that society ? I was vain enough to 
 believe at one time that the humanizing element 
 of even one gentleman in the vulgnr circle of a 
 little obscure town might have elevated the tone 
 of manners and the spirit of social intercourse. 
 I have lived to discover my great mistake, and 
 that the leadership of a man like yourself is far 
 more likely to suit the instincts and chime in with 
 the sentiments of such a body. 
 
 11 Your obedient and faithful servant, 
 
 * "KlLGOBllIN.'' 
 
 The cry which followed the reading of this 
 document can only be described as a howl. It 
 was like the enraged roar of wild animals, rather 
 than the union of human voices ; and it was not 
 till after a considerable interval that M'Gloin 
 could obtain a hearing, lie spoke with great 
 vigor and fluency. He denounced the letter as 
 an outrage which should be proclaimed from one 
 end of Europe to the other ; that it was not their 
 town, or their club, or themselves had been in- 
 sulted, but Ireland ! that this mock lord — (cheers) 
 — this sham viscount — (greater cheers) — this 
 Brummagem peer, whose nobility their native 
 courtesy and natural urbanity had so long 
 deigned to accept as real, should now be taught 
 that his pretensions only existed on sufferance, 
 and had no claim beyond the polite condescension 
 of men whom it was no stretch of imagination to 
 call the equals of Maurice Kearney. The cries 
 that received this were almost deafening, and 
 lasted for some minutes. 
 
 — nd. the ould humbug bis picture there," 
 ciied a voice from the crowd, and the sentiment 
 was backed by a roar of voices; and it was at 
 once decreed the portrait should accompany the 
 letter which the indignant "Goats" now com- 
 missioned their chairman to compose. 
 
 That sameeveningsaw the gold-framed picture 
 on its way to Kilgobbin Castle, with an ample- 
 looking document, whose contents we have no 
 curiosity to transcribe— nor, indeed, is the whole 
 incident one which we should have cared to ob- 
 trude upon our readers save as a feeble illustra- 
 tion of the way in which the smaller rills of pub- 
 lic opinion swell the great streams of lite, and 
 how the little events of existence serve now a- im- 
 pulses, now obstacles, to the larger interest- thai 
 sway fortune. So long a- Maurice Kearney 
 drank his punch at the " lilue Goat" he was a 
 
 patriot and a Nationalist ; but when he quarreled 
 
 with his Hock he renounced his Irishry, and came 
 out a Whig. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 AN UNLOOKED-FOR PLEASURE! 
 
 When Dick Kearney waited on Cecil Walpole 
 at his quarters in the Castle he was somewhat 
 surprised to find that gentleman more reserved 
 in manner, and in general more distant, than 
 when he had seen him as his father's guest. 
 
 Though he extended two fingers of his band 
 on entering, and begged him to be seated, Wal- 
 pole did not take a chair himself, but stood with 
 his back to the fire — the showy skirts of a very 
 gorgeous dressing-gown displayed over his arms 
 — where he looked like some enormous bird ex- 
 ulting in the full eti'ulgcnce of bis bright plumage. 
 
 "You got my note, Mr. Kearney?" began he. 
 almost before the other had sat down, with the 
 air of a man wdiose time was too precious for 
 mere politeness. 
 
 "It is the reason of my present visit," said 
 Dick, dryly. 
 
 "Just so. His Excellency instructed me to 
 ascertain in what shape most acceptable to your 
 family he might show the sense entertained by 
 the government of that gallant defense of Kil- 
 gobbin ; and believing that the best way to meet 
 a man's wi>hes is, first of all, to learn what the 
 v. ishea are, 1 wrote you the few lines of yesterday.'' 
 
 "1 suspect there must be a mistake; some- 
 where," began Kearney, with difficulty. "At 
 least, I intimated to Atlee the shape in u hich tin 
 
 Viceroy's flavor would be most agreeable to us. 
 
 and I came here prepared to find you equally 
 informed on the matter." 
 
 "Ah, indeed! I know nothing — positively 
 nothing. Atlee telegraphed me, 'See Kearney, 
 and hear what he has to say. I write bj p08t. 
 
 Atlee.' There's the whole of it." 
 
 " And the letter — " 
 
 'The letter is there. It came by the late 
 mail, and I have not opened it." 
 
 •• Would it not be better to glance over it now ?" 
 said Dick, mildly. 
 
so 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIX. 
 
 "Not if you can give me the substance by 
 word of mouth. Time, they tell us, is money, 
 and as I have got very little of either, I am 
 obliged to be parsimonious. What is it you 
 want ? I mean the sort of thing we could help 
 you to obtain. I see," said he, smiling, "you 
 had rather I should read Atlee's letter. Well, 
 here goes." He broke the envelope, and began : 
 
 " ' My dear Mr. Walpole, — I hoped by this 
 time to have had a report to make you of what 
 I had done, heard, seen, and imagined since my 
 arrival, and yet here I am now toward the close 
 of my second week, and I have nothing to tell ; 
 and beyond a sort of confused sense of being im- 
 mensely delighted with my mode of life, 1 am 
 totally unconscious of the Might of time. 
 
 ' ' ' His Excellency received me once for ten 
 minutes, and later on, after some days, for half 
 an hour : for he is confined to bed with gout, and 
 forbidden by his doctor all mental labor. He 
 was kind and courteous to a degree, hoped I 
 should endeavor to make myself at home — giv- 
 ing orders at the same time that my dinner should 
 be served at my own hour, and the stables placed 
 at my disposal for riding or driving. For occu- 
 pation, he suggested I should see what the news- 
 papers were saying, and make a note or two if 
 any thing struck me as remarkable. 
 
 " ' Lady Maude is charming — and I use the 
 epithet in all the significance of its sorcery. She 
 conveys to me each morning his Excellency's 
 instructions for my day's work ; and it is only 
 by a mighty effort I can tear myself from the 
 magic thrill of her voice and the captivation of 
 her manner to follow what I have to reply to, 
 investigate, and remark on. 
 
 " 'I meet her each day at luncheon, and she 
 says she will join me "some day at dinner." 
 When that glorious occasion arrives, I shall call 
 it the event of my life, for her mere presence 
 stimulates me to such effort in conversation that 
 I feel in the very lassitude afterward what a 
 strain my faculties have undergone.' 
 
 "What an insufferable coxcomb, and an id- 
 iot, to boot!" cried Walpole. " I could not do 
 him a more spiteful turn than to tell my cousin 
 of her conquest. There is another page, I see, of 
 the same so.t. But here you are — this is all 
 about you : I'll read it. ' In re Kearney. The 
 Irish are always logical; and as Miss Kearney 
 once shot some of her countrymen when on a 
 mission they deemed national, her brother opines 
 that he ought to represent the principles thus in- 
 volved in Parliament.' " 
 
 ' ' Is this the way in which he states my claims ?" 
 broke in Dick, with ill-suppressed passion. 
 
 " Bear in mind, Mr. Kearney, this jest — and a 
 very poor one it is — w r as meant for me alone. The 
 communication is essentially private, and it is 
 only through my iudiscretion you know any thing 
 of it whatever." 
 
 "I am not aware that any confidence should 
 entitle him to write such an impertinence." 
 
 "In that case, I shall read no more," said 
 Walpole, as he slowly refolded the letter. "The 
 fault is all on my side, Mr. Kearney," he contin- 
 ued : " but I own I thought you knew your friend 
 so thoroughly that extravagance on his part could 
 have neither astonished nor provoked you." 
 
 "You are perfectly right. Mr. Walpole. I 
 
 apologize for my impatience. It was, perhaps, in 
 hearing his words read aloud by another that I 
 forgot myself; and if you will kindly continue the 
 reading, I will promise to behave more suitably 
 in future." 
 
 Walpole re-opened the letter, but, whether in- 
 disposed to trust the pledge thus given or to pro- 
 long the interview, ran his eyes over one side and 
 then turned to the last page. " I see," said he, 
 "he augurs ill as to your chances of success ; he 
 opines that you have not well calculated the great 
 cost of the venture, and that in all probability it 
 has been suggested by some friend of question- 
 able discretion. 'At all events'" — and here he 
 read aloud — " ' at all events, his Excellency says. 
 "We should like to mark the Kilgobbin affair 
 by some show of approbation ; and although 
 supporting young K. in a contest for his county 
 is a ' higher figure' than we meant to pay, see 
 him, and hear what he has to say of his prospects 
 — what he can do to obtain a seat, and what he 
 will do if he gets one. We need not caution him 
 against"' — hum, hum, hum," muttered he, slur- 
 ring over the words, and endeavoring to pass on 
 to something else. 
 
 "May I ask against what I am supposed to 
 be so secure ?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing, nothing. A very small imper- 
 tinence, but which Mr. Atlee found irresistible." 
 
 " Praylet me hear it. It shall not irritate me." 
 
 "He says, 'There will be no more fear of 
 bribery in your case than of a debauch at Lather 
 Mathew's.'" 
 
 " He is right there," said Kearney, with great 
 temper. " The only difference is that our for- 
 bearance will be founded on something stronger 
 than a pledge." 
 
 Walpole looked at the speaker, and was evi- 
 dently struck by the calm command he had dis- 
 played of his passion. 
 
 " If we could forget Joe Atlee for a few min- 
 utes, Mr. Walpole. we might possibly gain some- 
 thing. I, at least, would be glad to know how 
 far I might count on the government aid in my 
 project." 
 
 "JHa, you want to — in fact, you would like 
 that we should give you something like a regular 
 — eh ? — that is to say, that you could declare to 
 certain people — naturally enough, I admit; but 
 here is how we are, Kearney. Of course what I 
 say now is literally between ourselves, and strict- 
 ly'confidential." 
 
 "I shall so understand it," said the other, 
 gravely. 
 
 "Well, now, here it is. The Irish vote, as 
 the Yankees would call it. is of undoubted value 
 to us, but it is confoundedly dear '. With Paul 
 Cullen on one side and Fenianism on the other, 
 we have no peace. Time was when you all 
 pulled the one way, and a sop to the Pope 
 pleased you all. Now that will suffice no longer. 
 The ' Sovereign Pontiff dodge' is the surest of all 
 ways to offend the Nationals ; so that, in reality, 
 what we want in the House is a number of liberal 
 Irishmen who will trust the government to do as 
 much for the Catholic Church as English bigotry 
 will permit, and as much for the Irish peasant as 
 will not endanger the rights of property over the 
 Channel." 
 
 "There's a wide field there, certainly," said 
 Dick, smiling. 
 
 "Is there not?" cried the other, exultingly. 
 
LORD Kll.i.niu'.lN. 
 
 "Not only docs it bowl over the Established 
 Church and Protestant ascendency, but it inverts 
 the position of landlord and tenant. To unsettle 
 every thing in Ireland, so that any body might 
 hope to be any thing, or to own Heaven knows 
 what — to legalize gambling for existence to a peo- 
 ple who delight in high play, and yet not involve 
 as in a civil war — was a grand policy, Kearney, a 
 very grand policy. Not thai 1 expect a young, 
 ardent spirit like yourself, fresh from college am- 
 bitions and high-flown hopes, will take this view." 
 
 Dick only smiled and shook his head. 
 
 "Just so." resumed Walpole. "I could not 
 expect you to like this programme, and 1 know 
 
 already all that you allege against it ; hut. as B. 
 says, Kearney, the man who rules Ireland must 
 know how to take command of a ship iii a state 
 of mutiny, and yet never suppress the revolt. 
 There's the problem — as much discipline as you 
 tan, a- much indiscipline as you can hear. The 
 brutal old Tories used to master the crew, and 
 hang the ringleaders; and for that matter, they 
 might have hanged the whole ship's company. 
 We know better, Kearney ; and we have so con- 
 fused and addled them by our policy that, if a 
 fellow were to strike his captain, he would never 
 be quite sure whether he was to be strung up at 
 i he gangway, or made a petty officer. Do you 
 see it now ? a 
 
 "I can scarcely say that I do see it — I mean, 
 that I see it as you do." 
 
 " I scarcely could hope that you should, or, 
 at least, that you should do so at once ; but now, 
 as to this seat for King's County, I believe we 
 have already found our man. I'll not be sure, 
 nor will I ask you to regard the matter as fixed 
 on. hut I suspect we are in relations — you know 
 what I mean — with an old supporter, who has 
 been beaten half a dozen times in our interest, 
 but is ei miing up once more. I'll ascertain about 
 this positively, and let you know. And then" — 
 here he drew breath freely and talked more at 
 ease — "if we should find our hands free, and 
 that we see our way clearly to support you, what 
 assurance could you give us that you would go 
 through with the contest, and fight the battle 
 out ?" 
 
 " I believe, if I engage in the struggle, I shall 
 continue to the end," said Dick, half doggedly. 
 
 " Your personal pluck and determination I do 
 not question for a moment. Now let us see" — 
 here he seemed to ruminate for some seconds, 
 and looked like one debating a matter with him- 
 self. "Yes," cried heat last, "I believe that 
 will be the best way. I am sure it will. When 
 do you go back, Mr. Kearney — to Kilgobbin, I 
 mean ?" 
 
 •• My intention was to go down the day after 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "That will be Friday. Let us see; what is 
 Friday ? Friday is the 16th, is it not?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Friday," muttered the other — "Friday? 
 There's the Education Board, and the Harbor 
 Commissioners, and something else al — to be sure, 
 a visit to the Popish schools with Dean O'.Maho- 
 ny. You couldn't make it Saturday, could you ?" 
 
 ■• Not conveniently. I had already arranged 
 
 a plan for Saturday. But why should 1 delay 
 here — to what end '?" 
 
 "Only that, if you could say Saturday, I would 
 like to go down with you." 
 
 From the mode in which he said these words it 
 was clear that he looked tor an almost rapturous 
 
 acceptance of his gracious proposal; but Dick 
 
 did not regard the project in that light, nor was 
 he overjoyed in the least at the proposal. 
 
 "I mean," said Walpole, hastening to relieve 
 
 the awkwardness of Bilence — " I mean that 1 
 
 could talk over this affair with your father in a 
 practical business fashion thai you could scarcely 
 enter into. Still, if Saturday could not be man- 
 aged, I'll try if I could not run down with you 
 jon Friday. Only for a day. remember. I 
 must return by the evening train. We shall ar- 
 rive by what hour?" 
 
 "By breakfast-time," said Dick, but still not 
 overgraciously. 
 
 "Nothing could be better; that will give us a 
 ' long day, and I should like a full discussion with 
 your father. You'll manage to send me on to — 
 what's the name ?" 
 
 "Moate." 
 
 "Moate. Yes; that's the place. The up- 
 train leaves at midnight, I remember. Now 
 that's all settled. You'll take me up, then, here 
 on Friday morning, Kearney, on your way to the 
 station, and meanwhile I'll set to work, and put 
 off these deputations and circulars till Saturday, 
 when, I remember, I have a dinner with the 
 Provost. Is there any thing more to be thought 
 of?" 
 
 "I believe not," muttered Dick, still sullenly. 
 
 "By-by, then, till Friday morning," said he, 
 as he turned toward his desk, and began arran- 
 ging a mass of papers before him. 
 
 " Here's a jolly mess, with a vengeance," mut- 
 tered Kearney, as he descended the stair. ''The. 
 Viceroy's private secretary to be domesticated 
 with a ' head-centre' and an escaped convict. 
 There's not even the doubtful comfort of being 
 able to make my family assist me through the 
 difficulty." 
 
 CHAPTER NXXIII. 
 
 PLMNUDDM CASTLE, NORTH WALKS. 
 
 Among the articles of that wardrobe of Cecil 
 Walpole's of which Atlee had possessed himself 
 so unceremoniously there was a very gorgeous 
 blue dress-coat, with the royal button and alin- 
 ing of sky-blue silk, which formed the appropri- 
 ate costume of the gentlemen of the rice-regal 
 household. This, with a waistcoat to match. 
 Atlee had carried off with him in the nidi-crim- 
 inating haste of a last moment, and although 
 thoroughly understanding that he could not avail 
 himself of a costume so distinctively the mark of 
 a condition, yet, by one of the contrarieties of his 
 Strange nature, in which the desire for an as- 
 sumption of any kind was a passion — he had 
 tried on that coat fully a do/.ni line-, and while 
 admiring how well it became him. and how per- 
 fectly it seemed to suit his face and figure, he 
 had dramatized to himself the pail of an aid dt - 
 camp in waiting, rehearsing the little speeches in 
 which he presented this or that imaginary person 
 
 to his Excellency, ami coining the -mall money of 
 epigram in which he related the new - of the day. 
 •• How I should cut out those dreary subalterns 
 with their mess-room drolleries— how I should 
 shame those tiresome cornets, whose only glitter 
 is on their sabretasches !" muttered he. as he sur- 
 
88 
 
 LORD KTLGOBBIN. 
 
 veyed himself in his courtly attire. " It is all 
 nonsense to say that the dress a man wears can 
 only impress the surrouuders. It is on himself, on 
 his own nature and temper, his mind, his faculties, 
 his very ambition — there is a transformation ef- 
 fected ; and I, Joe Atlee, feel myself, as I move 
 about in this costume, a very different man from 
 that humble creature in gray tweed, whose very 
 coat reminds him he is a ' cad,' and who has but 
 to look in the glass to read his condition." 
 
 On the morning that he learned that Lady 
 Maude would join him that day at dinner Atlee 
 conceived the idea of appearing in this costume. 
 It was not only that she knew nothing of the 
 Irish court and its habits, but she made an almost 
 ostentatious show of her indifference to all about 
 it, and in the few questions she asked the tone of 
 interrogation might have suited Africa as much 
 as Ireland. It was true, she was evidently 
 puzzled to know what place or condition Atlee 
 occupied ; his name was not familiar to her, and 
 yet he seemed to know every thing and every 
 body, enjoyed a large share of his Excellency's 
 confidence, and appeared conversant with every 
 detail placed before him. 
 
 That she would not directly ask him what 
 place he occupied in the household he well knew, 
 and he felt at the same time what a standing and 
 position that costume would give him, what self- 
 confidence and ease it would also confer, and how, 
 for once in his life free from the necessity of as- 
 serting a station, he could devote all his energies 
 to the exercise of agreeability and those resources 
 of small-talk in which he knew he was a master. 
 
 Besides all this, it was to be his last day at the 
 Castle — he was to start the next morning for 
 Constantinople, with all the instructions regard- 
 ing the spy Speridionides, and he desired to make 
 a favorable impression on Lady Maude before he 
 left. Though intensely — even absurdly — vain, 
 Atlee was one of those men who are so eager for 
 success in life that they are ever on the watch 
 lest any weakness of disposition or temper should 
 serve to compromise their chances, and in this 
 way he was led to distrust what he would in his 
 puppyism have liked to have thought a favorable 
 effect produced by him on her ladyship. She 
 was intensely cold in manner, and yet he had 
 made her more than once listen to him with in- 
 terest. She rarely smiled, and he had made her 
 actually laugh. Her apathy appeared complete, 
 and yet he had so piqued her curiosity that she 
 could not forbear a question. 
 
 Acting as her uncle's secretary, and in con- 
 stant communication with him, it was her affecta- 
 tion to imagine herself a political character, and 
 she did not scruple to avow the hearty contempt 
 she felt for the usual occupation of women's lives. 
 Atlee's knowledge therefore actually amazed her ; 
 his hardihood, which never forsook him, enabled 
 him to give her the most positive assurances on 
 any thing he spoke ; and as he had already fath- 
 omed the chief prejudices of his Excellency, and 
 knew exactly where and to what his political wish- 
 es tended, she heard nothing from her uncle but 
 expressions of admiration for the just views, the 
 clear and definite ideas, and the consummate skill 
 with which that "young fellow" distinguished 
 himself. 
 
 " We shall have him in the House one of these 
 days," he would say ; "and I am much mistaken 
 if he will not make a remarkable figure there." 
 
 When Lady Maude sailed proudly into the 
 library before dinner Atlee was actually stunned 
 by amazement at her beauty. Though not in 
 actual evening dress, her costume was that sort 
 of demi-toilet compromise which occasionally is 
 most becoming; and the tasteful lappet of Brus- 
 sels lace which, interwoven with her hair, fell 
 down on either side so as to frame her face, soft- 
 ened its expression to a degree of loveliness he 
 was not prepared for. 
 
 It was her pleasure — her caprice perhaps — to 
 be on this occasion unusually amiable and agree- 
 able. Except by a sort of quiet dignity, there 
 was no coldness, and she spoke of her uncle's 
 health and hopes just as she might have discuss- 
 ed them with an old friend of the house. 
 
 When the butler flung wide the foldingt-doors 
 into the dining-room and announced dinner she 
 was about to move on, when she suddenly 
 stopped, and said, with a faint smile, " Will you 
 give me your arm ? Very simple words, and com- 
 monplace too, but enough to throw Atlee's whole 
 nature into a convulsion of delight. And as he 
 walked at her side it was in the very ecstasy of 
 pride and exultation. 
 
 Dinner passed off with the decorous solemni- 
 ty of that meal, at which the most emphatic ut- 
 terances were the butler's " Marcobrunner" or 
 " Johannisberg. " The guests, indeed, spoke lit- 
 tle, and the strangeness of their situation rather 
 disposed to thought than conversation. 
 
 " You are going to Constantinople to-morrow, 
 Mr. Atlee, my uncle tells me," said she, after a 
 longer silence than usual. 
 
 ' ' Yes ; his Excellency has charged me with a 
 message, of which I hope to acquit myself well, 
 though I own to my misgivings about it now." 
 
 ' ' You are too diffident, perhaps, of your pow- 
 ers," said she; and there was a faint curl of the 
 lip that made the words sound equivocally. 
 
 "I do not know if great modesty be among 
 my failings," said he, laughingly. "My friends 
 would say not." 
 
 "You mean, perhaps, that you are not with- 
 out ambitions?" 
 
 "That is true. I confess to very bold ones." 
 And as he spoke he stole a glance toward her; 
 but her pale face never changed. 
 
 " I wish, before you had gone, that you had 
 settled that stupid muddle about the attack on — 
 I forget the place." 
 
 "Kilgobbin?" 
 
 "Yes, Kil-gobbin — horrid name ! for the Pre- 
 mier still persists in thinking there was some- 
 thing in it, and worrying my uncle for explana- 
 tions ; and as somebody is to ask something when 
 Parliament meets, it would be as well to have a 
 letter to read to the House." 
 
 " In what sense, pray?" asked Atlee, mildly. 
 
 "Disavowing all; stating that the story had 
 no foundation ; that there was no attack— no re- 
 sistance — no member of the vice-regal household 
 present at any time." 
 
 ' ' That would be going too far ; for then we 
 should next have to deny Walpole's broken arm 
 and his long confinement to house." 
 
 "You may serve coffee in a quarter of an hour, 
 Marconi," said she, dismissing the butler; and 
 then, as he left the room — "And you tell me 
 seriously there was a broken arm in this case?" 
 
 " I can hide nothing from you, though I have 
 taken an oath to silence," said he, with an energy 
 
LORD K1LGOBBIN. 
 
 s:i 
 
 that Beemed to defy repression. " I will tell you 
 
 every thing, though it's little Bhort "fa perjury, 
 "iily premising this much, that L know nothing 
 from Walpole himself." 
 
 With this niueh of preface, lie went on to de- 
 scribe Walpole 's visit to Kilgobbin as one of those 
 
 he carried on a fierce flirtation with a pretty Irian 
 
 girl." 
 
 ■■ And there was a flirtation ':" 
 
 "Yea, but nothing more. Nothing really se- 
 rious at any time. So tar he behaved frankly 
 and well, lor even at the outset of the affair he 
 
 lilfj 
 
 adventurous exploits which young Englishmen 
 fancy they have ;i sort of right to perforin in the 
 less civilized country. 
 
 "He imagined, I have no doubt," said he, 
 •'that he was studying the condition of Ire- 
 land, and investigating the land question, when 
 
 owned to— a what shall I call it ?— an entangle- 
 ment was, I believe, his own word— an entangle- 
 ment in England — " 
 
 " Did he not state more of this entanglement 
 — with whom it was. or how, or where?" 
 
 " I should think not. At all events, they who 
 
!H> 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 told me knew nothing of these details. They 
 only knew, as he said, that he was in a certain 
 sense tied up, and that till fate unbound him he 
 was a prisoner." 
 
 "Poor fellow; it was hard." 
 " So he said, and so they believed him. Not 
 that I myself believe he was ever seriously in 
 love with the Irish girl." 
 "And why not?" 
 
 "I may be wrong in my reading of him ; but 
 my impression is that he regards marriage as 
 one of those solemn events which should contrib- 
 ute to a man's worldly fortune. Now an Irish 
 connection could scarcely be the road to this." 
 
 ' ' What an ungallant admission, " said she, with 
 a smile. "I hope Mr. Walpole is not of your 
 mind." After a pause she said, "And how was 
 it that in your intimacy he told you nothing of 
 this?" 
 
 He shook his head in dissent. 
 
 "Not even of the 'entanglement ?'" 
 
 "Not even of that. He would speak freely 
 enough of his 'egregious blunder,' as he called 
 it, in quitting his career and coming to Ireland ; 
 that it was a gross mistake for any man to take 
 up Irish politics as a line in life; that they were 
 puzzles in the present, and lead to nothing in the 
 future ; and, in fact, that he wished himself back 
 again in Italy every day he lived." 
 
 " Was there any ' entanglement' there also ?" 
 
 "I can not say. On these he made me no 
 confidences." 
 
 "Coffee, my lady!" said the butler, entering 
 at this moment. Nor was Atlee grieved at the 
 interruption. 
 
 " I am enough of a Turk, " said she, laughingly, 
 " to like that muddy, strong coffee they give you 
 in the East, and where the very smallness of the 
 cups suggests its strength. You, I know, are 
 impatient for your cigarette, Mr. Atlee, and I am 
 about to liberate you." While Atlee was mut- 
 tering his assurances of how much he prized her 
 presence, she broke in, " Besides, I promised my 
 uncle a visit before tea-time, and as I shall not 
 see you again, I will wish you now a pleasant 
 journey and a safe return." 
 
 " Wish me success in my expedition," said he, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, I will wish that also. One word more. 
 I am very short-sighted, as you may see, but you 
 wear a ring of great beauty. May I look at it ?" 
 
 " It is pretty, certainly. It was a present Wal- 
 pole made me. I am not sure that there is not 
 a story attached to it, though I don't know it." 
 
 "Perhaps it may be linked with the 'entan- 
 glement,'" said she, laughing softly. 
 
 " For aught I know, so it may. Do you ad- 
 mire it ?" 
 
 " Immensely," said she, as she held it to the 
 light. 
 
 "You can add immensely to its value if you 
 will," said he, diffidently. 
 
 "In what way ?" 
 
 "By keeping it, Lady Maude," said he; and 
 for once his cheek colored with the shame of 
 his own boldness. 
 
 "May I purchase it with one of my own? 
 Will you have this, or this?" said she, hurriedly. 
 
 "Any thing that once was yours," said he, in 
 a mere whisper. 
 
 " Good-by, Mr. Atlee." 
 
 And he was alone ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 AT TEA-TIME. 
 
 The family at Kilgobbin Castle were seated at 
 tea when Dick Kearney's telegram arrived. It 
 bore the address, "Lord Kilgobbin," and ran 
 thus : 
 
 "Walpole wishes to speak with you, and will 
 come down with me on Friday ; his stay can not 
 be beyond one day. Richard Kearney." 
 
 " What can he want with me ?" cried Kearney, 
 as he tossed over the dispatch to his daughter. 
 "If he wants to talk over the election, I could 
 tell him per post that I think it a folly and an ab- 
 surdity. Indeed, if he is not coming to propose 
 for either my niece or my daughter, he might 
 spare himself the journey." 
 
 "Who is to say that such is "not his intention, 
 papa?" said Kate, merrily. "Old Catty had a 
 dream about a piebald horse, and a haystack on 
 lire, and something about a creel of duck-eggs, 
 and I trust that every educated person knows 
 what they mean." 
 
 "I do not," cried Nina, boldly. 
 
 "Marriage, my dear. One is marriage by 
 special license, with a bishop or a dean to tie the 
 knot; another is a runaway match. I forget 
 what the eggs signify." 
 
 "An unbroken engagement," interposed Don- 
 ogan, gravely, "so long as none of them are 
 smashed." 
 
 "On the whole, then, it is very promising tid- 
 ings," said Kate. 
 
 "It may be easy to be more promising thav, 
 the election," said the old man. 
 
 " I'm not flattered, uncle, to hear that I'm eas- 
 ier to win than a seat in Parliament." 
 
 " That does not imply you are not worth a 
 great deal more," said Kearney, with an air of 
 gallantry. "I know, if I wtis a young fellow, 
 which I'd strive most for. Eh, Mr. Daniel ? I 
 see you agree with me." 
 
 Donogan's face, slightly flushed before, became 
 now crimson, as he sipped his tea in confusion, 
 unable to utter a word. 
 
 "And so," resumed Kearney, "he'll only give 
 us a day to make up our minds ! It's lucky, 
 girls, that you have the telegram there to tell 
 you what's coming." 
 
 ' ' It would have been more piquant, papa, if he 
 had made his message say, ' I propose for Nina. 
 Reply by wire.' " 
 
 " Or, 'May I marry your daughter ?' " chimed 
 in Nina, quickly. 
 
 "There it is, now," broke in Kearney, laugh- 
 ing; " you're fighting for him already ! Take my 
 word for it, Mr. Daniel, there's no so sure way to 
 get a girl for your wife as to make her believe 
 there's another only waiting to be asked. It's 
 the threat of the opposition coach on the road 
 keeps down the fares." 
 
 "Papa is all wrong," said Kate. "There is 
 no such conceivable pleasure as saying No to a 
 man that another woman is ready to accept. It 
 is about the most refined sort of self-flattery im- 
 aginable. " 
 
 "Not to say that men are utterly ignorant of 
 that freemasonry among women which gives us 
 all an interest in the man who marries one of 
 us," said Nina. "It is only your confirmed old 
 bachelor that we all agree in detesting." 
 
LORD K1LGOBBIX. 
 
 91 
 
 "Faith, I give you op altogether. You're a 
 puzzle clean beyond me," said Kearney, with a 
 agh. 
 
 " I think it is Balzac tells us," said Donogan, 
 "that women and politics are the only two ex- 
 citing pursuits in life, for you never can tell where 
 either of them will lead yon." 
 
 "And who is Balzac?" asked Kearney. 
 
 ■•()h. uncle, don't let me hear you ask who is 
 the greatest novelist that ever lived !" 
 
 "Faith, my dear, except 'Tristram Shandy,' 
 and 'Tom Jones," ami maybe 'Robinson Cru- 
 soe 1 — if that be a novel — my experience goes a 
 short way. When I am not reading what's use- 
 fa] — as in the Farm r's ( 'kronicle or ' 1'urceU's 
 Rotation of (-"tops' — 1 like the 'accidents' in the 
 newspapers, where they give you the name of the 
 gentleman that was smashed in the train, and tell 
 you how his wife was within ten days of her third 
 confinement ; how it was only last week he got 
 a step as a clerk in Somerset House. Haven't 
 you more materials for a sensation novel there 
 than any of your three-volume fellows will give 
 you?" 
 
 "The times we are living in give most of us 
 excitement enough, "said Donogan. "The man 
 who wants to gamble for life itself need not be 
 balked now.'' 
 
 '"Vou mean that a man can take a shot at an 
 emperor?" said Kearney, inquiringly. 
 
 "No, not that exactly: though there are 
 stakes of that kind some men would not shrink 
 from. What are called 'arms of precision' have 
 had a great influence on modern politics. When 
 there's no time for a plebiscite, there's always 
 time for a pistol." 
 
 " Bad morality, Mr. Daniel," said Kearney, 
 gravely. 
 
 " I suspect we do not fairly measure what Mr. 
 Daniel -ays," broke in Kate. "He may mean 
 to indicate a revolution, and not justify it." 
 
 "I mean both," said Donogan. "I mean 
 that the mere permission to live under a bad 
 government is too high a price to pay for life at 
 all. I'll rather go 'down into the streets.' as 
 they call it, and have it out, than I'd drudge on, 
 dogged by policemen, and sent to jail on sus- 
 picion." 
 
 "lie is right," cried Nina. "If I were a 
 man, I'd think as he does." 
 
 "Then I'm very glad you're not," said Kear- 
 ney: "though, for the matter of rebellion, I be- 
 lieve you would be a more dangerous Fenian as 
 you ate. Am I right, .Mr. Daniel ?" 
 
 " I am deposed to say you are, Sir," was his 
 mild reply. 
 
 "Ain't we important people this evening!" 
 cried Kearney, us the servant entered with an- 
 other telegram. "This i> for you, Mr. Daniel. 
 I hope we're to hear that the Cabinet wants you 
 in Downing Street." 
 
 "I'd rather it did not," said he, with a very 
 peculiar smile, which did not escape Kate's keen 
 glance across the table, a- he .-aid, " May I read 
 
 my dispatch ?" 
 
 "By all means," said Kearney; while, to leave 
 
 him more undisturbed, he tinned to Nina, with 
 some quizzical remark about her turn for the tel- 
 egraph coming next. "What news would you 
 wish it should bring you, Nina?" asked he. 
 
 "I scarcely know. I have go many things to 
 wish for, I should be puzzled which to place first." 
 
 "Should you like to be Queen of Greece?" 
 
 asked Kate. 
 
 " First tell me if there is to be a king, and who 
 
 is he ?" 
 
 "Maybe it's Mr. Daniel there, for I see he has 
 gone off in a great hurry to say he accepts the 
 
 crown." 
 
 "What should you ask for, Kate," cried Nina, 
 "if fortune were civil enough to give you a 
 chance?" 
 
 "Two days' rain for my turnips," said Kate. 
 quickly. " I don't remember wishing for any 
 thing BO much in all my life." 
 
 " Your turnips!" cried Nina, contemptuously. 
 
 " Why not ? If you were a queen, would you 
 not have to think of those who depended on yon 
 for support and protection? And how should 1 
 forget my poor heifers and my calves — calves of 
 very tender years, some of them— and all with as 
 great desire to fatten themselves as any of us 
 have to do what will as probably lead to our de- 
 struction ?" 
 
 "You're not going to have the rain, anyhow," 
 said Kearney; "and you'll not be sorry, Nina, 
 for you wanted a fine day to finish your sketch 
 of Croghan Castle." 
 
 " Oh ! by-the-way, has old Bob recovered from 
 his lameness yet, to be fit to be driven ?" 
 
 "Ask Kitty there ; she can tell you perhaps." 
 
 "Well, I don't think I'd harness him yet. 
 The smith has pinched him in the oft' forefoot, 
 and he goes tender still." 
 
 "So do I when I go afoot, for I hate it," cried 
 Nina; "and I want a day in the open air. and 
 I want to finish my old Castle of Croghan, and, 
 last of all," whispered she in Kate's ear, " I want 
 to show my distinguished friend Mr. Walpole 
 that the prospect of a visit from him does not 
 induce me to keep the house. So that, from 
 all the wants put together, I shall take an early 
 breakfast, and start to-morrow for Cruhan — is 
 not that the name of the little village in the 
 bog?" 
 
 " That's Miss Betty's own town-land — though 
 I don't know she's much the richer of her ten- 
 ants," said Kearney, laughing. " The oldest in- 
 habitants never remember a rent-day." 
 
 "What a happy set of people!" 
 
 "Just the reverse. You never saw misery till 
 you saw them. There is not a cabin fit tor a 
 human being, nor is there one creature in the 
 place with enough rags to cover him." 
 
 "They were very civil as I drove through. I 
 remember how a little basket had fallen out, ami 
 a girl followed me ten miles of the road to re- 
 store it," said Nina. 
 
 "That they would; and if it were a purse of 
 gold they'll have done the Bam 6," cried Kate. 
 
 "Won't you say that they'd -hoot you for half 
 a crown, though? said Kearney, "and that the 
 worst ' Whiteboys' of Ireland come out of the 
 same village ?" 
 
 " I do like a people so unlike all the rot of 
 the world," died Nina; "who-e motives none 
 can guess at, none forecast. I'll go there to- 
 morrow.'' 
 
 These WOrdfl were Said as Daniel had just re- 
 entered the room, and he .stopped and asked, 
 
 •• Where to ?" 
 
 "To a Whiteboy village called Cruhan, some 
 ten mile- off, close to an old castle I have been 
 sketching." 
 
92 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 " Do you mean to go there to-morrow ?" asked 
 he, half carelessly ; but, not waiting for her an- 
 swer, and as if fully preoccupied, lie turned and 
 left the room. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 A DRIVE AT StTNEISE. 
 
 The little basket-carriage in which Nina made 
 her excursions, and which courtesy called a pha- 
 eton, woidd scarcely have been taken as a model 
 at Long Acre. A massive old wicker-cradle 
 constituted the body, which, from a slight ine- 
 quality in the wheels, had got an uncomfortable 
 "lurch to port," while the rumble was supplied 
 by a narrow shelf, on which her foot-page sat 
 dos-a-dos to herself — a position not rendered 
 more dignified by his invariable habit of playing 
 pitch-and-toss with himself, as a means of dis- 
 traction in travel. 
 
 Except Bob, the sturdy little pony in the 
 shafts, nothing could be less schooled or disci- 
 plined than Larry himself. At sight of a party 
 at marbles or hop-scotch, he was sure to desert 
 his post, trusting to short-cuts and speed to catch 
 up his mistress later on. 
 
 As for Bob, a tuft of clover or fresh grass on 
 the road-side was temptation to the full as great 
 to him, and no amount of whipping could induce 
 him to continue his road leaving these dainties 
 untasted. As in Mr. Gill's time he had carried 
 that important personage, he had contracted the 
 habit of stopping at every cabin by the way, giv- 
 ing to each halt the amount of time he believed 
 the colloquy should have occupied, and then, 
 without any admonition, resuming his journey. 
 In fact, as an index to the refractory tenants on 
 the estate, his mode of progression, with its inter- 
 ruptions, might have been employed, and the stur- 
 dy fashion in which he would ' ' draw up" at cer- 
 tain doors might be taken as the forerunner of 
 an ejectment. 
 
 The blessed change by which the county saw 
 the beast now driven by a beautiful young lady, 
 instead of bestrode by an inimical bailiff, added 
 to a popularity which Ireland in her poorest and 
 darkest hour always accords to beauty ; and they, 
 indeed, who trace points of resemblance between 
 two distant peoples, have not failed to remark 
 that the Irish, like the Italians, invariably refer 
 all female loveliness to that type of surpassing 
 excellence, the Madonna. 
 
 Nina had too much of the South in her blood 
 not to like the heartfelt, outspoken admiration 
 which greeted her as she went; and the "God 
 bless you — but you are a lovely crayture!" de- 
 lighted, while it amused her in the way the qual- 
 ification was expressed. 
 
 It was soon after sunrise on this Friday morn- 
 ing that she drove down the approach, and made 
 her way across the bog toward Cruhan. Though 
 pretending to her uncle to be only eager to finish 
 her sketch of Croghan Castle, her journey was 
 really prompted by very different considerations. 
 By Dick's telegram she learned that Walpole was 
 to arrive that day at Kilgobbin, and as his stay 
 could not be prolonged beyond the evening, she 
 secretly determined she would absent herself so 
 much as she could from home — only returning to 
 a late dinner — and thus show her distinguished 
 
 friend how cheaply she held the occasion of his 
 visit, and what value she attached to the pleas- 
 ure of seeing him at the Castle. 
 
 She knew Walpole thoroughly — she understood 
 the working of such a nature to perfection, and 
 she could calculate to a nicety the mortification, 
 and even anger, such a man would experience at 
 being thus slighted. " These men," thought she, 
 "only feel for what is done to them before the 
 world ; it is the insult that is passed upon them 
 in public, the soufflet that is given in the street, 
 that alone can wound them to the quick." A 
 woman may grow tired of their attentions, be- 
 come capricious and change, she may be piqued 
 by jealousy, or, what is worse, by indifference ; 
 but while she makes no open manifestation of 
 these, they can be borne : the really insupport- 
 able thing is that a woman should be able to ex- 
 hibit a man as a creature that had no possible 
 concern or interest for her — one who might come 
 or go, or stay on, utterly unregarded or uncared 
 for. To have played this game during the long 
 hours of a long day was a burden she did not fan- 
 cy to encounter, whereas to fill the part for the 
 short space of a dinner, and an hour or so in the 
 drawing-room, she looked forward to rather as 
 an exciting amusement. 
 
 " He has had a day to throw away," said she 
 to herself, ' ' and he will give it to the Greek girl. 
 I almost hear him as he says it. How one learns 
 to know these men in every nook and crevice of 
 their natures ! and how by never relaxing a hold 
 on the one clew of their vanity one can trace even- 
 emotion of their lives !" 
 
 In her old life of Rome these small jealousies, 
 these petty passions of spite, defiance, and wound- 
 ed sensibility, filled a considerable space of her 
 existence. Her position in society, dependent as 
 she was, exposed her to small mortifications ; the 
 cold semi-contemptuous notice of women who 
 saw she was prettier than themselves, and the 
 half-swaggering carelessness of the men, who felt 
 that a bit of flirtation with the Titian girl was 
 as irresponsible a thing as might be. 
 
 " But here," thought she, " I am the niece of 
 a man of recognized station ; I am treated in 
 his family with a more than ordinary deference 
 and respect — his very daughter would cede the 
 place of honor to me, and my will is never ques- 
 tioned. It is time to teach this pretentious fine 
 gentleman that our positions are not what they 
 once were. If I were a man, I should never 
 cease till I had fastened a quarrel on him ; and 
 being a woman, I could give my love to the man 
 who would avenge me. Avenge me of what ? a 
 mere slight, a mood of impertinent forgetfulness 
 — nothing more — as if any thing could be more 
 to a woman's heart ! A downright wrong can 
 be forgiven, an absolute injury pardoned — one is 
 raised to self-esteem by such an act of forgive- 
 ness ; but there is no elevation in submitting pa- 
 tiently to a slight. It is simply the confession 
 that the liberty taken with you was justifiable, 
 was even natural." 
 
 These were the sum of her thoughts as she 
 went, ever recurring to the point how Walpole 
 would feel offended by her absence, and how such 
 a mark of her indifference would pique his van- 
 ity, even to insult. 
 
 Then she pictured to her mind how this fine 
 gentleman would feel the boredom of that dreary 
 day. True, it would be but a day ; but these 
 
LORD KJXGOBBIN. 
 
 !>:; 
 
 men were not tolerant of tho people who made 
 time pass heavily with them, and they revenged 
 their own ennui on all around them. Hovi he 
 would snub the old man tor the Bon'a pretensions, 
 
 and Bneer at the young man for his dispropor- 
 
 tioned ambition! and. last of all, how he would 
 
 mystify poot Kate, till Bhe never knew whether 
 
 lie cared to fatten wives and turkeys, or Was 
 simply drawing her on to little details, which he 
 was to dramatize one day in an after-dinner 
 
 story ! 
 she thought of the closed piano-forte, and her 
 
 music on the top — the songs he loved best ; she 
 had actually left Mendelssohn there to be seen — 
 a very bait to awaken his passion. She thought 
 she actually saw the fretful impatience with which 
 he threw the music aside and walked to the win- 
 dow to hide his anger. 
 
 " 'This excursion of Mademoiselle Nina was, 
 then, a sudden thought, you tell me ; only planned 
 last night? And is the country considered safe, 
 enough for a young lady to go oft' in this fash- 
 ion ? Is it secure — is it decent ?' I know he 
 will ask, ' Is it decent ?' Kate will not feel — 
 .-he will not see the impertinence with which he 
 will assure her that she herself may be privileged 
 to do these things — that her 'Irish ry' was itself 
 a safeguard; but Dick will notice the sneer. Oh, 
 if he would but resent it ! How little hope there 
 is of that! These young Irishmen get so over- 
 laid by the English in early life, they never resist 
 their dominance : they accept every thing in a 
 sort of natural submission. I wonder does the 
 rebel sentiment make them any bolder?" And 
 then she bethought her of some of those national 
 Mings Mr. Daniel had been teaching her, and 
 which seemed to have such an overwhelming in- 
 fluence over his passionate nature. She had 
 even seen the tears in his eyes, and twice he 
 could not speak to her with emotion. What a 
 triumph it would have been to have made the 
 high-bred Mr. Walpole feel in this wise! Possi- 
 bly at the moment the vulgar Fenian seemed the 
 finer fellow. Scarcely had the thought struck 
 her, than there, about fifty yards in advance, and 
 walking at a tremendous pace, was the very man 
 himself. 
 
 "Is not that Mr. Daniel, Larry?" asked she, 
 quickly. 
 
 But Larry had already struck off on a short- 
 cut across the hog, and was miles away. 
 
 Y ■-. it could be none other than Mr. Daniel. 
 The coat thrown back, the loose-Stepping stride, 
 and the occasional flourish of the stick as he 
 went, all proclaimed the man. The noise of the 
 wheels on the hard road made him turn his head : 
 and now, seeing who it was, he stood uncovered 
 till she drove up beside him. 
 
 •• Who would have thought to see you here at 
 this hour:" -aid he, saluting her with deep respect. 
 
 •• No .me i- more Burprised al it than myself," 
 
 -aid Bhe, laughing; ••but 1 have a parti] done 
 
 -ketch of an old castle, ami I thought in llii- line 
 autumn weather I should like to throw in the col- 
 or. And besides, there are now and then with 
 me unsocial moments when I fancy I like to be 
 alone. Do you know- what these are V" 
 
 '■ I >o 1 know ? — too well." 
 
 "These motives, then, not to think of others, 
 led me to plan this excursion ; and now will you 
 be as candid, and say what is your project ?" 
 
 "I am bound for a little village culled Cruhan 
 
 — a very poor, unenticmg -pot ; but I waul to see 
 the people there, and hear what they -ay of these 
 rumors of new laws about the land." 
 
 •"And can they fell you any thing that would 
 
 be likelj to interest you f" 
 
 " Yes : their very mistakes would convey their 
 hope- j and hope- have come to mean a great 
 deal in Ireland." 
 
 " ( )ur roads are, then, the same. I am on in\ 
 way to ( iroghan < astle." 
 
 "Croghan is but a mile from my village of 
 Cruhan," said he. 
 
 " I am aware of that, and it was in your vil- 
 lage of Cruhan, as you call it, I meant to stable 
 my pony till I had finished my sketch ; but my 
 gentle page, Larry, I see. has' deserted me. 'l 
 
 don't know if I -hall find him again." 
 
 '■ AN" ill you let me be your groom? I shall be 
 at the village almost as soon as yourself, and I'll 
 look after your pony." 
 
 "Do you think you could manage to seat 
 yourself on that shelf at the back ?" 
 
 "It is a great temptation you offer me, if I 
 were not ashamed to be a burden." 
 
 "Not to me, certainly ; and as for the pony, I 
 scarcely think he'll mind it." 
 
 "At all events, I shall walk the hills." 
 
 "I believe there are none. If I remember 
 aright, it is all through a level bog." 
 
 "You were at tea last night when a certain 
 telegram came ?" 
 
 "To be sure I was. I was there, too, when 
 one came for you, and saw you leave the room 
 immediately after." 
 
 '*In evident confusion ?" added he, smiling. 
 
 "Yes, I should say, in evident confusion. At 
 least you looked like one who had got some very 
 unexpected tidings." 
 
 '• So it was. There is the message." And he 
 drew from his pocket a slip of paper, with the 
 words, "Walpole is coming for a day. Take 
 care to be out of the way till he is gone." 
 
 " Which means that he is no friend of yours." 
 
 "He is neither friend nor enemy. 1 never 
 saw him; but he is the private secretary, and, I 
 believe, the nephew, of the Viceroy, and would 
 find it very strange company to be domiciled 
 with a rebel." 
 
 "And you ai'e a rebel?" 
 
 "At your service, Mademoiselle. Kostalergi." 
 
 "And a Fenian, ami head-centre?" 
 
 "A Fenian, and a head-centre." 
 
 "And probably ought to be in prison ?" 
 
 " I have been already, and, as far as the sen- 
 tence of English law goes, should be still there." 
 
 •• How delighted 1 am to know that. I mean, 
 what a thrilling sensation it is to be driving 
 along with a man so dangerous that the whole 
 country would be up and in pursuit of him at a 
 mere word." 
 
 "That is true. I believe I should be worth 
 some hundred pounds to any one who would cap- 
 ture me. I suspect it is the only way 1 could 
 turn to valuable account." 
 
 " What if I were to drive you into Moate and 
 
 give you up ?" 
 
 •■ Vou might. I'll not run away." 
 I "I should go straight to the Podestfc, or what- 
 ever be is, and say, ' Here is the notorious Daniel 
 
 Donogan, the rebel you are all afraid of.'" 
 
 "How came you by my name?" asked he, 
 curtly. 
 
94 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 1 ' By accident. I overheard Dick telling it to 
 his sister. It dropped from him unawares, and 
 I was on the terrace and caught the words." 
 
 "I am in your hands completely," said he, in 
 the same calm voice ; " but I repeat my words — 
 I'll not run away." 
 
 "That is because you trust to my honor." 
 
 "It is exactly so — because I trust to your 
 honor." 
 
 "But how if I were to have strong convictions 
 in opposition to all you were doing— how if I 
 were to believe that all you intended was a gross 
 wrong and a fearful cruelty ?" 
 
 "Still you would not betray me. You would 
 say, 'This man is an enthusiast — he imagines 
 scores of impossible things — but, at least, he is 
 not a self-seeker — a fool, possibly, but not a 
 knave. It would be hard to hang him.' " 
 
 "So it would. I have just thought that." 
 
 "And then you might reason thus: 'How 
 will it serve the other cause to send one poor 
 wretch to the scaffold, where there are so many 
 just as deserving of it ?' " 
 
 "And are there many?" 
 
 "I should say close on two millions at home 
 here, and some hundred thousand in America." 
 
 "And if you be as strong as you say, what 
 craven creatures you must be not to assert your 
 own convictions!" 
 
 "So we are — I'll not deny it — craven creat- 
 ures; but remember this, mademoiselle, we are 
 not all like-minded. Some of us would be sat- 
 isfied with small concessions, some ask for more, 
 some demand all ; and as the government hig- 
 gles with some, and hangs the others, it mystifies 
 us all, and ends by confounding us." 
 
 " That is to say, you are terrified." 
 
 " Well, if you like that word better, I'll not 
 quarrel about it." 
 
 "I wonder how men as irresolute ever turn to 
 rebellion. When our people set out for Crete, 
 they went in another spirit to meet the enemy." 
 
 " Don't be too sure of that. The boldest fel- 
 lows in that exploit were the liberated felons: 
 they fought with desperation, for they had left 
 the hangman behind." 
 
 " How dare you defame a great people !" cried 
 she, angrily. 
 
 " I was with them, mademoiselle. I saw them, 
 and fought among them ; and to prove it, I will 
 speak modern Greek with you if you like it." 
 
 "Oh, do," said she. " Let me hear those no- 
 ble sounds again, though I shall be sadly at a loss 
 to answer you. I have been years and years 
 away from Athens." 
 
 "I know that. I know your story from one 
 who loved to talk of you, all unworthy as he was 
 of such a theme." 
 
 ' ' And who was this ?" 
 
 "Atlee — Joe Atlee, whom you saw here some 
 months ago." 
 
 "I remember him," said she, thoughtfully. 
 
 " He was here, if I mistake not, with that oth- 
 er friend of yours you have so strangely escaped 
 from to-day." 
 
 "Mr. Walpole?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Walpole ; to meet whom would not 
 have involved you, at least, in any contrariety. " 
 
 "Is this a question, Sir? Am I to suppose 
 your curiosity asks an answer here?" 
 
 "I am not so bold ; but I own my suspicions 
 have mastered my discretion, and, seeing you 
 
 here this morning, I did think you did not care 
 to meet him." 
 
 "Well, Sir, you were right. I am not sure 
 that my reasons for avoiding him were exactly 
 as strong as yours, but they sufficed for me." 
 
 There was something so like reproof in the 
 way these words were uttered that Donogan had 
 not courage to speak for some time after. At 
 last he said, "In one thing your Greeks have 
 an immense advantage over us here. In your 
 popular songs you could employ your own lan- 
 guage, and deal with your own wrongs in the ac- 
 cents that became them. We had to take the 
 tongue of the conqueror, which was as little suit- 
 ed to our traditions as to our feelings, and trav- 
 estied both. Only fancy the Greek vaunting his 
 triumphs or bewailing his defeats in Turkish !" 
 
 "What do you know of Mr. Walpole?" asked 
 she, abruptly. 
 
 "Very little beyond the fact that he is an 
 agent of the government, who believes that he 
 understands the Irish people." 
 
 "Which you are disposed to doubt ?" 
 
 "I only know that I'm an Irishman, and I do 
 not understand them. An organ, however, is 
 not less an organ that it has many ' stops. ' " 
 
 "I am not sure Cecil Walpole does not read 
 you aright. He thinks that you have a love of 
 intrigue and plot, but without the conspirator 
 element that Southern people possess ; and that 
 your native courage grows impatient at the de- 
 lays of mere knavery, and always betrays you." 
 
 "That distinction was never his — that was 
 your own." 
 
 " So it was ; but he adopted it when he heard 
 it." 
 
 "That is the way the rising politician is edu- 
 cated," cried Donogan. " It is out of these pet- 
 ty thefts he makes all his capital, and the poor 
 people never suspect how small a creature can be 
 their millionaire." 
 
 "Is not that our village yonder, where I see 
 the smoke?" 
 
 "Yes; and there on the stile sits your little 
 groom awaiting you. I shall get down here." 
 
 " Stay where you are, Sir. It is by your blun- 
 der, not by your presence, that you might com- 
 promise me." And this time her voice caught a 
 tone of sharp severity that suppressed reply. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE EXCURSION. 
 
 The little village of Cruhan-bawn, into which 
 they now drove, was, in every detail of wretch- 
 edness, dirt, ruin, and desolation, intensely Irish. 
 A small branch of the well-known bog-stream, 
 the "Brusna," divided one part of the village 
 from the other, and between these two settle- 
 ments so separated there raged a most rancorous 
 hatred and jealousy, and Cruhan-beg, as the 
 smaller collection of hovels was called, detested 
 Cruhan-bawn with an intensity of dislike that 
 might have sufficed for a national antipathy, 
 where race, language, and traditions had contrib- 
 uted their aids to the animosity. 
 
 There was, however, one real and valid reason 
 for this inveterate jealousy. The inhabitants of 
 Cruhan-beg — who lived, as they said themselves, 
 "beyond the river," strenuously refused to pay 
 
LORD R1LGOBBIN. 
 
 any rent for their hovels; while "the cis-Brus- 
 naites." as they may be termed, demeaned them- 
 selves to the condition of tenants in so far as to 
 acknowledge the obligation of rent, though the 
 oldest inhabitant vowed he had never seen a re- 
 ceipt in his life, nor had the very least conception 
 of a gale-day. 
 
 If, therefore, actually, there was not much to 
 separate them on the score of principle, they were 
 widely apart in theory, and the sturdy denizens 
 of the smaller village looked down upon the oth- 
 ers as the ignoble slaves of a Saxon tyranny. 
 The village in its entirety — for the division was 
 a purely local and arbitrary one — belonged to 
 Mi~s Betty I >'Shea, forming "the extreme edge of 
 her estate as it merged into the vast bog; and, 
 with the habitual fate of frontier populations, it 
 contained more people of lawless lives and reck 
 less habits than were to be found for miles around 
 There was not a resource of her ingenuity she 
 had not employed for years back to bring these 
 refractory subjects into the pale of a respectable 
 tenantry. Every process of the law had been 
 essayed in turn. They had been hunted down 
 by the police, unroofed, and turned into the wide 
 bog; their chattels had been "canted,*' and 
 themselves — a last resource — cursed from the al- 
 tar ; but, with that strange tenacity that pertains 
 to life where there is little to live for, these creat- 
 nres survived all modes of persecution, and came 
 
 back into their ruined hovels to defy the law and 
 beard the Church, and went on living— in some 
 strange, mysterious way of their own— an open 
 challenge to all political economy, and a sore puz- 
 zle to The. Tiims commissioner when he came 
 to report on the condition of the cottier in Ire- 
 land. 
 
 At certain seasons of county excitement — such 
 as an election or an unusually weighty assizes 
 it was not deemed perfectly safe to visit the vil- 
 lage, and even the police would not have adven- 
 tured on the step except with a responsible force. 
 At other periods the most marked feature of the 
 
 place would be that of utter vacuity and desola- 
 tion. A single inhabitant here and there smok- 
 ing li-tle-slv :it his door a group of women, with 
 their arms concealed beneath their aprons, crouch- 
 ing under a ruined wall, or a lew ragged children, 
 too miserable and dispirited even for play, would 
 
 I"' all that would be seen. 
 
 At a spot where the stream was fordable for a 
 horse, the page I. any had already stationed him- 
 self, and now walked into the river, which rose 
 over his knees, to show the road to his mistress. 
 "The bailiffs is on them to-day," said be. with 
 a gleeful look in his eye; for any excitement, 
 no matter -at what cost to others, was intensely 
 pleasurable to him. 
 
 " What is he saying ?" asked Nina. 
 "They are executing some process of law 
 against these people," muttered Donogan. "It's 
 an old story in Ireland ; but I had as soon you 
 had been spared the sight." 
 
 " Is it quite safe for yourself?" whispered she. 
 " Is there not some danger in being seen here?" 
 "Oh, if I could but think that you cared — I 
 mean ever so slightly," cried he, with fervor, " I'd 
 call this moment of my danger the proudest of 
 my life!" 
 
 Though declarations of this sort — more or less 
 sincere as chance might make them — were things 
 Nina was well used to, she could not help mark- 
 ing the impassioned manner of him who now 
 spoke, and bent her eyes steadily on him. 
 
 "It is true," said he, as if answering the in- 
 terrogation in her gaze. "A poor outcast as I 
 am — a rebel — a felon — any thing you like to call 
 me — the slightest show of your interest in me 
 gives my life a value and my hope a purpose 1 
 never knew till now." 
 
 " Such interest would be but ill-bestowed if it 
 only served to heighten your danger. Are you 
 known here?" 
 
 "He who has stood in the dock as I have is 
 sure to be known by some one. Not that the 
 people would betray me. There is poverty and 
 misery enough in that wretched village, and yet 
 there's not one so hungry or so ragged that he 
 would hand me over to the law to make himself 
 rich for life." 
 
 " Then what do you mean to do ?" asked she, 
 hurriedly. 
 
 "Walk boldly through the village at the head 
 of your puny, as I am now — your guide to Cro- 
 ghan < lastle." 
 
 "But we were to have stabled the beast here. 
 I intended to have gone on foot to Croghan." 
 
 •■Which you can not now. Do you know 
 what English law is. lady?" cried he, fiercely. 
 "This pony and this carriage, if they had shelter 
 here, are confiscated to the landlord for his rent. 
 It's little use to say you owe nothing to this own- 
 er of the soil: it's enough 'hat they are found 
 among the chattels of his debtors." 
 "I can not believe this is law." 
 " You can prove it — at the loss of your pony ; 
 and it is mercy and generous dealing when com- 
 pared with half the enactments our riders have 
 devised tor us. follow me. I see the police 
 have not yet come down. I will goon in front 
 and a-k the way to. Croghan." 
 
 There was thai wrl of peril in the adventure 
 now that stimulated Nina and excited her; and 
 as they stoutly wended their way through the 
 crowd, she was far from insensible to the looks 
 
96 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 of admiration that were bent on her from every 
 side. 
 
 "What are they saying?" asked she; "I do 
 not know their language." 
 
 "It is Irish," said he; " they are talking of 
 your beauty." 
 
 " I should so like to follow their words!" said 
 she, with the smile of one to whom such homage 
 bad ever its charm. 
 
 "That wild-looking fellow, that seemed to ut- 
 ter an imprecation, has just pronounced a fer- 
 vent blessing ; what he has said was, ' May ev- 
 ery glance of your eye be a candle to light you to 
 glory!'" 
 
 A half-insolent laugh at this conceit was all 
 Nina's acknowledgment of it. Short greetings 
 and good wishes were now rapidly exchanged 
 between Donogan and the people, as the little 
 party made their way through the crowd — the 
 men standing bareheaded, and the women utter- 
 ing words of admiration, some even crossing 
 themselves piously, at sight of such loveliness as, 
 to them, recalled the ideal of all beauty. 
 
 "The police are to be here at one o'clock," 
 said Donogan, translating a phrase of one of the 
 by-standers. 
 
 "And is there any thing for them so seize on ?" 
 asked she. 
 
 " No ; but they can level the cabins," cried he, 
 bitterly. ' ' We have no more right to shelter 
 than to food." 
 
 Moody and sad, he walked along at the pony's 
 head, and did not speak another word till they 
 had left the village far behind them. 
 
 Larry, as usual, had found something to inter- 
 est him, and dropped behind in the village, and 
 they were alone. 
 
 A passing countryman, to whom Donogan ad- 
 dressed a few words in Irish, told them that a 
 short distance from Croghan they could stable 
 the pony at a small "shebeen." 
 
 On reaching this, Nina, who seemed to have 
 accepted Donogan's companionship without far- 
 ther question, directed him to unpack the car- 
 riage and take out her easel and her drawing 
 materials. "You'll have to carry these— fortu- 
 nately not very far, though," said she, smiling; 
 "and then you'll have to come back here and 
 fetch this basket." 
 
 "It is a very proud slavery — command me 
 how you will," muttered he, not without emotion. 
 
 "That," continued she, pointing to the basket, 
 " contains my breakfast, and luncheon or dinner, 
 and I invite you to be my guest." 
 
 "And I accept with rapture. Oh !" cried he, 
 passionately, "what whispered to my heart this 
 morning that this would be the happiest day of 
 my life ?" 
 
 "If so, fate has scarcely been generous to 
 you." And her lip curled half-superciliously as 
 she spoke. 
 
 " I'd not say that. I have lived amidst great 
 hopes, many of them dashed, it is true, by dis- 
 appointment ; but who that has been cheered by- 
 glorious day-dreams has not tasted moments at 
 least of exquisite bliss ?" 
 
 "I don't know that I have much sympathy 
 with political ambitions," said she, pettishly. 
 
 "Have you tasted — have you tried them? 
 Do you know what it is to feel the heart of a na- 
 tion throb and beat — to know that all that love 
 can do to purify and elevate can be exercised for 
 
 the countless thousands of one's own race and 
 lineage, and to think that long after men have 
 forgotten your name some heritage of freedom 
 will survive to say that there once lived one who 
 loved his country ?" 
 
 "This is very pretty enthusiasm." 
 
 "Oh, how is it that you, who can stimulate 
 one's heart to such confessions, know nothing of 
 the sentiment ?" 
 
 "I have my ambitions," said she, coldly — 
 almost sternly. 
 
 "Let me hear some of them." 
 
 " They are not like yours, though they are per- 
 haps just as impossible. " She spoke in a broken, 
 unconnected manner, like one who was talking 
 aloud the thoughts that came laggingly; then, 
 with a sudden earnestness, she said, "I'll tell 
 you one of them. It's to catch the broad bold 
 light that has just beat on the old castle there, 
 and brought out all its rich tints of grays and yel- 
 lows in such a glorious wealth of color. Place 
 my easel here, under the trees ; spread that rug 
 for yourself to lie on. No — you won't have it ? 
 Well, fold it neatly, and place it there for my 
 feet : very nicely done. And now, Signor Ri- 
 bello, you may unpack that basket and arrange 
 our breakfast, and when you have done all these, 
 throw yourself down on the grass, and either tell 
 me a pretty story, or recite some nice verses for 
 me, or be otherwise amusing and agreeable." 
 
 "Shall I do what will best please myself? If 
 so, it will be to lie here and look at you." 
 
 "Be it so," said she, with a sigh. "I have 
 always thought, in looking at them, how saints 
 are bored by being worshiped — it adds fearfully 
 to martyrdom, but, happily, I am used to it. ' Oh, 
 the vanity of that girl J' Yes, Sir, say it out: 
 tell her frankly that if she has no friend to caution 
 her against this besetting wile, that you will be 
 that friend. Tell her that whatever she has of 
 attraction is spoiled and marred by this self-con- 
 sciousness, and that just as you are a rebel with- 
 out knowing it, so should she be charming and 
 never suspect it. Is not that comingmicely?" 
 said she, pointing to the drawing. '''See how 
 that tender light is carried down from those gray 
 walls to the banks beneath, and dies away in that 
 little pool, where the faintest breath of air is rus- 
 tling. Don't look at me, Sir ; look at my draw- 
 ing." 
 
 "True, there is no tender light there," mut- 
 tered he, gazing at her eyes, where the enormous 
 size of the pupils had given a character of stead- 
 fast brilliancy, quite independent of shape, or 
 size, or color. 
 
 "You know very little about it," said she, 
 saucily ; then, bending over the drawing, she 
 said, "That middle distance wants a bit of col- 
 or : you shall aid me here." 
 
 " How am I to aid you ?" asked he, in sheer 
 simplicity. 
 
 "I mean that you should be that bit of color, 
 there. Take my" scarlet cloak, and perch your- 
 self yonder on that low rock. A few minutes 
 will do. Was there ever immortality so cheaply 
 purchased ! Your biographer shall tell that you 
 were the figure in that famous sketch— what will 
 be called, in the cant of art, one of Nina Kosta- 
 lergi's earliest and happiest efforts. There, now, 
 dear Mr. Donogan, do as you are bid." 
 
 "Do you know the Greek ballad, where a youth 
 remembers that the word ' dear' has been coupled 
 
I.OK1) KILGOBBIN. 
 
 97 
 
 with liis name — a passing courtesy, if even BO 
 much, but enough to light np a whole chamber 
 in his heart ?" 
 
 "I know nothing of Greek ballads. How 
 does it go ?" 
 
 "It is ;i simple melody, in a low key." And 
 
 "What had he done to merit such a hope?" 
 said >hc. haughtily. 
 •• Loved her— only loved her!" 
 
 '•What value you men must attach to this 
 
 gift of your affection, when it can nourish such 
 thoughts as these] four very willfulness iBtowin 
 
 lie sang in a deep hut tremulous voice, to a very 
 plaintive air, 
 
 "I took her hand within my own, 
 I drew her pently nearer, 
 And whispered almost on her cheek, 
 
 'Oh, would that I were dearer.' 
 Dearer! No, that's not my prayer: 
 
 A stranger, e'en the merest, 
 Might chance to have some value there; 
 But / would be the dearest." 
 G 
 
 us— is not that your theory? I expect from the 
 man who offers me his heart that he means to 
 share with me his own power and his own aml.i 
 tion — to make me the partner of a station that i- 
 to give me some pre-eminence I had not known 
 before, nor could gain unaided." 
 
 "And you would call that marrying for 
 lore?" 
 
 "Why not? Who has such a claim upon mv 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 life as he who makes the life worth living for ? 
 Did you hear that shout ?" 
 
 " I heard it," said he, standing still to listen. 
 "It came from the village. What can it 
 mean ?" 
 
 "It is the old war-cry of the houseless," said 
 he, mournfully. ' ' It's a note we are well used 
 to here. I must go down to learn. I'll he back 
 presently." 
 
 " You are not going into danger?" said she; 
 and her cheek grew paler as she spoke. 
 
 "And if I were, who is to care for it?" 
 
 "Have you no mother, sister, sweetheart?" 
 
 "No, not one of the three. Good-by." 
 
 " But if I were to say — stay ?" 
 
 "I should still go. To have your love, I'd 
 sacrifice even my honor. Without it — " he threw 
 up his arms despairingly and rushed away. 
 
 "These are the men whose tempers compro- 
 mise us," said she, thoughtfully. "We come to 
 accept their violence as a reason, and take mere 
 impetuosity for an argument. I am glad that 
 he did not shake my resolution. There, that 
 was another shout, but it seemed in joy. There 
 was a ring of gladness in it. Now for my 
 sketch." And she reseated herself before her 
 easel. "He shall see when he comes back how 
 diligently I have worked, and how small a share 
 anxiety has had in my thoughts. The one thing 
 men are not proof against is our independence of 
 them." And thus talking in broken sentences to 
 herself, she went on rapidly with her drawing, 
 occasionally stopping to gaze on it, and hum- 
 ming some old Italian ballad to herself. " His 
 Greek air was pretty. Not that it was Greek ; 
 these fragments of melody were left behind them 
 by the Venetians, who, in all lust of power, made 
 songs about contented poverty and humble joys. 
 I feel intensely hungry, and if my dangerous 
 guest does not return soon I shall have to break- 
 fast alone — another way of showing him how lit- 
 tle his fate has interested me. My foreground 
 here does want that bit of color. Why does he 
 not come back?" As she rose to look at her 
 drawing, the sound of somebody running at- 
 tracted her attention, and turning, she saw it 
 was her foot-page Larry coming at full speed. 
 
 "What is it, Larry? what has happened?" 
 asked she. 
 
 " You are to go — as fast as you can," said he ; 
 which being, for him, a longer speech than usual, 
 seemed to have exhausted him. 
 
 "Go where ? and why?" 
 
 "Yes," said he, with a stolid look, " you are." 
 
 "I am to do what? Speak out, boy! Who 
 sent you here ?" 
 
 "Yes," said he again. 
 
 "Are they in trouble yonder? Is there fight- 
 ing at the village ?" 
 
 " No." And he shook his head, as though he 
 said so regretfully. 
 
 " Will you tell me what you mean, boy ?" 
 
 "The pony is ready," said he, as he stooped 
 down to pack away the things in the basket. 
 
 " Is that gentleman coming back here — that 
 gentleman whom you saw with me ?" 
 
 "He is gone; he got away." And here he 
 laughed in a malicious way that was more puz- 
 zling even than his words. 
 
 "And am I to go back home at once?" 
 
 " Yes," replied he, resolutely. 
 
 " Do you know why — for what reason ?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Come, then, like a good boy, tell me, and 
 you shall have this." And she drew a piece of 
 silver from her purse, and held it temptingly be- 
 fore him. " Why should I go back, now ?" 
 
 "Because," muttered he, "because — " and it 
 was plain, from the glance in his eyes, that the 
 bribe had engaged all his faculties. 
 
 " So, then, you will not tell me?" said she, re- 
 placing the money in her purse. 
 
 " Yes," said he, in a despondent tone. 
 
 "You can have it still, Larry, if you will but 
 say who sent you here." 
 
 11 He sent me," was the answer. 
 
 " Who was he ? Do you mean the gentleman 
 who came here with me ?" A nod assented to 
 this. " And what did he tell you to say to me ?" 
 
 " Yes," said he, with a puzzled look, as though 
 once more the confusion of his thoughts was 
 mastering him. 
 
 "So, then, it is that you will not tell me?" 
 said she, angrily. He made no answer, but went 
 on packing the plates in the basket. "Leave 
 those there, and go and fetch me some water 
 from the spring yonder." And she gave him a 
 jug as she spoke, and now she reseated herself 
 on the grass. He obeyed at once, and returned 
 speedily with the water. 
 
 " Come now, Larry," said she kindly to him ; 
 "I'm sure you mean to be a good boy. You 
 shall breakfast with me. Get me a cup, and I'll 
 give you some milk ; here is bread and cold 
 meat." 
 
 "Yes," muttered Larry, whose mouth was al- 
 ready too much engaged for speech. 
 
 " Yon will tell me by-and-by what they were 
 doing at the village, and what that shouting 
 meant — won't you ?" 
 
 "Yes," said he, with a nod. Then suddenly 
 bending his head to listen, he motioned with his 
 hand to keep silence, and, after a long breath, 
 said, "They're coming." 
 
 "Who are coming?" asked she, eagerly; but 
 at the same instant a man emerged from the 
 copse below the hill, followed by several others, 
 whom she saw by their dress and equipment to 
 belong to the constabulary. 
 
 Approaching with his hat in his hand, and 
 with that air of servile civility which marked him, 
 old Gill addressed her. " If it's not displazin' 
 to ye, miss, we want to ax you a few questions," 
 said he. 
 
 "You have no right, Sir, to make any such 
 request," said she, with a haughty air. 
 
 "There was a man with you, my lady," he 
 went on, " as you drove through Cruhan, and 
 we want to know where he is now." 
 
 " That concerns you, Sir, and not me." 
 
 "Maybe it does, my lady," said he, with a 
 grin ; " but I suppose you know who you were 
 traveling with ?" 
 
 "You evidently don't remember, Sir, whom 
 you are talking to." 
 
 "The law is the law, miss, and there's none 
 of us above it," said he, half-defiantly ; "and 
 when there's some hundred pounds on a man's 
 head there's few of us such fools as to let him 
 slip through our fingers." 
 
 " I don't understand you, Sir, nor do I care to 
 do so." 
 
 "The sergeant there has a warrant against 
 him," said he, in a whisper he intended to be 
 
LORD KILGOBMN. 
 
 confidential; "and it's not to do any thing that 
 your ladyship would think rude that I came op 
 myself. There's how it is now," muttered he, 
 still lower. "They want to Bearch the luggage, 
 
 and examine the baskets there, ami maybe, it' 
 von don't object, they'd look through the car- 
 riage. " 
 
 " And it" I should object to this insult ?" broke 
 she in. 
 
 " Faix. I believe. " said lie. laughing, '"they'd 
 do it all the same. Eight handled — 1 think it's 
 eight — isn't to be made any day of the year!" 
 
 "My ancle is a justice of the peace, Mr. Gill; 
 and you know it' he will sutler such an outrage to 
 go unpunished."' 
 
 "There's the more reason that a justice should 
 not harbor a Fenian, miss," said he, boldly; "as 
 he'll know when he sees the search-warrant." 
 
 "Get ready the carriage, Larry," said she, 
 turning contemptuously away, "and follow me 
 toward the village." 
 
 "The sergeant, miss, would like to say a word 
 or two,'" said Gill, in his accustomed voice of 
 servility. 
 
 " I will not speak with him," said she, proudly, 
 and swept past him. 
 
 The constables stood to one side, and saluted 
 in military fashion as she passed down the hill. 
 There was that in her queen-like gesture and car- 
 riage that so impressed them, the men stood as 
 though on parade. 
 
 Slowly and thoughtfully, as she sauntered 
 along, her thoughts turned to Donogan. Had 
 he escaped ? was the idea that never left her. The 
 presence of these men here seemed to favor that 
 impression ; but there might be others on his 
 track, and if so, how in that wild bleak space was 
 he to conceal himself? A single man moving 
 miles away on the bog could be seen. There was 
 no covert, no shelter any where. What an inter- 
 est did his fate now suggest ! and yet a moment 
 back she believed herself indifferent to him. 
 "Was he aware of his danger," thought she, 
 "when he lay there talking carelessly to me? 
 was that recklessness the bravery of a bold man 
 who despised peril ?" And if so, what stuff these 
 souls were made of! These were not of the Kear- 
 ney stamp, that needed to be stimulated and 
 goaded to any effort in life ; nor like Atlee, the 
 fellow who relied on trick and knavery for suc- 
 cess; still less Mich as Walpole, self-worshipers 
 and tinners. " Yes," said she, aloud, "a woman 
 might fed that with such a man at her side the 
 battle of life need not affright her. He might 
 venture too far, he might aspire to much that was 
 beyond his reach, and strive for the impossible ; 
 but that grand bold spirit would sustain him, and 
 carry him through all the smaller storms of life; 
 and Mich a man might be a hero, even to her, 
 who saw him daily. These are the dreamers, as 
 we call them," said she. " How strange it would 
 be if they should prove the realists, and that it 
 was we should be the mere shadows! It' these 
 be the men who move empires and make history, 
 how doubly ignoble are we in our contempt of 
 them !" And then she bethought her what a dif- 
 ferent faculty was that great faith that these men 
 had in themselves from common vanity ; and in 
 this way she was led again to compare Donogan 
 and Walpole. 
 
 She reached the village before her little car- 
 riage had overtaken her, and saw that the people 
 
 stood about in groups and knot-. A depressing 
 
 silence prevailed over them, and they rarely spoke 
 above a whisper. The same respectful greeting, 
 however, which welcomed her before in<-t h,i 
 again ; and as they lifted their hat>, she saw. or 
 thought she saw, that they looked on her with a 
 
 more tender interest. Several policemen moved 
 
 about through the crowd, who. though they -aim- 
 ed her respectfully, could not refrain from scruti- 
 nising her appearance and watching her as she 
 went. With that air of haughty self-possession 
 which well became her — for it was no affectation 
 — she swept proudly along, resolutely determined 
 not to utter a word, or even risk a question as to 
 the way. 
 
 Twice she turned to see if her pony were com- 
 ing, and then resumed her road. From the ex- 
 cited air and rapid gestures of the police, as they 
 hurried from place to place, she could guess that 
 up to this Donogan had not been captured. Still, 
 it seemed hopeless that concealment in such a 
 place could be accomplished. 
 
 As she gained the little stream that divided the 
 village, she stood for a moment uncertain, when 
 a countrywoman, as it were divining her diffi- 
 culty, said, ' ' If you will cross over the bridge, 
 my lady, the path will bring you out on the high- 
 road." 
 
 As Nina turned to thank her, the woman 
 looked up from her task of washing in the river, 
 and made a gesture with her hand toward the 
 bog. Slight as the action was, it appealed to 
 that Southern intelligence that reads a sign even 
 faster than a word. Nina saw r that the woman 
 meant to say Donogan had escaped, and once 
 more she said, "Thank you — from my heart I 
 thank you!" 
 
 Just as she emerged upon the high-road, her 
 pony and carriage came up. A sergeant of po- 
 lice was, however, in waiting beside it, who. salut- 
 ing her respectfully, said, "There was no disre- 
 spect meant to you, miss, by our search of the 
 carriage — our duty obliged us to do it. We have 
 a warrant to apprehend the man that was seen 
 with yon this morning, and it's only that we know 
 who you are, and where you came from, prevents 
 us from asking you to come before our chief." 
 
 He presented his arm to assist her to her place 
 as he spoke; but she declined the help, and, 
 without even noticing him in any way. arranged 
 her rugs and wraps around her, took the reins, 
 and motioning Larry to his place, drove on. 
 
 " Is my drawing safe? have all my brushes and 
 pencils been put in ?" asked she, after a while. 
 
 Hut already Larry had taken his leave, and she 
 could see him as he flitted across the bog to catch 
 her by some short-cut. 
 
 That strange contradiction by which a woman 
 can journey alone and in safety through the 
 midst of a country only short of open insurrec- 
 tion filled her mind as she went, and thinking 
 of it in every shape and fashion occupied her for 
 
 miles of the way. The desolation, far as the eye 
 
 could reach, was complete — there was not a 
 habitation, not a human thing, to be seen. The 
 dark brown desert faded away in the distance 
 into low-lying clouds, the only break to .he dull 
 uniformity being some stray "clamp," as it is 
 called, of turf, left by the owner- from some acci- 
 dent of season or bad weather, and which loomed 
 out now against the sky like a va-t fortress. 
 This long, long day — for so without any weari- 
 
100 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 ness she felt it — was now in the afternoon, and al- 
 ready long shadows of these turf-mounds stretch- 
 ed their giant limbs across the waste. Nina, 
 who had eaten nothing since at early morning, 
 felt faint and hungry. She halted her pony, and 
 taking out some bread and a bottle of milk, pro- 
 ceeded to make a frugal luncheon. The com- 
 plete loneliness, the perfect silence, in which even 
 the rattling of the harness as the pony shook 
 himself made itself felt, gave something of so- 
 lemnity to the moment as the young girl sat 
 there and gazed half terrified around her. 
 
 As she looked, she thought she saw something 
 pass from one turf-clamp to the other, and watch- 
 ing closely, she could distinctly detect a figure 
 crouching near the ground, and, after some min- 
 utes, emerging into the open space, again to be 
 hid by some vast turf-mound. There, now — 
 there could not be a doubt — it was a man, and 
 he was waving his handkerchief as a signal. It 
 was Donogan himself — she could recognize him 
 well. Clearing the long drains at a bound, and 
 with a speed that vouched for perfect training, 
 he came rapidly forward, and leaping the wide 
 trench, alighted at last on the road beside her. 
 
 "I have watched you for an hour, and, but for 
 this lucky halt, I should not have overtaken you 
 after all," cried he, as he wiped his brow and 
 stood panting beside her. 
 
 "Do you know that they are in pursuit of 
 you ?" cried she, hastily. 
 
 "I know it all. I learned it before I reached 
 the village, and in time — only in time — to make 
 a circuit and reach the bog. Once there, I defy 
 the best of them." 
 
 " They have what they call a warrant to search 
 for you. " 
 
 "I know that, too," cried he. " No, no !" said 
 lie, passionately, as she offered him a drink. 
 "Let me have it from the cup you have drunk 
 from. It may be the last favor I shall ever ask 
 you — don't refuse me this." 
 
 She touched the glass slightly with her lips, 
 and handed it to him with a smile. 
 
 "What peril would I not brave for this !" cried 
 he, with a wild ecstasy. 
 
 "Can you not venture to return with me?" 
 said she, in some confusion, for the bold gleam of 
 his gaze now half abashed her. 
 
 "No. That would be to compromise others 
 as well as myself. I must gain Dublin how I 
 can. There I shall be safe against all pursuit. 
 I have come back for nothing but disappoint- 
 ment," added he, sorrowfully. "This country is 
 not ready to rise — they are too many-minded for 
 a common effort. The men like Wolfe Tone are 
 not to be found among us now, and to win free- 
 dom you must dare the felony." 
 
 "Is it not dangerous to delay so long here?" 
 asked she, looking around her with anxiety. 
 
 "So it is — and I will go. Will you keep this 
 for me ?" said he, placing a thick and much-worn 
 pocket-book in her hands. "There are papers 
 there would risk far better heads than mine ; 
 and if I should be taken, these must not be dis- 
 covered. It may be, Nina — oh, forgive me if I 
 say your name ! but it is such joy to me to utter 
 it once — it may be that you should chance to 
 hear some word whose warning might save me. 
 If so, and if you would deign to write to me, 
 you'll find three, if not four, addresses, under any 
 of which you could safely write to me. " 
 
 "I shall not forget. Good fortune be with 
 you. Adieu ! " 
 
 She held out her hand ; but he bent over it 
 and kissed it rapturously ; and when he raised 
 his head, his eyes were streaming, and his cheeks 
 deadly pale. " Adieu !" said she again. 
 
 He tried to speak, but no sound came from his 
 lips ; and when, after she had driven some dis- 
 tance away, she turned to look after him, he was 
 standing on the same spot in the road, his hat at 
 his feet, where it had fallen when he stooped to 
 kiss her hand. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE KETCRX. 
 
 Kate Kearney was in the act of sending out 
 scouts and messengers to look out for Nina, whose 
 long absence had begun to alarm her, when she 
 heard that she had returned and was in her 
 room. 
 
 " What a fright you have given me, darling!" 
 said Kate, as she threw her arms about her and 
 kissed her affectionately. "Do you know how- 
 late you are ?" 
 
 " No ; I only know how tired I am." 
 
 "What a long day of fatigue you must have 
 gene through ! Tell me of it all." 
 
 "Tell me rather of yours. You have had the 
 great Mr. Walpole here : is it not so ?" 
 
 "Yes ; he is still here — he has graciously given 
 us another day, and will not leave till to-morrow 
 night. " 
 
 "By what good fortune have you been so fa- 
 vored as this ?" 
 
 "Ostensibly to finish a long conversation or 
 conference with papa, but really and truthfully, I 
 suspect, to meet Mademoiselle Kostalergi, whose 
 absence has piqued him." - 
 
 " Yes ; piqued is the word. It is the extreme 
 of the pain he is capable of feeling. What has 
 he said of it?" 
 
 " Nothing beyond the polite regrets that court- 
 esy could express, and then adverted to something 
 else. " 
 
 "With an abruptness that betrayed prepara- 
 tion ?" 
 
 "Perhaps so." 
 
 " Not perhaps, but certainly so. Vanity such 
 as his has no variety. It repeats its moods over 
 and over : but why do we talk of him ? I have 
 other things to tell you of. You know that man 
 who came here with Dick ; that Mr. — " 
 
 " I know — I know," cried the other, hurriedly ; 
 " what of him?" 
 
 "He joined me this morning, on my way 
 through the bog, and drove with me to Cruhan." 
 
 "Indeed!" muttered Kate, thoughtfully. 
 
 "A strange, wayward, impulsive sort of creat- 
 ure — unlike anyone — interesting from his strong 
 convictions — " 
 
 "Did he convert you to any of his opinions, 
 Nina ?" 
 
 "You mean, make a rebel of me. No; for 
 the simple reason that I had none to surrender. 
 I do not know what is wrong here, nor what peo- 
 ple would say was right." 
 
 "You are aware, then, who he is?" 
 
 " Of course I am. I was on the terrace that 
 uight when your brother told you he was Dono- 
 
LORD KIUiOBBIN. 
 
 ini 
 
 pan — the famous Fenian Donogan. The secret 
 was not intended for me, bat I kept it all the 
 
 same, and 1 took an interest in the man from the 
 time I heard it." 
 
 •'Von told him, then, that you knew who he 
 
 was?" 
 
 "To be sure I did. and we are fast friends 
 already; hut let me go on with my narrative. 
 Some excitement, some show of disturbance at 
 Crnhan, persuaded him that what he called — I 
 don't know why— the Crowbar Brigade was at 
 work, and that 'the people were about to he turned 
 adrift on the world by the landlord, ami hearing 
 a wild shout from the village, he insisted on going 
 hack to learn what it might mean, lie had not 
 left me long when your late steward. Gill, came 
 up with several policemen to search for the con- 
 vict Donogan. They had a warrant to appre- 
 hend him. and some 'information as to where he 
 had been housed and sheltered." 
 
 "Here — with us?" 
 
 "Here — with you. Gill knew it all. This, 
 then, was the reason for that excitement we bad 
 seen in the village — the people had heard the po- 
 lice were coming, but for what they knew not ; 
 of course the only thought was for their own 
 trouble. " 
 
 '• Has he escaped ? Is he safe?" 
 
 "Safe so far that I last saw him on the wide 
 bog, some eight miles away from any human 
 habitation : but where he is to turn to, or who is 
 to shelter him, I can not say." 
 
 " He told you there was a price upon his head ?" 
 
 "Yes, some hundred pounds; I forget how 
 much : but he asked me if I did not feel tempt- 
 ed to give him up and earn the reward." 
 
 Kate leaned her head upon her hand, and 
 seemed lost in thought. 
 
 "They will scarcely dare to come and search 
 for him. here," said she ; and, after a pause, add- 
 ed, " and yet I suspect that the chief constable, 
 Mr. ( 'urtis, owes, or thinks he owes us a grudge ; 
 he might not be sorry to pass this slight upon 
 papa." And she pondered for some time over 
 the thonght. 
 
 "Do you think he can escape?" asked Nina, 
 eagerly. * 
 
 " Who, Donogan?" 
 
 " Of course — Donogan." 
 
 " Yes, I suspect he will ; these men have pop- 
 ular feeling with them, even among many who do 
 not share their opinions. Have you lived long 
 enough among us, Nina, to know that we all hate 
 the law? In some shape or other, it represents 
 to the Irish mind a tyranny." 
 
 " You are Greeks, without their acuteness," 
 said Nina, 
 
 " I'll not say that," said Kate, hastily. " It is 
 true I know nothing of your people, hut I think 
 I could aver that for a shrewd calculation of the 
 cost of a venture, for knowing when caution and 
 when daring will best succeed, the Irish peasant 
 has scarcely a superior any where. " 
 
 "I have heard much of his caution this very 
 morning," said Nina, superciliously. 
 
 "You might have heard far more of his reck- 
 lessness, if Donogan cared to tell of it," Bald 
 Kate, with irritation. " It is not English squad- 
 rons and batteries he is called alone to face : he 
 has to meet English gold, that tempts poverty, 
 and English corruption, that begets treachery 
 and betrayal. The" one stronghold of the Saxon 
 
 here is the informer; and mind, I. who tell yon 
 this, am no rebel. I would rather live under 
 English law, if English law would not ignore 
 Irish feeling, than I'd accept that llea\en know- 
 what of a government Keiiianism could give u-.' 
 
 •"I care nothing for all this ; 1 don't well know 
 if I can follow it; hut I do know that I'd like 
 this man to escape. He gave me this pocket- 
 book, and told me to keep it safely. It contains 
 
 some secrets that would compromise ] pie that 
 
 none suspect, and it has besides some three or 
 four addresses to which I could write with safe- 
 ty if I saw cause to warn him of any coming 
 danger. " 
 
 "And you mean to do this ?" 
 
 "Of course I do ; I feel an interest in this 
 man. I like him. I like his adventurous spirit, 
 I like that ambitions daring to do or to be some- 
 thing beyond the herd around him. I like that 
 readiness he shows to stake his life on an issue. 
 His enthusiasm inflames his whole nature. He 
 vulgarizes such fine gentlemen as Mr. YValpole, 
 and such poor pretenders as Joe Atlee, and, in- 
 deed, your brother, Kate." 
 
 " I will suffer no detraction of Dick Kearney," 
 said Kate, resolutely. 
 
 "Give me a cup of tea, then, and I shall he 
 more mannerly-, for I am quite exhausted, and 1 
 am afraid my temper is not proof against starva- 
 tion." 
 
 "But you will come down to the drawing- 
 room; they are all so eager to see you," said 
 Kate, caressingly. 
 
 "No ; I'll have my tea and go to bed, and I'll 
 dream that Mr. Donogan has been made King 
 of Ireland, and made an offer to share the throne 
 with me." 
 
 "Your Majesty's tea shall be served at once," 
 said Kate, as she courtesied deeply and withdrew. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 <) SHEA s I!.\i:n. 
 
 There were many more pretentious houses 
 than "O'Shea's Barn." It would have been 
 easy enough to discover larger rooms and finer 
 furniture, more numerous servants and more of 
 display in all the details of life ; hut for an air 
 of quiet comfort, for the certainty of meeting 
 with every material enjoyment that people of 
 moderate fortune aspire to, it stood unrivaled. 
 
 The rooms were airy and cheerful, with flow- 
 ers in summer, as they were well heated and well 
 lighted in winter. The most massive-looking 
 hut luxurious old arm-chairs, that modern taste 
 would have repudiated for ugliness, abounded 
 every where; and the four cumbrous hut coin 
 Portable seats that stood around the circular din- 
 ner table— and it was a matter of principle wilh 
 Miss Betty that the company should never he 
 nioii' numerous — only needed speech to have 
 told of traditions of conviviality for very nigh two 
 centuries hack. 
 
 As for a dinner at "the Barn," the whole coun- 
 ty-side confessed that they never knew how it 
 was that Miss Betty's salmon was " curdier," and 
 her mountain mutton more tender, and her wood- 
 cocks racier and of higher flavor, than any one 
 else's. Her brown sherry you might have equaled 
 — she liked the color and the heavy taste— but I 
 
102 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 defy you to match that marvelous port which 
 came in with the cheese, and as little, in these 
 days of light Bordeaux, that stout-hearted Sneyd's 
 claret, in its ancient decanter, whose delicately 
 fine neck seemed fashioned to retain the bouquet. 
 
 The most exquisite compliment that a courtier 
 ever uttered could not have given Miss Betty the 
 same pleasure as to hear one of her guests re- 
 quest a second slice of " the haunch." This was, 
 indeed, a flattery that appealed to her finest sen- 
 sibilities ; and, as she herself caned, she knew 
 how to reward that appreciative man with fat. 
 
 Never was the virtue of hospitality more self- 
 rewarding than in her case ; and the discrimi- 
 nating individual who ate with gusto, and who 
 never associated the wrong condiment with his 
 food, found favor in her eyes, and was sure of re- 
 invitation. 
 
 Fortune had rewarded her with one man of 
 correct taste and exquisite palate as a diner-out. 
 This was the parish priest, the Rev. Luke De- 
 lany, who had been educated abroad, and whose 
 natural gifts had been improved by French and 
 Italian experiences. He was a small, little, meek 
 man, with closely cut black hair and eyes of the 
 darkest , scrupulously neat in dress, and, by his 
 ruffles and buckled shoes at dinner, affecting 
 something of the abbe' in his appearance. To 
 such as associated the Catholic priest with coarse 
 manners, vulgar expressions, or violent senti- 
 ments, Father Luke, with his low voice, his well- 
 chosen words, and his universal moderation, was 
 a standing rebuke ; and many an English tourist 
 who met him came away with the impression of 
 the gross calumny that associated this man's or- 
 der with under-bred habits and disloyal am- 
 bitions. He spoke little, but he was an admi- 
 rable listener, and there was a sweet encourage- 
 ment in the bland nod of his head, and a rare 
 appreciation in the bright twinkle of his humor- 
 ous eye, that the prosiest talker found irresist- 
 ible. 
 
 There were times, indeed — stirring intervals 
 of political excitement— when Miss Betty would 
 have liked more hai-dihood and daring in her 
 ghostly counselor; but Heaven help the man 
 who would have ventured on the open avowal of 
 such opinion, or uttered a word in disparagement 
 of Father Luke. 
 
 It was in that snug dinner-room I have glanced 
 at that a party of four sat over their wine. They 
 had dined admirably ; a bright wood fire blazed 
 on the hearth, and the scene was the emblem of 
 comfort and quiet conviviality. Opposite Miss 
 O'Shea sat Father Delany, and on either side of 
 her her nephew Gorman and Mr. Ralph Miller, 
 in whose honor the present dinner was given. 
 
 The Romish bishop of the diocese had vouch- 
 safed a guarded and cautious approval of Mr. 
 Miller's views, and secretly instructed Father 
 Delany to learn as much more as he convenient- 
 ly could of the learned gentleman's intentions 
 before committing himself to a pledge of hearty 
 support. 
 
 "I will give him a good dinner," said Miss 
 O'Shea, " and some of the '4."> claret ; and if you 
 can not get his sentiments out of him after that, 
 I wash my hands of him." 
 
 Father Delany accepted his share of the task, 
 and assuredly Miss Betty did not fail on her 
 part. 
 
 The conversation had turned principally on 
 
 the coming election, and Mr. Miller gave a flour- 
 ishing account of his success as a canvasser, and 
 even went the length of doubting if any opposi- 
 tion would be offered to him. 
 
 "Ain't you and young Kearney going on the 
 same ticket ?" asked Gorman, who was too new 
 to Ireland to understand the nice distinctions of 
 party. 
 
 "Pardon me," said Miller, "we differ essen- 
 tially. We want a government in Ireland — the 
 Nationalists want none. We desire order by 
 means of timely concession and judicious boons 
 to the people. They want disorder — the display 
 of gross injustice — content to wait for a scram- 
 ble, and see what-can come of it." 
 
 "Mr. Miller's friends, besides," interposed 
 Father Luke, "would defend the Church and 
 protect the Holy Father" — and this was said 
 with a half interrogation. 
 
 Miller coughed twice, and said, "Unquestion- 
 ably. We have shown our hand already — look 
 what we have done with the Established Church. " 
 
 "You need not be proud of it," cried Miss 
 Betty. ' ' If you wanted to get rid of the crows, 
 why didn't you pull down the rookery ?" 
 
 ' ' At least they don't caw so loud as they 
 used," said the priest, smiling; and Miller ex- 
 changed delighted glances with him for his opin- 
 ion. 
 
 ' ' I want to be rid of them, root and branch, " 
 said Miss Betty. 
 
 "If you will vouchsafe us, ma'am, a little pa- 
 tience. Rome was not built in a day. The next 
 victory of our Church must be won by the down- 
 fall of the English establishment. Ain't I right, 
 Father Luke?" 
 
 "I am not quite clear about that," said the 
 priest, cautiously. "Equality is not the safe 
 road to supremacy." 
 
 "What was that row over towai'd Croghan 
 Castle this morning ?" asked Gorman, who was 
 getting wearied with a discussion he could not 
 follow. " I saw the constabulary going in force 
 there this afternoon." 
 
 ' ' They were in pursuit of the celebrated Dan 
 Donogau," said Father Luke. "They say he 
 was seen at Moate." 
 
 "They say more than that," said Miss Betty. 
 ' ' They say that he is stopping at Kilgobbin Cas- 
 tle !" 
 
 "I suppose to conduct young Kearney's elec- 
 tion," said Miller, laughing. 
 
 ' ' And why should they hunt him down ?" 
 asked Gorman. " What has he done ?" 
 
 " He's a Fenian — a head-centre — a man who 
 wants to revolutionize Ireland," replied Miller. 
 
 "And destroy the Church," chimed in the 
 priest. 
 
 "Humph!" muttered Gorman, who seemed 
 to imply, Is this all you can lay to his charge ? 
 "Has he escaped?" asked he, suddenly. 
 
 "Up to this he has," said Miller. "I was 
 talking to the constabulary chief this afternoon, 
 and he told me that the fellow is sure to be 
 apprehended. He has taken to the open bog, 
 and there are eighteen in full cry after him. 
 There is a search-warrant too arrived, and they 
 mean to look him up at Kilgobbin Castle." 
 
 "To search Kilgobbin Castle, do you mean?" 
 asked Gorman. 
 
 " Just so. It will be, as I perceive you think 
 it, a great offense to Mr. Kearney, and it is not 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 impossible that his temper may provoke him to 
 resist it." 
 
 "The mere rumor may materially assist his 
 <on's election; "said the priest, slyly. 
 
 "Only with the party who have no votes. Fa- 
 ther Luke, " rejoined Miller. "That precarious 
 popularity of the mob is about the most danger- 
 ous enemy a man ean have in Ireland.'' 
 
 •• You are right. Sir," said the priest, blandly. 
 "The real favor of this people is only bestowed 
 on him who has gained the confidence of the 
 clergy." 
 
 ■• If that be true," cried Gorman, "upon my 
 oath I think you are worse off here than in Aus- 
 tria. There, at least, we are beginning to think 
 without the permission of the Church." 
 
 "Let us have none of your atheism here, 
 young man," broke in his aunt, angrily. " Such 
 sentiments have never been heard in this room 
 before." 
 
 " If I apprehend Lieutenant Gorman aright," 
 interposed Father Luke, "he only refers to the 
 late movement of the Austrian Empire with ref- 
 erence to the Concordat, on which, among re- 
 ligious men, there are two opinions." 
 
 "No, no, you mistake me altogether," re- 
 joined Gorman. "What I meant was, that a 
 man can read and talk and think in Austria 
 without the leave of the priest ; that he can mar- 
 ry, and, if he like, he can die without his assist- 
 ance." 
 
 " Gorman, you are a beast," said the old lady, 
 "and if you lived here you would be a Fenian." 
 
 "You're wrong too, aunt," replied he. "I'd 
 crush those fellows to-morrow if I was in power 
 here." 
 
 " Mayhap the game is not so easy as you deem 
 it," interposed Miller. 
 
 "Certainly it is not easy when played as you 
 do it here. You deal with your law-breakers 
 only by the rule of legality : that is to say, you 
 respect all the regulations of the game toward 
 the men who play false. Y r ou have your cum- 
 brous details, and your lawyers, and judges, and 
 juries, and you can not even proclaim a county 
 in a state of siege without a bill in your blessed 
 Parliament, and a basketful of balderdash about 
 the liberty of the subject. Is it any wonder re- 
 bellion is a regular trade with you, and that men 
 who don't like work, or business habits, take to 
 it as a livelihood?" 
 
 "But have you never heard Curran's saying, 
 young gentleman ? ' You can not bring an in- 
 dictment against a nation,' " said Miller. 
 
 "I'd trouble myself little with indictments," 
 replied Gorman. "I'd break down the confed- 
 eracy by spies ; I'd seize the fellows I knew to be 
 guilty and hang them." 
 
 " Without evidence, without trial?" 
 
 "Very little of a trial, when I had once sat- 
 isfied myself of the guilt." 
 
 " Are you so certain that no innocent men 
 might be brought to the scaffold?" asked the 
 priest, mildly. 
 
 •" No, I am not. I take it, as the world goes, 
 very few of us go through life without some in- 
 justice or another. I'd do my best not to hang 
 the fellows who didn't deserve it, but I own I'd 
 be much more concerned about the millions who 
 wanted to live peaceably than the few hundred 
 rapscallions that were bent on troubling them." 
 
 "I must say, Sir," said the priest, "I am 
 
 much more gratified to know that you are a 
 lieutenant of lancers in Austria than a British 
 minister in Downing Street." 
 
 •• 1 have little doubt my self," said the other, 
 laughing, "that I am more in my place; but of 
 this 1 am sure, that if we were as mealy-mouthed 
 with our Croats and Slovaeks as you are with 
 your Fenians, Austria would soon go to pieces." 
 
 "There is, however, a higher price on that 
 man Donogan's head than Austria ever offered 
 for a traitor," said Miller. 
 
 "I know how you esteem money here," said 
 Gorman, laughing. " When all eise fails you, 
 you fall back upon it." 
 
 •• Why did I know nothing of these senti- 
 ments, young man, before I asked you under my 
 roof?" said Miss Betty, in anger. 
 
 "Y'ou need never to have known them now, 
 aunt, if these gentlemen had not provoked me ; 
 nor, indeed, are they solely mine. I am only 
 telling you what you would hear from any intel- 
 ligent foreigner, even though he chanced to be 
 a liberal in his own country." 
 
 '•Ah, yes," sighed the priest; "what the 
 young gentleman says is too true. The Conti- 
 nent is alarmingly infected with such opinions as 
 these." 
 
 "Have you talked on politics with young 
 Kearney ?" asked Miller. 
 
 "He has had no opportunity," interposed 
 Miss O'Shea. " My nephew will be three weeks 
 here on Thursday next, and neither Maurice nor 
 his son has called on him." 
 
 "Scarcely neighbor -like that, I must say," 
 cried Miller. 
 
 "I suspect the fault lies on my side," said 
 Gorman, boldly. " When I was little more than 
 a boy I was never out of that house. The old 
 man treated me like a son. All the more, per- 
 haps, as his own son was seldom at home, and 
 the little girl Kitty certainly regarded me as a 
 brother; and though we had our fights and 
 squabbles, we cried very bitterly at parting, and 
 each of us vowed we should never like any one 
 so much again. And now, after all, here am 1 
 three weeks, within two hours' ride of them, and 
 my aunt insists that my dignity requires 1 should 
 be first called on. Confound such dignity, say 
 I, if it lose me the best and the pleasantes't 
 friends I ever had in my life!" 
 
 "I scarcely thought of your dignity, Gorman 
 O'Shea," said the old lady, bridling, "though 1 
 did bestow some consideration on my own." 
 
 "I'm very sorry for it, aunt ; and I tell you 
 fairly — and there's no impoliteness in the confes- 
 sion — that when I asked for my leave, Kilgobbin 
 Castle had its place in my thoughts as well as 
 o'shea's Barn. 
 
 " Why not say it out, young gentleman, and 
 tell me that the real charm of coming here was to 
 In' within twelve miles of the Kearneys ?" 
 
 "The merits of this house are very inde- 
 pendent of contiguity," said the priest : and as 
 he eyed the claret in his glass it was plain that 
 tin- sentiment was an honest one. 
 
 " Fifty-six wine, I should say," said Miller, as 
 he laid down his glass. 
 
 "Forty-live, if Mr. Barton he a man of his 
 word," said the old lady, reprovingly. 
 
 "Ah," sighed the priest, plaintively, "how 
 rarely one meets these old full-bodied clarets 
 nowadays ! The free admission of French wines 
 
104 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 has corrupted taste and impaired palate. Our 
 cheap Gladstones have come upon us like univer- 
 sal suffrage." 
 
 "The masses, however, benefit," remarked 
 Miller. 
 
 " Only in the first moment of acquisition, and 
 in the novelty of the gain," continued Father 
 Luke, " and then they suffer irreparably in the 
 loss of that old guidance, which once directed 
 appreciation when there was something to ap- 
 preciate." 
 
 "We want the priest again, in fact," broke in 
 Gorman. 
 
 "You must admit they understand wine to 
 jxjrfection, though I would humbly hope, young 
 gentleman," said the father, modestly, "to en- 
 gage your good opinion of them on higher 
 grounds." 
 
 " Give yourself no trouble in the matter. Fa- 
 ther Luke," broke in Miss Betty. "Gorman's 
 Austrian lessons have placed him beyond your 
 teaching. " 
 
 "My dear aunt, you are giving the imperial 
 government a credit it never deserved. They 
 taught me as a cadet to groom my horse and 
 pipe-clay my uniform, to be respectful to my cor- 
 poral, and to keep my thumb on the seam of my 
 trowsers when the captain's eye was on me ; but 
 as to what passed inside my mind, if I had a 
 mind at all, or what I thought of pope, kaiser, 
 or cardinal, they no more cared to know it than 
 the name of my sweetheart." 
 
 "What a blessing to that benighted country 
 would be one liberal statesman !" exclaimed Mil- 
 ler; "one man of the mind and capacity of our 
 present premier ! " 
 
 "Heaven forbid!" cried Gorman. "We 
 have confusion enough, without the reflection of 
 being governed by what you call here 'healing 
 measures.' " 
 
 " I should like to discuss that point with you," 
 said Miller. 
 
 "Not now, I beg," interposed Miss O'Shea. 
 "Gorman, will you decant another bottle?" 
 
 "I believe I ought to protest against more 
 wine," said the priest, in his most insinuating 
 voice; "but there are occasions where the yield- 
 ing to temptation conveys a moral lesson." 
 
 " I suspect that I cultivate my nature a good 
 deal in that fashion," said Gorman, as he opened 
 a fresh bottle. 
 
 "This is perfectly delicious," said Miller, as he 
 sipped his glass ; " and if I could venture to pre- 
 sume so far I would ask leave to propose a toast. " 
 "You have my permission, Sir," said Miss 
 Betty, with stateliness. 
 
 " I drink, then," said he, reverently — " I drink 
 to the long life, the good health, and the un- 
 broken courage of the Holy Father." 
 
 There was something peculiarly sly in the 
 twinkle of the priest's black eye as he filled his 
 bumper, and a twitching motion of the corner of 
 his mouth continued even as he said, "To the 
 Pope. " 
 
 "The Pope," cried Gorman, as he eyed his 
 wine — 
 
 " ' Der Papst lebt herrlich in der Welt.' " 
 
 "What are you muttering there?" asked his 
 aunt, fiercely. 
 
 "The line of an old song, aunt, that tells us 
 •how his Holiness has a jolly time of it." 
 
 " I fear me it must have been written in other 
 days," said Father Luke. 
 
 "There is no intention to desert or abandon 
 him, I assure you," said Miller, addressing him 
 in a low but eager tone. ' ' I could never — no 
 Irishman could ally himself to an administra- 
 tion which should sacrifice the Holy See. With 
 the bigotry that prevails in England, the ques- 
 tion requires most delicate handling ; and even 
 a pledge can not be given except in language so 
 vague and unprecise as to admit of many read- 
 ings." 
 
 ' ' Why not bring in a bill to give him a sub- 
 sidy, a something per annum, or a round sum 
 down?" cried Gorman. 
 
 "Mr. Miller has just shown ns that Exeter 
 Hall might become dangerous. English intoler- 
 ance is not a thing to be rashly aroused." 
 
 " If I had to deal with him, I'd do as Bright 
 proposed with your landlords here. I'd buy him 
 out, give him a handsome sum for his interest, 
 and let him go." 
 
 "And how would you deal with the Church, 
 Sir?" asked the priest. 
 
 "I have not thought of that; but, I suppose, 
 one might put it into commission, as they say, 
 or manage it by a board, with a first lord, like 
 the Admiralty." 
 
 "I will give you some tea, gentlemen, when 
 you appear in the drawing-room," said Miss 
 Betty, rising with dignity, as though her conde- 
 scension in sitting so long with the party had 
 been ill rewarded by her nephew's sentiments. 
 
 The priest, however, offered his arm, and the 
 others followed as he left the room. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 AN EARLY GALLOP. 
 
 Maurice Kearney had risen early, an unu- 
 sual thing with him of late ; but he had some 
 intention of showing his guest Mr. Walpole over 
 the farm after breakfast, and was anxious to 
 give some preliminary orders to have every thing 
 "ship-shape" for the inspection. 
 
 To make a very disorderly and much neglect- 
 ed Irish farm assume an air of discipline, regu- 
 larity, and neatness at a moment's notice was 
 pretty much sucli an exploit as it would have 
 been to muster an Indian tribe, and pass them 
 before some Prussian martinet as a regiment of 
 Guards. 
 
 To make the ill-fenced and misshapen fields 
 seem trim paddocks, wavering and serpentining 
 furrows appear straight and regular lines of till- 
 age, weed-grown fields look marvels of cleanli- 
 ness and care, while the lounging and ragged 
 population were to be passed oft' as a thriving 
 and industrious peasantry, well paid and content- 
 ed, were difficulties that Mr. Kearney did not 
 propose to confront. Indeed, to do him justice, 
 he thought there was a good deal of pedantic 
 and "model-farming humbug" about all that 
 English passion for neatness he had read of in 
 public journals ; and as our fathers — better gen- 
 tlemen, as he called them, and more hospitable 
 fellows than any of us — had got on without steam 
 mowing and threshing, and bone-crushing, he 
 thought we might farm our properties without 
 being either blacksmiths or stokers. 
 
LORD K1LGOBBIN. 
 
 105 
 
 J ^f-^Tp' 
 
 ■%^k?'^A 
 
 " God help us !" he would say. "I suppose 
 we'll be chewing our food by steum one of these 
 days, and tilling our stomachs by hydraulic press- 
 ure. But for my own part, I like something to 
 work for me that I can swear at when it goes 
 wrong. There's little use in cursing a cylinder." 
 To have heard him among his laborers that 
 morning it was plain to see that they were not 
 in the category of machinery. On one pretext 
 or another, however, they had slunk away one 
 by one, so that at last he found himself storming 
 alone in a stubble-field, with no other companion 
 than one of Kate's terriers. The sharp barking 
 of this dog aroused him in the midst of his im- 
 precations, and looking over the dry-stone wall 
 that inclosed the field, he saw a horseman com- 
 ing along at a sharp canter, and taking the fences 
 as they came, like a man in a hunting-field. lie 
 rode well, and was mounted upon a strong wiry 
 hackney — a cross-bred horse, and of little mon- 
 eyed value, but one of those active cats of 
 horseflesh that a knowing hand can appreciate. 
 Now, little as Kearney liked the liberty of a man 
 riding over his ditches and his turnips when out 
 of hunting season, his old love of good horse- 
 manship made him watch the rider with interest 
 and even pleasure. ".May I never \" muttered 
 he to himself, "if he"s not coining at this wall." 
 And as the inclosnre in question was built of 
 large jagged stones, without mortar, and fully 
 tour feet iii height, the upper course being form- 
 ed of a sort of coping in which the stones BtOC-d 
 edgewise, the attempt did look somewhat rash. 
 Not taking the wall where it was slightly breach- 
 ed, and where some loose stones had fallen, the 
 rider rode boldly at one of the highest portions, 
 but where the ground was good on either side. 
 
 •• He knows what lie's ;it 1" muttered Kearney, 
 as his horse came bounding over and alighted in 
 perfect safety in the field. 
 
 ••Well done! whoever you are," cried Kear- 
 ney, delighted, as the rider removed his hat and 
 turned round to salute him. 
 
 '• Ami don't you know me, Sir?" asked he. 
 "Faith 1 do not," replied Kearney; "but 
 
 somehow I think I know the chestnut. 'I'm be 
 sure I do. There's the old mark on her knee, 
 how ever she found the man who eoidd throw 
 her down, isn't she Miss O'Shea's Kattoo?" 
 
 "'That she is, Sir, and I'm her nephew." 
 
 " Ave your' said Kearney, dryly. 
 
 The young fellow was so terribly pulled up by 
 the unexpected repulse — more marked even by 
 the look than the words of the other, thai lie Bat 
 unable to utter a syllable. " 1 had hoped, Sir, " 
 said he at last, "that I had not outgrown your 
 recollection, as I can promise none of your for- 
 mer kindness to me has outgrown mine." 
 
 " lint it took you three weeks to recall it, all 
 the same," said Kearney. 
 
 " It is true, Sir, I am very nearly so long here ; 
 but my aunt, whose guest I am, told me I must 
 be called on first ; that — I'm sure I can't sa\ for 
 whose benefit it was supposed to be — I should 
 not make the first visit : in fact, there w as 
 some rule about the matter, and that I must not 
 contravene it. And although I yielded with a 
 very bad grace, I was in a measure under orders, 
 and dared not resist." 
 
 " She told you, of course, that we were not on 
 our old terms ; that there was a coldness be- 
 tween the families, and we had seen nothing of 
 each other lately?" 
 
 "Not a word of it, Sir." 
 
 ' ' Nor of any reason why you should not come 
 here as of old ?" 
 
 "None, on my honor; beyond this piece of 
 stupid etiquette, I never heard of any thing like 
 a reason." 
 
 "I am all the better pleased with my old 
 neighbor," said Kearney, in his more genial tone. 
 " Not, indeed, that I ought ever to have distrust- 
 ed her, but for all that — Well, never mind," 
 muttered he, as though debating the question 
 with himself, and unable to decide it, "you are 
 here now — eh ! You are here now." 
 
 "You almost make me suspect, Sir, that I 
 ought not to be here now." 
 
 "At all events, if you were waiting for me you 
 wouldn't be here, is not that true, young gen- 
 tleman ?" 
 
 "Quite true, Sir, but not impossible to ex- 
 I plain." And he now flung himself to the 
 ! ground, and, with the rein over his arm, came 
 up to Kearney's side. " I suppose, but for an 
 ! accident, I should have gone on waiting for that 
 visit you had no intention to make me, and can- 
 vassing with myself how long you were taking to 
 make up your mind to call on me, when I heard 
 only last night that some noted rebel — I'll re- 
 member his name in a minute or two — was seen 
 in the neighborhood, and that the police were on 
 his track with a warrant, and even intended to 
 search for him here." 
 
 " In my house — in Kilgobbin Castle?" 
 
 "Yes, here in your house, where, from a sure 
 information, he had been harbored tor smiie 
 days. This fellow — a head-centre or leader, 
 with a largo sum on his head — has, they say, 
 
 got away ; but the hope of finding s paperB, 
 
 some clew to him here, will certainly lead them 
 in search the < 'astle, and I thought I'd come over 
 ami apprise you of it at all events, lest the sur- 
 prise shook] prove ton mach for your temper." 
 
 "Do they forget I'm in the commission of the 
 
106 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 peace ?" said Kearney, in a voice trembling with 
 passion. 
 
 ' ' You know far better than me how far party 
 spirit tempers life in this country, and are better 
 able to say whether some private intention to in- 
 sult is couched under this attempt." 
 
 "That's true," cried the old man, ever ready 
 to regard himself as the object of some secret 
 malevolence. "You can not remember this 
 rebel's name, can you ?" 
 
 " It was Daniel something — that's all I know." 
 
 A long, fine whistle was Kearney"s rejoinder, 
 and after a second or two he said : " I can trust 
 you, Gorman ; and I may tell you they may 
 be not so great fools as I took them for. Not 
 that I was harboring the fellow, mind you ; but 
 there came a college friend of Dick's here a few 
 days back — a clever fellow he was, and knew 
 Ireland well— and we called him Mr. Daniel, 
 and it was but yesterday he left us and did not 
 return. I have a notion now he was the head- 
 centre they're looking for." 
 
 "Do you know if he has left any baggage or 
 papers behind him ?" 
 
 " I know nothing about this whatever, nor do 
 I know how far Dick was in his secret. " 
 
 " You will be cool and collected, I am sure, 
 Sir, when they come here with the search-war- 
 rant. You'irnot give them even the passing 
 triumph of seeing that you are annoyed or of- 
 fended ?" 
 
 " That I will, my lad. I'm prepared now, and 
 I'll take them as easy as if it was a morning call. 
 Come in and have your breakfast with us, and 
 say nothing about what we've been talking over. " 
 
 "" Many thanks, Sir, but 1 think — indeed, I feel 
 sure — I ought to go back at once. I have come 
 here without my aunt's knowledge ; and now that 
 I have seen you and put you on your guard, I 
 ought to get back as fast as I can." 
 
 "So you shall when you feed your beast and 
 take something yourself. Poor old Kattoo isn't 
 used to this sort of cross-country work, and 
 she's panting there badly enough. That mare is 
 twenty-one years of age. " 
 
 "She's fresh on her legs — not a curb nor a 
 spavin, nor even a wind-gall about her," said the 
 young man. 
 
 "And the reward for it all is to be ridden 
 like a steeple- chaser !" sighed old Kearney. 
 " Isn't that the world over ? Break down early, 
 and you are a good-for-nothing. Cany on your 
 spirit and your pluck and your endurance to a 
 green old age, and maybe they won't take it out 
 of you ! — always contrasting you, however, with 
 vourself long ago, and telling the by-standers what 
 a rare beast you were in your good days. Do 
 you think they had dared to pass this insult upon 
 'me when I was five-and-twenty or thirty? Do 
 you think there's a man in the county would 
 have come on this errand to search Kilgobbin 
 when I was a young man, Mr. O'Shea ?" 
 
 "I think you can afford to treat it with the 
 contempt you have determined to show it." 
 
 "That's all very fine now," said Kearney; 
 "but there was a time I'd rather have chucked 
 the chief constable out of the window and sent 
 the sergeant after him." 
 
 " I don't know whether that would have been 
 better," said Gorman, with a faint smile. 
 
 "Neither do I; but I know that I myself 
 would have felt better and easier in my mind 
 
 after it. I'd have eaten my breakfast with a 
 good appetite, and gone about my day's work, 
 whatever it was, with a free heart and fearless in 
 my conscience ! Ay, ay, " muttered he to him- 
 self, "poor old Ireland isn't what it used to be!" 
 
 ' ' I'm very sorry, Sir ; but though I'd like im- 
 mensely to go back with you, don't you think I 
 ought to return home ?" 
 
 "I don't think any thing of the sort. Your 
 aunt and I had a tiff the last time we met, and 
 that was some months ago. We're both of us 
 | old and cross-grained enough to keep up the 
 1 grudge for the rest of our lives. Let us, then, 
 I make the most of the. accident that has led you 
 ; here, and when you go home you shall be the 
 ! bearer of the most submissive message I can in- 
 vent to my old friend, and there shall be no 
 terms too humble for me to ask her pardon." 
 
 " That's enough, Sir. I'll breakfast here." 
 
 " Of course you'll say nothing of what brought 
 you over here. But I ought to warn you not 
 to drop any thing carelessly about politics in the 
 county generally, for we have a young relative 
 and a private secretary of the Lord Lieutenant's 
 visiting us, and it's as well to be cautious before 
 him." 
 
 The old man mentioned this circumstance in 
 the cursory tone of an ordinary remark, but he 
 could not conceal the pride he felt in the rank 
 and condition of his guest. As for Gorman, 
 perhaps it was his foreign breeding, perhaps his 
 ignorance of all home matters generally, but he 
 simply assented to the force of the caution, and 
 paid no other attention to the incident. 
 
 "His name is Walpole, and he is related to 
 half the peerage," said the old man, with some 
 irritation of manner. 
 
 A mere nod acknowledged the information, 
 and he went on : 
 
 "This was the young fellow who was with 
 Kitty on the night they attacked the Castle, and 
 he got both bones of his fore-arm smashed with 
 a shot." 
 
 "An ugly wound," was the only rejoinder. 
 
 " So it was, and for a while they thought he'd 
 lose the arm. Kitty says he behaved beauti- 
 fully, cool and steady all through." 
 
 Another nod, but this time Gorman's lips 
 were firmly compressed. 
 
 "There's no denying it," said the old man, 
 with a touch of sadness in his voice — "there's 
 no denying it, the English have courage ; though," 
 added he, afterward, "it's in a cold, sluggish 
 way of their own, which we don't like here. 
 There he is now, that young fellow that has just 
 parted from the two girls. The tall one is my 
 niece. I must present you to her." 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 OLD MEMORIES. 
 
 Though both Kate Kearney and young O'Shea 
 had greatly outgrown each other's recollection, 
 there were still traits of feature remaining, and 
 certain tones of voice, by which they were car- 
 ried back to old times and old associations. 
 
 Among the strange situations in life, there are 
 few stranger, or, in certain respects, more pain- 
 ful, than the meeting after long absence of those 
 who, when they had parted years before, were 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 107 
 
 on terms of closest intimacy, and who BOW BM 
 each oiIht changed by time, with altered habits 
 and manners, and impressed in ■ variety of 
 ways with influences and associations which im- 
 part their own stamp mi character. 
 
 It is very difficult at such moments to remem- 
 ber how far we ourselves have changed in the 
 interval, and how much of what we regard as 
 altered in another may not simply he the new 
 Stand-point from which we are looking, and thus 
 our friend may be graver, or sadder, or more 
 thoughtful, or. as it may happen, seem less re- 
 flective and less considerative than we have 
 thought him — all because the world has been 
 meantime dealing with ourselves in such wise 
 that qualities we once cared for have lost much 
 of their value, and others that we had deemed 
 of slight account have grown into importance 
 with us. 
 
 Most of us know the painful disappointment 
 of revisiting scenes which had impressed ns 
 strongly in early life : how the mountain we re- 
 garded with a wondering admiration had be- 
 come a mere hill, and the romantic tarn a pool 
 of sluggish water; and some of this same awak- 
 ening pursues us in our renewal of old intima- 
 cies, and we find ourselves continually warring 
 with our recollections. 
 
 Besides this, there is another source of unea- 
 siness that presses unceasingly. It is in imput- 
 ing every change we discover, or think we dis- 
 cover in our friend, to some unknown influences 
 that have asserted their power over him in our 
 absence, and thus when we find that our argu- 
 ments have lost their old force, and our persua- 
 sions can be stoutly resisted, we begin to think 
 that some other must have usurped our place, 
 and that there is treason in the heart we had 
 deemed to be loyally our own. 
 
 How far Kate and Gorman suffered under 
 these irritations I do not stop to inquire, but 
 certain it is that all their renewed intercourse 
 was little other than snappish reminders of un- 
 favorable change in each, and assurances more 
 frank than flattering that they had not improved 
 in the interval. 
 
 '"How well I know every tree and alley of 
 this old garden !" said he, as they strolled along 
 one of the walks in advance of the others. 
 •• Nothing is changed here but the people." 
 
 "And do you think we are?" asked she, 
 quietly. 
 
 " I should think I do ! Not so much for your 
 father, perhaps. I suppose men of his time of 
 life change little, if at all; but you are as cere- 
 monious as if I had been introduced to you this 
 morning." 
 
 "Ton addressed me so deferentially as Miss 
 Kearney, and with such an assuring little in- 
 timation that you were not either very certain 
 of that, that I shoidd have been very courageous 
 indeed to remind you that I once was Kate. " 
 
 " No, not Kate — Kitty," rejoined he, quickly. 
 
 "Oh yes, perhaps, when you were young, but 
 we grew out of that." 
 
 ••Did we? And when?" 
 
 "When we gave up climbing cherry 
 and ceased to pull each other's hair when we 
 were angry." 
 
 "Oh dear!" said he, drearily, as his head 
 sunk heavily. 
 
 "You seem to sigh over those blissful times, 
 
 Mr. O'Sliea," said she, "as if they were terribly 
 to be regretted." 
 
 •• So they are. So I Feel them." 
 
 " I never knew before that quarreling left such 
 pleasant associations. " 
 
 "My memory is good enough to remember 
 
 times when we were not quarreling — when I used 
 to think you were nearer an angel than a human 
 creature — ay, when 1 have had flic boldness to 
 tell you so." 
 
 " You don't mean th<it .'" 
 " I do mean it, and 1 should like to know why 
 I should not mean it?" 
 
 "For a great many reasons — one among the 
 number, that it would have been highly indis- 
 creet to turn a poor child's head with a Stupid 
 flattery. " 
 
 "But were you a child? If I'm right, you 
 were not very far from fifteen at the time I speak 
 of." 
 
 "How shocking that you should remember 
 a young lady's age!" 
 
 "That is not the point at all," said he, as 
 though she had been endeavoring to introduce 
 another issue. 
 
 "And what is the point, pray?" asked she, 
 haughtily. 
 
 "Well, it is this — how many have uttered 
 what you call Stupid flatteries since that time, 
 and how have they been taken?" 
 
 "Is this a question?" asked she. "I mean, 
 a question seeking to be answered ?" 
 " I hope so." 
 
 "Assuredly, then, Mr. O'Shea, however time 
 has been dealing with ?ne, it has contrived to 
 take marvelous liberties with you since we met. 
 Uo you not know, Sir, that this is a speech you 
 would not have uttered long ago for worlds ?" 
 
 "If I have forgotten myself as well as you," 
 said he, with deep humility, "I very humbly 
 crave pardon. Not but there were days," added 
 he, "when my mistake, if I made one, would 
 have been forgiven without my asking." 
 
 "There's a slight touch of presumption, Sir, 
 in telling me what a wonderful person I used to 
 think you long ago." 
 
 "So you did!" cried he, eagerly. "In re- 
 turn for the homage I laid at your feet — as hon- 
 est art adoration as ever a heart beat with, you 
 condescended to let me build my ambitions be- 
 fore you, and I must own you made the edifice 
 very dear to me." 
 
 " To be sure, I do remember it all, ami I used 
 to play or sing, 'Mein Schatz ist ein ltciter,' 
 and take your word that you were going to be a 
 Lancer — 
 
 In file arrayed, 
 With helm and blade, 
 And plume in the gay wind dancing. 
 
 I'm certain my cousin would be charmed to see 
 you in all your bravery." 
 
 " Your cousin will not speak to me, for being 
 an Austrian." 
 
 " Has she told you so?" 
 
 " Yes ; she said it at breakfast." 
 
 "That denunciation does not sound very dan- 
 gerously; is it not worth your while to struggle 
 
 against :i liliseniieeption ? 
 
 " I have had such luck in my present attempt 
 as should scarcely raise my courage." 
 
 •• You are too ingenious by far for mc, Mr. 
 O'Shea," said she, carelessly. " 1 neither N 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 member so well as you, nor have I that nice 
 subtlety in detecting all the lapses each of us has 
 made since long ago. Try, however, if you can 
 not get on better with Mademoiselle Kostalergi, 
 where there are no antecedents to disturb you." 
 
 " I will ; that is, if she let me." 
 
 "I trust she may, and not the less willingly, 
 perhaps, as she evidently will not speak to Mr. 
 Walpole. " 
 
 "Ah, indeed, and is he here?" He stopped 
 and hesitated ; and the full, bold look she gave 
 him did not lessen his embarrassment. 
 
 "Well, Sir," asked she, "go on: is this an- 
 other reminiscence?" 
 
 "No, Miss Kearney; I was only thinking of 
 asking you who this Mr. Walpole was." 
 
 "Mr. Cecil Walpole is a nephew or a some- 
 thing to the Lord Lieutenant, whose private sec- 
 retary he is. He is veiy clever, very amusing — 
 sings, draws, rides, and laughs at the Irish to 
 perfection. I hope you mean to like him." 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 "Of course, or I should not have bespoken 
 your sympathy. My cousin used to like him, 
 but somehow he has fallen out of favor with her. " 
 
 "Was he absent some time?" asked he, with 
 a half-cunning manner. 
 
 " Yes, I believe there was something of that 
 in it. He was not here for a considerable time, 
 and when we saw him again we almost owned 
 we were disappointed. Papa is calling me from 
 the window; pray excuse me for a moment." 
 She left him as she spoke, and ran rapidly back 
 to the house, whence she returned almost imme- 
 diately. ' ' It was to ask you to stop and dine 
 here, Mr. O'Shea," said she. "There will be 
 ample time to send back to Miss O'Shea ; and 
 if you care to have your dinner-dress, they can 
 send it." 
 
 " This is Mr. Kearney's invitation?" asked he. 
 
 " Of course; papa is the master at Kilgobbin." 
 
 "But will Miss Kearney condescend to say 
 that it is hers also ?" 
 
 " Certainly, though I'm not aware what solem- 
 nity the engagement gains by my co-operation." 
 
 "I accept at once, and if you allow me I'll go 
 back and send a line to my aunt to say so." 
 
 "Don't you remember Mr. O'Shea, Dick?" 
 asked she, as her brother lounged up, making 
 his first appearance that day. 
 
 " I'd never have known you," said he, survey- 
 ing him from head to foot, without, however, 
 any mark of cordiality in the recognition. 
 
 "All find me a good deal changed !" said the 
 young fellow, drawing himself to his full height, 
 and with an air that seemed to say — "and none 
 the worse for it." 
 
 " I used to fancy I was more than your match," 
 rejoined Dick, smiling. " I suspect it's a mis- 
 take I'm little likely to incur again." 
 
 "Don't, Dick, for he has got a very ugly way 
 of ridding people of their illusions," said Kate, 
 as she turned once more and walked rapidly to- 
 ward the house. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 TWO FAMILIAR EPISTLES. 
 
 There were a number of bolder achievements 
 Gorman O'Shea would have dared rather than 
 write a note ; nor were the cares of the composi- 
 
 tion the only difficulties of the undertaking. He 
 knew of but one style of correspondence — the 
 report to his commanding officer, and in this he 
 was aided by a formula to be filled up. It was 
 not, then, till after several efforts he succeeded 
 in the following familiar epistle : 
 
 " KrLGOBBiN Castle. 
 
 "Dear Aunt, — Don't blow up or make a 
 rumpus ; but if I had not taken the mare and 
 come over here this morning, the rascally police 
 with their search- warrant might have been down 
 upon Mr. Kearney without a warning. They 
 were all stiff and cold enough at first : they are 
 nothing to brag of in the way of cordiality even 
 yet — Dick especially — but they have asked me to 
 stay and dine, and I take it it is the right thing 
 to do. Send me over some things to dress with, 
 and believe me, your affectionate nephew, 
 
 " G. O'Shea. 
 
 " I send the mare back, and shall walk home 
 to-morrow morning. 
 
 "There's a great Castle swell here, a Mr. 
 Walpole; but I have not made his acquaintance 
 yet, and can tell nothing about him." 
 
 Toward a late hour of the afternoon a messen- 
 ger arrived with an ass-cart and several trunks 
 from O'Shea's Barn, and with the following 
 note: 
 
 "Dear Nephew Gorman, — O'Shea's Barn 
 is not an inn, nor are the horses there at public 
 livery. So much for your information. As you 
 seem fond of 'warnings,' let me give you one, 
 which is, To mind your own affairs in preference 
 to the interests of other people. The family at 
 Kilgobbin are perfectly welcome — so far as I am 
 concerned — to the fascinations of your society at 
 dinner to-day, at breakfast to-morrow, and so 
 on, with such regularity and order as the meals 
 succeed. To which end I have now sent you all 
 the luggage belonging to you here. 
 
 ' ' I am, very respectfully, your aunt, 
 
 ''Elizabeth O'Shea." 
 
 The quaint, old-fashioned, rugged writing was 
 marked throughout by a certain distinctness and 
 accuracy that betokened care and attention ; 
 there was no evidence whatever of haste or pas- 
 sion, and this expression of a serious determina- 
 tion, duly weighed and resolved on, made itself 
 very painfully felt by the young man as he read. 
 
 "I am turned out — in plain words, turned 
 out!" said he aloud, as he sat with the letter 
 spread out before him. " It must have been no 
 common quarrel — not a mere coldness between 
 the families — when she resents my coming here 
 in this fashion." That innumerable differences 
 could separate neighbors in Ireland, even per- 
 sons with the same interests and the same relig- 
 ion, he well knew, and he solaced himself to 
 think how he could get at the source of this dis- 
 agreement, and what chance there might be of a 
 reconciliation. 
 
 Of one thing he felt certain. Whether his aunt 
 were right or wrong, whether tyrant or victim, he 
 knew in his heart all the submission must come 
 from the others. He had only to remember a 
 few of the occasions in life in which he had to 
 entreat his aunt's forgiveness for the injustice 
 she had herself inflicted, to anticipate what hum- 
 
LORD KlLGOBBIN. 
 
 100 
 
 ble pie Maurice Kearney must partake of in or- 
 der to conciliate Miss Bettj 'a favor. 
 
 "Meanwhile," be thought, and not only 
 thought, l>ut Baid, too— "meanwhile, 1 am on 
 
 the world." 
 
 Up to this, she had allowed him a small year- 
 ly income. Father Luke, whose judgment on 
 
 all things relating to Continental lite was unim- 
 peachable, hail told her that any thing like the 
 
 reputation of being well off or connected with 
 wealthy people would lead a young man into 
 ruin m the Austrian service : that with a sum of 
 8000 francs per annum — about £120 — he would 
 be in possession of something like the double of 
 his pay, or rather more, and that with this he 
 would be enabled to have all the necessaries and 
 many of the comforts of his station, and still not 
 be a mark for that high play and reckless style 
 of living that certain young Hungarians of fam- 
 ily and large fortune affected ; and so far the 
 priest was correct, for the young Gorman was 
 wasteful and extravagant from disposition, and 
 his quarter's allowance disappeared almost when 
 it came. His money out, he fell back at once 
 to the penurious habits of the poorest subaltern 
 about him, and lived on his florin-and-half per 
 diem till his resources came round again. He 
 hoped — of course he hoped — that this momentary 
 fit of temper would not extend to stopping his 
 allowance. 
 
 " She knows as well as any one," muttered he, 
 "that though the baker's son from Prague, or 
 the Amtmann's nephew from a Bavarian Dorf, 
 may manage to 'come through' with bis pay, the 
 young Englishman can not. I can neither piece 
 my own overalls, nor forswear stockings, nor can 
 I persuade my stomach that it has had a full 
 m al by tightening my girth-strap three or four 
 holes. 
 
 " I'd go down to the ranks to-morrow rather 
 than live that life of struggle and contrivance, that 
 reduces a man to playing a dreary game with 
 himself, by which, while he feeds like a pauper, 
 he has to fancy he felt like a gentleman. No, 
 no ; I'll none of this. Scores of better men have 
 served in the ranks. I'll just change my regi- 
 ment. By a lucky chance, I don't know a man 
 in the Walmoden Cuirassiers. I'll join them, 
 and nobody will ever be the wiser." 
 
 There is a class of men who go through life 
 building very small castles, and are no more dis- 
 couraged by the frailty of the architecture than 
 is a child with his toy-house. This was Gor- 
 man's case ; and now that he had found a solu- 
 tion of his difficulties in the Walmoden Cuiras- 
 siers, he really dressed for dinner in very tolera- 
 ble spirits. "It's droll enough," thought he, 
 "to go down to dine among all these 'swells.' 
 and to think that the fellow behind my chair is 
 better off than myself." The very uncertainty 
 of his fate supplied excitement to his spirits, for 
 it is among the privileges of the young that mere 
 flurry can be pleasurable. 
 
 When Gorman reached the drawing-room he 
 found only one person. This was a young man 
 in a shooting-coat, who, deep in the recess of a 
 comfortable arm-chair, sat with The Times at 
 his feet, and to all appearance as if half dozing. 
 
 He looked around, however, as young O'Shea 
 came forward, and said, carelessly, "I suppose 
 it- time to go and dress — if I could." 
 
 O'Shea making no reply, the other added, 
 
 "That is, if I have not Overslept dinner alto- 
 gether." 
 
 ■• l hope not. sincerely," rejoined tin- other, 
 
 "or I shall be a partner in the misfortune." 
 
 "Ali, you're the Austrian," saiil Walpole, as 
 he st in k his glass in his eye and surveyed him. 
 
 "Yes; and you are the private secretary of 
 the Governor." 
 
 " Only we don't call him Governor. We say 
 ' Viceroy here." 
 
 '• With all my heart. Viceroy be it." 
 
 There was a pause now, each, as it were, 
 standing on his guard to resent any liberty of 
 the other. ' At last Walpole said, " I don't think 
 you were in the house when that stupid stipend- 
 iary fellow called here this morning?'' 
 
 "No; I was strolling across the fields. He 
 came with the police, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes, he came on the track of some Fenian 
 leader — a droll thought enough any where out 
 of Ireland to search for a rebel under a magis- 
 trate's roof; not but there was something still 
 more Irish in the incident." 
 
 " How was that ? " asked ( I'Shea, eagerly. 
 
 " I chanced to be out walking with the ladies 
 when the escort came ; and as they failed to find 
 the man they were after, they proceeded to make 
 diligent search for his papers and letters. That 
 taste for practical joking that seems an instinct 
 in this country suggested to Mr. Kearney to 
 direct the fellows to my room ; and what do you 
 think they have done ? Carried off' bodily all 
 my baggage, and left me with nothing but the 
 clothes I'm wearing!" 
 
 " What a lark !" cried O'Shea, laughing. 
 
 " Yes, I take it that is the national way to 
 look at these things ; but that passion for ab- 
 surdity and for ludicrous situations has not the 
 same hold on us English. " 
 
 " I know that. You are too well off to be droll." 
 
 "Not exactly that; but when we want to 
 laugh we go to the 'Adelphi.'" 
 
 " Heaven help you if you have to pay people 
 to make fun for you ! " 
 
 Before Walpole could make rejoinder, the 
 door opened to admit the ladies, closely followed 
 by Mr. Kearney and Dick. 
 
 " Not mine the fault if I disgrace your dinner- 
 table by such a costume as this," cried Walpole. 
 
 "I'd have given twenty pounds if they'd have 
 carried, off yourself as the rebel!" said the old 
 man, shaking with laughter. "But there's the 
 soup on the table. Take my niece, Mr. Wal- 
 pole. Gorman, give your arm to my daughter. 
 Dick and I will bring up the rear." 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 AN EVENING IN THE DKAWINO-ROOM. 
 
 The fatalism of youth, unlike that of age, is 
 all rose-colored. That which is coming, and is 
 decreed to come, can not be very disagreeable. 
 This is the theory of the young, and differs ter- 
 ribly from the experiences of after-life. Gorman 
 
 O'Shea had gone to dinner with about as heavy 
 a mi-fortune as could well befall him, so far as 
 his future in life was concerned. All he looked 
 forward to and hoped for was lost to him: the 
 aunt who, for so many years, bad stood to him 
 | in place of all family, had suddenly thrown him 
 
no 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 off, and declared that she would see him no 
 more ; the allowance she had hitherto given him 
 withdrawn, it was impossible he could continue 
 to hold his place in his regiment. Should he de- 
 termine not to return, it was desertion ; should 
 he go back, it must be to declare that he was a 
 ruined man, and could only serve in the ranks. 
 These were the thoughts he revolved while he 
 dressed for dinner, and dressed, let it be owned, 
 with peculiar care ; but when the task had been 
 accomplished, and he descended to the drawing- 
 room, such was the elasticity of his young tem- 
 perament, every thought of coming evil was 
 merged in the sense of present enjoyment, and 
 the merry laughter which he overheard as he 
 opened the door obliterated all notion that life 
 had any thing before him except what was agree- 
 able and pleasant. 
 
 " We want to know if you play croquet, Mi - . 
 O'Shea?" said Nina as he entered. "And we 
 want also to know, are you a captain, or a drill- 
 master, or a major? You can scarcely be a 
 colonel." 
 
 ' ' Your last guess I answer first. I am only 
 a lieutenant, and even that very lately. As to 
 croquet, if it be not your foreign mode of pro- 
 nouncing cricket, I never even saw it. " 
 
 "It is not my foreign mode of pronouncing 
 cricket, Herr Lieutenant, " said she, pertly, "but 
 1 guessed already you had never heard of it. " 
 
 " It is an out-of-door affair," said Dick, indo- 
 lently, " made for the diffusion of worked petti- 
 coats and Balmoral boots." 
 
 "I should say it is the game of billiards 
 brought down to universal suffrage and the mill- 
 ion," lisped out Walpole. 
 
 "Faith," cried old Kearney, "I'd say it was 
 just foot-ball with a stick." 
 
 "At all events," said Kate, "we purpose to 
 have a grand match to-morrow. Mr. Walpole 
 and I are against Nina and Dick, and we are to 
 draw lots for you, Mr. O'Shea." 
 
 "My position, if I understand it aright, is not 
 a flattering one," said he, laughing. 
 
 "We'll take him," cried Nina at once. " I'll 
 give him a private lesson in the morning, and 
 I'll answer for his performance. These creat- 
 ures," added she, in a whisper, "are so drilled 
 in Austria, you can teach them any thing." 
 
 Now, as the words were spoken, Gorman 
 caught them, and drawing close to her — "I do 
 hope I'll justify that nattering opinion." But 
 her only recognition was a look of half-defiant 
 astonishment at his boldness. 
 
 A very noisy discussion now ensued as to 
 whether croquet was worthy to be called a game 
 or not, and what were its laws and rules — points 
 which Gorman followed with due attention, but 
 very little profit ; all Kate's good sense and clear- 
 ness being cruelly dashed by Nina's ingenious 
 interruptions, and Walpole's attempts to be 
 6mart and witty, even where opportunity scarce- 
 ly offered the chance. 
 
 "Next to looking on at the game," cried old 
 Kearney at last, " the most tiresome thing I 
 know of is to hear it talked over. Come, Nina, 
 and give me a song." 
 
 "What shall it be, uncle?" said she, as she 
 opened the piano. 
 
 " Something Irish I'd say, if I were to choose 
 for myself. We've plenty of old tunes, Mr. Wal- 
 pole," said Kearney, turning to that gentleman, 
 
 "that rebellion, as you call it, has never got 
 hold of. There's ' Cushla Macree' and the ' Cai- 
 lan deas cruidhte na Mbo.' " 
 
 "Very like hard swearing that," said Walpole 
 to Nina ; but his simper and his soft accent were 
 only met by a cold blank look, as though she had 
 not understood his liberty in addressing her. In- 
 deed, in her distant manner and even repelling 
 coldness, there was what might have disconcert- 
 ed any composure less consummate than his 
 own. It was, however, evidently Walpole's aim 
 to assume that she felt her relation toward him, 
 and not altogether without some cause; while 
 she, on her part, desired to repel the insinuation 
 by a show of utter indifference. She would will- 
 ingly, in this contingency, have encouraged her 
 cousin, Dick Kearney, and even led him on to 
 little displays of attention ; but Dick held aloof, 
 as though not knowing the meaning of this fa- 
 vorable turn toward him. He would not be 
 cheated by coquetry. How many men are of 
 this temper, and who never understand that it is 
 by surrendering ourselves to numberless little vol- 
 untary deceptions of this sort, we arrive at inti- 
 macies the most real and most truthful. 
 
 She next tried Gorman, and here her success 
 was complete. All those womanly prettinesses, 
 which are so many modes of displaying graceful 
 attraction of voice, look, gesture, or attitude, 
 were especially dear to him. Not only they gave 
 beauty its chief charm, but they constituted a 
 sort of game whose address was quickness of 
 eye, readiness of perception, prompt reply, and 
 that refined tact that can follow out one thought 
 in a conversation just as you follow a melody 
 through a mass of variations. 
 
 Perhaps the young soldier did not yield him- 
 self the less readily to these captivations that 
 Kate Kearney's manner toward him was stu- 
 diously cold and ceremonious. 
 
 "The other girl is more like the old friend," 
 muttered he, as he chatted on with her about 
 Home, and Florence, and Venice, imperceptibly 
 gliding into the language which the names of 
 places suggested. 
 
 ' ' If any had told me that I ever could have 
 talked thus freely and openly with an Austrian 
 soldier I'd not have believed him," said she at 
 length, "for all my sympathies in Italy were 
 with the National party. " 
 
 "But we were not ' the Barbari' in your recol- 
 lection, mademoiselle," said he. " We were out 
 of Italy before you could have any feeling for 
 either party." 
 
 "The tradition of all your cruelties has sur- 
 vived you ; and I am sure if you were wearing 
 your white coat still, I'd hate you." 
 
 "You are giving me another reason to ask 
 for a longer leave of absence," said he, bowing 
 courteously. 
 
 "And this leave of yours, how long does it 
 last?" 
 
 "I am afraid to own to myself. Wednesday 
 fortnight is the end of it ; that is, it gives me 
 four days after that to reach Vienna. " 
 
 "And, presenting yourself in humble guise 
 before your Colonel, to say, 'Ich melde mich 
 gehorsamst.'" 
 
 "Not exactly that, but something like it." 
 
 "I'll be the Herr Oberst Lieutenant," said 
 she, laughing; "so come forward now, and clap 
 your heels together, and let us hear how you ut- 
 
LOUD KlLGOI'.l'.lX. 
 
 Ill 
 
 tcr your few syllables in true abject fashion. I'll 
 sit here and receive yon." A> she Bpoke Bhe 
 threw herself into an arm-chair, and, assuming a 
 
 look of intense hauteur and defiance, affected to 
 stroke an imaginary mustache with one hand, 
 
 while with the other she waved a haughty ges- 
 ture of welcome. 
 
 "I have outstaid my leave, " muttered Gor- 
 man, in a tremulous tone. " I hope my Colonel, 
 with that bland mercy which characterizes him, 
 will forgive ni_\- fault, and let me a-k his pardon." 
 And with this, he knelt down on one knee before 
 her and kissed her hand. 
 
 "What liberties are these, Sir?" cried she, so 
 angrily that it was not easy to say whether the 
 anger was not real. 
 
 " It is the latest ride introduced into our serv- 
 ice, "said lie, with mock humility. 
 
 •'Is that a comedy they are acting yonder," 
 said Walpole, "or is it a proverb?" 
 
 "Whatever the drama," replied Kate, coldly, 
 "I don't think they want a public." 
 
 "You may go back to your duty, Herr Lieu- 
 tenant," said Nina, proudly, ami with a signifi- 
 cant glance toward Kate. "Indeed, I suspect 
 you have been rather neglecting it of late." And 
 with this she sailed majestically away toward the 
 end of the room. 
 
 "I wish I could provoke even that much of 
 jealousy from the other," muttered Gorman to 
 himself, as he bit his lip in passion. And cer- 
 tainly, if a look and manner of calm unconcern 
 meant auy thing, there was little that seemed 
 less likely. 
 
 "I am glad you are going to the piano, 
 Nina," said Kate. " Mr. Walpole has been ask- 
 ing me by what artifice you could be induced to 
 sing something of Mendelssohn." 
 
 "I am going to sing an Irish ballad for that 
 Austrian patriot who, like his national poet, 
 thinks ' Ireland a beautifid country to live out 
 of.'" Though a haughty toss of her head ac- 
 companied these words, there was a glance in 
 her eye toward Gorman that plainly invited a 
 renewal of their half-flirting hostilities. 
 
 '• When I left it, you had not been here," said 
 he, with an obsequious tone, and an air of def- 
 erence only too marked in its courtesy. 
 
 A slight, very faint blush on her cheek showed 
 that she rather resented than accepted the Mat- 
 tery ; but she appeared to be occupied in looking 
 through the music-books, and made no rejoinder. 
 
 •• We want .Mendelssohn. Nina," said Kate. 
 
 "Or at least Spohr," added Walpole. 
 
 " I never accept dictation about what I sing," 
 muttered Nina, only loud enough to be overheard 
 by Gorman. "People don't tell you what 
 theme you are to talk on ; they don't presume to 
 say, ' He serious, or be witty."' They don't tell 
 you to come to the aid of their sluggish natures 
 by pas-ion. or to dispel their dreariness by flights 
 of fancy ; and why are they to dare all tins to us 
 who speak through song?" 
 
 "Just because you alone can do these things," 
 said (iorman, in the same low voice as she had 
 spoken in. 
 
 " Can I help you in your search, dearest '■" 
 said Kate, coming over to the piano. 
 
 '• Might I hope to be of use?" asked Walpole. 
 
 " Mr. O'Shea wants me to sing something for 
 him.'' said Nina, coldly. "What is it to be?" 
 asked she of Gorman. 
 
 With the readiness of one who could respond 
 [ to any sudden call upon his tact. ( rorman at once 
 took up a piece of music from tin- mass before 
 
 him, and said, " Here is what I've been search- 
 ing for." It was a little Neapolitan ballad of no 
 
 peculiar beauty, but one of those simple melodies 
 
 in which the rapid transition from deep feeling 
 to a wild, almost reckless, gayety imparts all the 
 character. 
 
 "Yes, I'll sing that," said Nina; and almost in 
 the same breath the notes came floating through 
 the air, slow and sad at first, as though laboring 
 under some heavy sorrow. The very syllables 
 faltered on her lips like a grief struggling for ut- 
 terance, when, just as a thrilling cadence died 
 slowly away, she burst forth into the wildest and 
 merriest strain, something so impetuous in gaye- 
 ty that the singer seemed to lose all control of 
 expression, and floated away in sound with every 
 caprice of enraptured imagination. When in 
 the very whirlwind of this impetuous gladness, 
 as though a memory of a terrible sorrow had 
 suddenly crossed her, she ceased ; then, in tones 
 of actual agony, her voice rose to a cry of such 
 utter misery as despair alone could utter. The 
 sounds died slowly away, as though lingeringly. 
 Two bold chords followed, and she was silent. 
 
 None spoke in the room. Was this real pas- 
 sion, or was it the mere exhibition of an accom- 
 plished artist, who could call up expression at 
 will as easily as a painter could heighten color? 
 Kate Kearney evidently believed the former, as 
 her heaving chest and her tremulous lip be- 
 trayed ; while the cold, simpering smile on Wal- 
 pole's face, and the "brava, bravissima" in 
 which he broke the silence, vouched how he had 
 interpreted that show of emotion. 
 
 " If that is singing, I wonder what is crying," 
 cried old Kearney, while he wiped his eyes, very- 
 angry at his own weakness. " And now will any 
 one tell me what it was all about?" 
 
 "A young girl, Sir," replied Gorman, "who, 
 by a great effort, has rallied herself to dispel 
 her sorrow and be merry, suddenly remembers 
 that her sweetheart may not love her; and the 
 more she dwells on the thought, the more firmly 
 she believes it. That was the cry, ' He never 
 loved me,' that went to all our hearts." 
 
 "Faith, then, if Nina has to say that," said 
 the old man, " Heaven help the others !" 
 
 " Indeed, uncle, you are more gallant than 
 all these young gentlemen," said Nina, rising 
 and approaching him. 
 
 " Why they are not all at your feet this mo- 
 ment is more than I can tell. They're always 
 telling me the world is changed, and" I begin to 
 see it now." 
 
 "I suspect, Sir, it's pretty much what it used 
 to be," lisped out Walpole. " We are only less 
 den strative than our fathers." 
 
 ''.lust as I am less extravagant than mine," 
 cried Kilgobbin, " because I have not got it to 
 spend." 
 
 " I hope Mademoiselle Nina judges us more 
 mercifully," said Walpole. 
 
 "Is that song a favorite of yours?" asked 
 she of Gorman, without noticing Walpole's re- 
 mark in any way. 
 
 " No," said he, bluntly; "it makes me feel 
 like a fool, and, I am afraid, look like one too, 
 when I hear it." 
 
 "I'm glad there's even that much blood in 
 
112 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 you," cried old Kearney, who had caught the 
 words. " Oh dear ! oh dear ! England need 
 never be afraid of the young generation." 
 
 " That seems to be a very painful thought to 
 you, Sir, " said Walpole. 
 
 "And so it is," replied he. "The lower 
 we bend, the more you'll lay on us. It was 
 your language, and what you call your civiliza- 
 tion, broke us down first ; and the little spirit 
 that fought against either is fast dying out of 
 us. " 
 
 "Do you want Mr. Walpole to become a Fe- 
 nian, papa?" asked Kate. 
 
 "You see, they took him for one to-day," 
 broke in Dick, "when they came and carried off 
 all his luggage." 
 
 "By-the-way," interposed Walpole, "we must 
 take care that that stupid blunder does not get 
 into the local papers, or we shall have it circu- 
 lated by the London press." 
 
 " I have already thought of that," said Dick, 
 "and I shall go into Moate to-morrow and see 
 about it." 
 
 "Does that mean to say that you desert cro- 
 quet ?" said Nina, imperiously. 
 
 " You have got Lieutenant O'Shea in my place, 
 and a better player than me already." 
 
 " I fear I must take my leave to-morrow," said 
 Gorman, with a touch of real sorrow, for in secret 
 he knew not whither he was going. 
 
 " Would your aunt not spare you to us for a 
 few days ?" said the old man. "I am in no fa- 
 vor with her just now, but she would scarcely re- 
 fuse what we would all deem a great favor." 
 
 "My aunt would not think the sacrifice too 
 much for her," said Gorman, trying to laugh at 
 the conceit. 
 
 "You shall stay," murmured Nina, in a tone 
 only audible to him ; and by a slight bow he ac- 
 knowledged the words as a command. 
 
 "I believe my best way," said Gorman, gayly, 
 "will be to outstay my leave, and take my pun- 
 ishment, whatever it be, when I go back again." 
 
 " That is military morality," said Walpole, in 
 a half-whisper to Kate, but to be overheard by 
 Nina. " We poor civilians don't understand how 
 to keep a debtor and creditor account with con- 
 science." 
 
 " Could you manage to provoke that man to 
 quarrel with you ?" said Nina, secretly to Gor- 
 man, white her eyes glanced toward Walpole. 
 
 "I think I might ; but what then ? He 
 wouldn't fight, and the rest of England would 
 shun me." 
 
 "That is true," said she, slowly. "When 
 any is injured here, he tries to make money out 
 of it. I don't suppose you want money ?" 
 
 "Not earned in that fashion, certainly. But 
 I think they are saying good-night." 
 
 "They're always boasting about the man that 
 found out the safety-lamp," said old Kearney, 
 as he moved away ; " but give me the fellow that 
 invented a flat candlestick !" 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 SOME NIGHT-THOUGHTS. 
 
 When Gorman reached his room, into which 
 a rich flood of moonlight was streaming, he ex- 
 tinguished his candle, and, seating himself at the 
 
 open window, lighted his cigar, seriously believ- 
 ing he was going to reflect on his present con- 
 dition, and forecast something of the future. 
 Though he had spoken so cavalierly of outstay- 
 ing his time and accepting arrest afterward, the 
 jest was by no means so palatable now that he 
 was alone, arid could own to himself that the 
 leave he possessed was the unlimited liberty to 
 be houseless and a vagabond, to have none to 
 claim, no roof to shelter him. 
 
 His aunt's law agent, the same Mr. M'Keown 
 who acted for Lord Kilgobbin, had once told 
 Gorman that all the King's County property of 
 the O'Sheas was entailed upon him, and that his 
 aunt had no power to alienate it. It is true the 
 old lady disputed this position, and so strongly 
 resented even allusion to it that, for the sake of 
 inheriting that twelve thousand pounds she pos- 
 sessed in Dutch Stock, M'Keown warned Gor- 
 man to avoid any thing that might imply his be- 
 ing aware of this fact. 
 
 Whether a general distrust of all legal people 
 and their assertions was the reason, or whether 
 mere abstention from the topic had impaired the 
 force of its truth, or whether — more likely than 
 either — he would not suffer himself to question 
 the intentions of one to whom he owed so much, 
 certain is it young O'Shea almost felt as much 
 averse to the belief as the old lady herself, and 
 resented the thought of its being true as of some- 
 thing that would detract from the spirit of the 
 affection she had always borne him, and that he 
 repaid by a love as faithful. 
 
 "No, no. Confound it!" he would say to 
 himself. "Aunt Betty loves me, and money 
 has no share in the affection I bear her. If she 
 knew I must be her heir, she'd say so frankly 
 and freely. She'd scorn the notion of doling 
 out to me as benevolence what one day would be 
 my own by right. She is proud and intolerant 
 enough, but she is seldom unjust — never so will- 
 ingly and consciously. If, then, she has not 
 said" O'Shea's Barn must be mine some time, it 
 
LOUD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 U3 
 
 is because she knows well it can not be true | 
 Besides, this very last step of hers, this haughty 
 dismissal of me from her house, implies the pos- 
 session of a power which -he would DOl <lare to 
 exeicise if she were hut a life-tenant of the prop- 
 erty. Last of all, had she speculated ever so re- 
 motely on my being the proprietor of [risfa land- 
 ed property, it was most unlikely she would so 
 strenuously have encouraged me to pursue my 
 career as an Austrian soldier, and turn all my 
 
 thoughts to my prospects under the Empire." 
 
 In fact, she never lost the opportunity of re- 
 minding him how unfit he was to live in Ireland 
 or among Irishmen. 
 
 Such reflections as I have briefly hinted at 
 here took him some time to arrive at. for his 
 thoughts did not come freely, or rapidly make 
 place for others. The sum of them, however, 
 was that he was thrown upon the world, ami 
 just at the very threshold of life, and when it 
 held out its more alluring prospects, 
 
 There is something peculiarly galling to the 
 man who is wincing under the pang of poverty 
 to find that the world regards him as rich and 
 well off, and totally beyond the accidents of for- 
 tune. It is not simply that he feels how his 
 every action will he misinterpreted and mistaken, 
 and a spirit of thrift, if not actual shabhiness, 
 ascribed to all that he does, but he also regards 
 himself as a sort of imposition or sham, who has 
 gained access to a place he has no right to oc- 
 cupy, and to associate on terms of equality with 
 men of tastes and habits and ambitions totally 
 above his own. It was in this spirit he remem- 
 bered Nina's chance expression, "I don't sup- 
 pose you want money!"' There cotdd be no 
 other meaning in the phrase than some fore- 
 gone conclusion about his being a man of for- 
 tune. Of course she acquired this notion from 
 those around her. As a stranger to Ireland, all 
 she knew, or thought she knew, had been con- 
 veyed by others. " I don't suppose you want 
 money,'' was another way of saying, "You are 
 your aunt's heir. You are the future owner of 
 the O'Shea estates. No vast property, it is true ; 
 but quite enough to maintain the position of a 
 gentleman." 
 
 "Who knows how much of this Lord Kilgob- 
 bin or his son Dick believed ?" thought he. 
 " But certainly my old playfellow Kate has no 
 faith in the matter, or, if she have, it has little 
 weight with her in her estimate of me. 
 
 "It was in this very room I was lodged some- 
 thing like five years ago. It was at this very 
 window I used to sit at night, weaving Heaven 
 knows what dreams of a future. I was very 
 much in love in those days, and a very honest 
 and loyal love it was. I wanted to be very great, 
 and wry gallant and distinguished, and, above 
 all, very rich ; but only for her, only that she 
 might be surrounded with every ta-te and luxury 
 ih.it became her, and that >he -hould share them 
 with me. I knew well she was better than me — 
 better in every way : not only purer, and simpler, 
 and more gentle, but more patient, more en- 
 during, more tenacious of what was true, and 
 more decidedly the enemy of what was merely 
 expedient. Then, was Bhe not proud? not with 
 the pride of birth or station, or of an old name 
 and a time-honored house, but proud that what- 
 ever she did or said among the tenantry or the 
 neighbors, none ever ventured to question or 
 II 
 
 even qualify the intention that suggested it ? 
 The utter impossibility of ascribihg a double 
 
 motive to her. or of imagining anj objeel in 
 
 what she counseled but (he avowed one, gave 
 her a pride that accompanied her through every 
 hour of life. 
 
 "Last of all, she believed in me — believed I 
 was going to be one day something very famous 
 and distinguished : a gallant soldier, whose very 
 presence gave courage to the men who followed 
 him, and with a name repeated in honor over 
 Europe. The day was too short for these fan- 
 cies, for they grew actually as we fed them, 
 and the wildest flight of imagination led u- on 
 to the end of the time when there would be 
 but one hope, one ambition, and one heart be- 
 tween us. 
 
 "I am convinced that had any one at that 
 time hinted to her that I was to inherit the 
 O'Shea estates, he would have dealt a most dan- 
 gerous blow to her affection for mc. The ro- 
 mance of that unknown future had a great share 
 in our compact. And then we were so serious 
 about it all — the very gravity it impressed being 
 an ecstasy to our young hearts in the thought of 
 self-importance and responsibility. Nor were we 
 without our little tiffs — those lovers' quarrels that 
 reveal what a terrible civil war can rage within 
 the heart that rebels against itself. 1 know the 
 very spot where we quarreled ; I could point to 
 the miles of way we walked side by side without 
 a word ; and oh ! was it not on that very bed I 
 have passed the night, sobbing till I thought my 
 heart would break, all because I had not fallen 
 at her feet and begged her forgiveness ere we 
 parted? Not that she was without her self-ac- 
 cusings, too ; for I remember one way in which 
 she expressed sorrow for having done me wrong 
 was to send me a shower of rose leaves from her 
 little terraced garden; and as they fell in shoals 
 across my window, what a balm ami bliss they 
 shed over my heart ! Would I not give every 
 hope I have to bring it all back again; to live it 
 over once more; to lie at her feet in the grass, 
 affecting to read to her, but really watching her 
 long black lashes as they rested on her cheek, 
 or that quivering lip as it trembled with emotion ? 
 How I used to detest that work which employed 
 the blue-veined hand I loved to hold within my 
 own, kissing it at every pause in the reading, or 
 whenever I could pretext a reason to question 
 her! And now, here I am in the self same place. 
 amidst the same scenes and objects. Nothing 
 changed but herself I She, however, will re- 
 member nothing of the past, or, if she does, it i- 
 with repugnance and regret; her manner to me 
 is a sort of cold defiance, not to dare to revive 
 our old intimacy, nor to fancy that I can take 
 up our acquaintanceship from the past, [almost 
 
 fancied she looked resentfully at the ( Ireek girl 
 for the freedom to which she admitted me— not 
 but there was in the other's coquetry the very 
 
 stamp of that levity, other women are so reads 
 to take offense at; 'in fact, it constitutes among 
 
 W en exactly the same sort of outrage, the 
 
 -.one breach of honor and loyalty, as CD 
 at play does among men, and the offenders are 
 BS much socially outlawed in one case as in the 
 other. I wonder am 1 what i> called falling in 
 love with the Greek — that is. I wonder have the 
 charms of her astonishing beauty, and the grace 
 of her manner, and the thousand seductions of 
 
Ill 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 her voice, her gestures, and her walk, above all, 
 so captivated me that I do not want to go back 
 on the past, and may hope soon to repay Miss 
 Kate Kearney by an indifference the equal of 
 her own ? I don't think so. Indeed, I feel that, 
 even when Nina was interesting me most, I was 
 stealing secret glances toward Kate, and cursing 
 that fellow Walpole for the way he was engaging 
 her attention. Little the Greek suspected when 
 she asked if 'I could not fix a quarrel on him,' 
 with what a motive it was that my heart jumped 
 at the suggestion! He is so studiously cere- 
 monious and distant with me ; he seems to 
 think I am not one of those to be admitted to 
 closer intimacy. I know that English theory of 
 'the unsafe man,' by which people of unques- 
 tionable courage avoid contact with all schooled 
 to other ways and habits than their own. I hate 
 it. 'I am unsafe,' to his thinking. Well, if 
 having no reason to care for safety be sufficient, 
 he is not far wrong. Dick Kearney, too, is not 
 very cordial. He scarcely seconded his father's 
 invitation to me, and what he did say was merely 
 what courtesy obliged. So that, in reality, though 
 the old lord was hearty and good-natured, I be- 
 lieve I am here now because Mademoiselle Nina 
 commanded me, rather than from any other rea- 
 son. If this be true, it is, to say the least, a sorry 
 compliment to my sense of delicacy. Her words 
 were, 'You shall stay,' and it is upon this I am 
 staying." 
 
 As though the air of the room grew more hard 
 to breathe with this thought before him, he arose 
 and leaned half-way out of the window. 
 
 As he did so, his ear caught the sound of 
 voices. It was Kate and Nina, who were talking 
 on the terrace above his head. 
 
 "I declare, Nina," said Kate, "you have 
 stripped every leaf off my poor ivy-geranium ; 
 there's nothing left of it but bare branches." 
 
 "There goes the last handful," said the other, 
 as she threw them over the parapet, some fall- 
 ing on Gorman as he leaned out. "It was a 
 had habit I learned from yourself, child. I re- 
 member, when I came here you used to do this 
 each night, like a religious rite." 
 
 " I suppose they were the dried or withered 
 leaves that I threw away," said Kate, with a half 
 irritation in her voice. 
 
 "No, they were not. They were oftentimes 
 from your prettiest roses, and as I watched you 
 I saw it was in no distraction or inadvertence 
 you were doing this, for you were generally si- 
 lent and thoughtful some time before, and there 
 was even an air of sadness about you, as though 
 a painful thought was bringing its gloomy mem- 
 ories." 
 
 "What an object of interest I have heen to 
 you without suspecting it !" said Kate, coldly. 
 
 " It is true," said the other, in the same tone ; 
 " they who make few confidences suggest much 
 ingenuity. If you had a meaning in this act 
 and told me what it was, it is more than likely 
 I had forgotten all about it ere now. You pre- 
 ferred secrecy, and you made me curious." 
 
 " There was nothing to reward curiosity," said 
 she, in the same measured tone; then, after a 
 moment, she added, " I'm sure I never sought to 
 ascribe some hidden motive to you. When you 
 left my plants leafless, I was quite content to be- 
 lieve that you were mischievous without know- 
 ing it." 
 
 " I read you differently," said Nina. " When 
 you do mischief, you mean mischief. Now I 
 became so — so — what shall I call it, intriguee, 
 about this little ' fetich' of yours, that I remem- 
 ber well the night you first left off and never re- 
 sumed it." 
 
 ' ' And when was that ?" asked Kate, care- 
 lessly. 
 
 " On a certain Friday, the night Miss O'Shea 
 dined here last ; was it not a Friday ?" 
 
 "Fridays, we fancy, are unlucky days," said 
 Kate, in a voice of easy indifference. 
 
 "I wonder which are the lucky ones?" said 
 Nina, sighing. "They are certainly not put 
 down in the Irish almanac. By-the-way, is not 
 this a Friday ?" 
 
 "Mr. O'Shea will not call it among his un- 
 lucky days," said Kate, laughingly. 
 
 "I almost think I like your Austrian," said 
 the other. 
 
 "Only don't call him my Austrian." 
 
 " Well, he was yours till you threw him off. 
 No, don't be angry. I am only talking in that 
 careless slang we all use when we mean nothing, 
 just as people employ counters instead of money 
 at cards ; but I like him ; he has that easy flip- 
 pancy in talk that asks for no effort to follow, and 
 he says his little nothings nicely, and he is not 
 too eager as to great ones, or too energetic, 
 which you all are here. 1 like him." 
 
 "I fancied you liked the eager and enthusiastic 
 people, and that you felt a wann interest in Don- 
 ogan's fate." 
 
 "Yes, I do hope they'll not catch him. It 
 would be too horrid to think of any one we had 
 known being hanged! And then, poor fellow, 
 he was very much in love. " 
 
 "Poor fellow!" sighed out Kate. 
 
 " Not but it was the only gleam of sunlight in 
 his existence : he could go away and fancy that, 
 with Heaven knows what chances of fortune, he 
 might have won me." 
 
 "Poor fellow!" cried Kate, more sorrowfully 
 than before. 
 
 " No, far from it ; but very ' happy fellow,' if 
 he could feed his heart with such a delusion." 
 
 "And you think it fair to let him have this 
 delusion ?" 
 
 "Of course I do. I'd no more rob him of it 
 than I'd snatch a life-buoy from a drowning man. 
 Do you fancy, child, that the swimmer will al- 
 ways go about with the corks that have saved 
 his life?"' 
 
 " These mock analogies are sorry arguments," 
 said Kate. 
 
 "Tell me, does not your Austrian sing? I 
 see he understands music; but I hope he can 
 sing." 
 
 "I can tell you next to nothing of my Aus- 
 trian^ — if he must be called so. It is five years 
 since we met, and all I know is how little like 
 he seems to what he once was." 
 
 "I'm sure he is vastly improved; a hundred 
 times better mannered; with more ease, more 
 quickness, and more readiness in conversation. 
 1 like him." 
 
 " I trust he'll find out his great good-fortune^ 
 that is, if it be not a delusion." 
 
 For a few seconds there was a silence — a si- 
 lence so complete that Gorman could hear the 
 rustle of a dress as Nina moved from her place, 
 and seated herself on the battlement of the ter- 
 
l.OKI) KlUJOBBIN. 
 
 1 1:. 
 
 race. He then could catch the low murmuring 
 Bounds of her voice as she hummed an air to 
 
 herself, and at length traced it to be the Bong 
 she had rang that same evening iii the drawing- 
 room. The notes came gradually more and more 
 
 distinct, the tones swelled out into greater full- 
 ness, and at last, with one long-SUStained ca- 
 dence of thrilling passion, she cried, " Non mi 
 EUnava— non mi amava!" with an expression of 
 heart-breaking sorrow, the last syllables seeming 
 to linger on the lips as if a hope was deserting 
 them forever. Oh, non mi amava!" cried 
 
 she, and her voice tremhled i\s though the 
 avowal of her despair was the last effort of her 
 strength. Slowly and faintly the sounds died 
 away, while Gorman, leaning out to the utmost 
 to catch the dying notes, strained his hearing to 
 drink them in. All was still, and then suddenly, 
 with a wild roulade that sounded at first like the 
 passage of a musical scale, she hurst out into a 
 lit of laughter, crying " Non mi amava," through 
 the sounds, in a half frantic mockery. " No, 
 no — non mi amava," laughed she out as she 
 walked hack into the room. The window was 
 now closed with a heavy bang, and all was silent 
 in the house. 
 
 "And these are the affections we break our 
 hearts for!" cried Gorman, as he threw himself 
 on his bed, and covered his face with both his 
 hands. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THE HEAD CONSTABLE. 
 
 The chief constable, or, to use the irreverent 
 designation of the neighborhood, the head peel- 
 er, who had carried away Walpole's luggage and 
 papers, no sooner discovered the grave mistake 
 lie had committed, than he hastened to restore 
 them, and was waiting personally at the Castle 
 to apologize for the blunder, long before any of 
 the family had come down stairs. His indiscre- 
 tion might cost him his place, and Captain Cur- 
 tis, who had to maintain a wife and family, three 
 saddle-horses, and a green uniform with more 
 gold on it than a field-marshal's, felt duly anx- 
 ious and uneasy for what he had done. 
 
 '"Who is that gone down the road?" asked 
 he, as he stood at the window, while a woman 
 was setting the room in order. 
 
 "Sure it's .Miss Kate taking the dogs out. 
 I -n't she always the first up of a morning?" 
 Though the captain had little personal acquaint- 
 ance with .Miss Kearney, he knew her well by 
 reputation, and knew, therefore, that he might 
 safely approach her to ask a favor. He over- 
 took her at once, and in a few words made 
 known the difficulty in which he found himself. 
 
 "Is it not, after all, a mere passing mistake 
 which, once apologized for. is forgotten alto- 
 gether?" asked she. " Mr. Walpole is sorely 
 not a person to bear any malice for such an in- 
 cident.'' 
 
 "I don't know that. Miss Kearney," said he, 
 doubtingly. "His papers have been thoroughly 
 an-acked, and old Mr. Flood, the Tory magis- 
 trate, has taken copies of several biters and 
 documents, all, of course, under the impression 
 that they formed part of a treasonable corre- 
 spondence." 
 
 "Was it not very evident that the papers 
 
 could not have belonged to a Fenian leader.' 
 Was not any mistake in the matter easily 
 
 avoided ?" 
 
 "Not at once, because there was, first of all, a 
 sort of account of the insurrectionary movement 
 
 lure, with a number of queries, such as, 'Who 
 
 [is M ?' 'Are F. Y and M'Causland 
 
 i the same person?' 'What connection exists be 
 tween the Meath outrages and the late events in 
 Tipperary?' 'How is 15 to explain his con- 
 duct sufficiently to be retained in the Commis- 
 sion of the Peace?' In a word, Miss Kearney, 
 all the troublesome details by which a ministry 
 have to keep their own supporters in decent or- 
 der are here hinted at, if not more, and it lies 
 with a batch of red-hot Tories to make a ter- 
 rible scandal out of this affair." 
 
 "It is graver than 1 suspected," said she, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "And I may lose my place," muttered Curtis, 
 "unless, indeed, you would condescend to say 
 a word for me to Mr. Walpole." 
 
 " Willingly, if it were of any use ; but I think 
 my cousin, Mademoiselle Kostalergi, would be 
 likelier of success, and here she comes." 
 
 Nina came forward at that moment with that 
 indolent grace of movement with which she 
 swept the greensward of the lawn as though it 
 were the carpet of a saloon. With a brief in- 
 troduction of Mr. Curtis, her cousin Kate in a 
 few words conveyed the embarrassment of his 
 present position, and his hope that a kindly in- 
 tercession might avert his danger. 
 
 "What droll people you must be not to find 
 out that the letters of a viceroy's secretary could 
 not be the correspondence of a rebel leader ! " 
 said Nina, superciliously. 
 
 "I have already told Miss Kearney how that 
 ' fell out," said he; "and I assure you there was 
 enough in those papers to mystify better and 
 clearer heads. " 
 
 "But you read the addresses, and saw how 
 J the letters began, 'My dear Mr. Walpole,' or 
 ' Dear Walpole ?' " 
 
 "And thought they had been purloined. Have 
 I not found ' Dear Clarendon' often enough in 
 the same packet with cross-bones and a coffin?" 
 
 " What a country!" said Nina, with a sigh. 
 
 "Very like Greece, I suppose," said Kate. 
 
 tartly; then suddenly, "Will you undertake to 
 
 make this gentleman's peace with Mr. Walpole, 
 
 and show how the w hole was a piece of ill-di- 
 
 I rected zeal ?" 
 
 " Indiscreet zeal." 
 
 •■ Well, indiscreet, if you like it better." 
 
 " And you fancied, then, that all the fine linen 
 and purple you carried away were the properties 
 of a head-centre?" 
 
 " We thought so." 
 
 " And the silver objects of the dressing-table, 
 and the ivory inlaid with gold, and the trifles 
 studded with turquoise?" 
 
 "They might have been Donogan's. Do you 
 know, mademoiselle, that this same Donogan 
 was a man of fortune, and in all the society of 
 the first men at Oxford when — a mere DOy a. 
 the time — he became a rebel ?" 
 
 •• Mow nice of him! What a tine fellow!" 
 
 "I'd say what a fool," continued Curtis. 
 "He had no need to risk his neck to achieve a 
 station; the thing was done for him. He had 
 a good house and a good estate in Kilkenny ; I 
 
116 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 have caught salmon in the river that washes the 
 foot of his lawn." 
 
 " And what has become of it ? Does he still 
 own it ?" 
 
 ' ' Not an acre— not a rood of it ; sold every 
 square yard of it to throw the money into the 
 
 "He has escaped, has he not?" asked Nina. 
 
 "We hope not — that is, we know that he is 
 about to sail for St. John's by a clipper now in 
 Belfast, and we shall have a fast steam-corvette 
 ready to catch her in the Channel. He'll be un- 
 der Yankee colors, it is true, and claim an Ameri- 
 
 Fenian treasury. Rifled artillery, Colt's revolv- 
 ers, Remingtons, and Parrott guns have walked 
 off with the broad acres." 
 
 "Fine fellow — a fine fellow !" cried Nina, en- 
 thusiastically. 
 
 "That fine fellow has done a deal of mischief," 
 said Kate, thoughtfully. 
 
 can citizenship; but we must run risks some- 
 times, and this is one of those times." 
 
 " But you know where he is now ? Why not 
 apprehend him on shore?" 
 
 "The very thing we do not know, mademoi- 
 selle. I'd rather be sure of it than have five 
 thousand pounds in my hand. Some say he is 
 
LORD KILtiOBMN. 
 
 here, in the neighborhood; some say he is gone 
 south: others declare that he has reached Lh- 
 
 arpool. All we really do know is about the Bhip 
 that he means to sail in. and on which the sec- 
 ond mate has informed us." 
 
 "And all your boasted activity is at fault," 
 said she. indolently, "when you have to own 
 you can not track him." 
 
 " Nor is it so easy, mademoiselle, where a 
 whole population befriend and feel for him." 
 
 •• And if they do, with what face can you per- 
 secute what has the entire sympathy of a na- 
 tion r" 
 
 •• 1 )on't provoke answers which are sure not to 
 sati>fy you, and which you could but half com- 
 prehend ; but tell Mr. Curtis you will use your 
 influence to make Mr. "Walpole forget this mis- 
 hap." 
 
 "But I do want to go to the bottom of this 
 question. I will insist on learning why people 
 rebel here." 
 
 " In that case, 1*11 go home to breakfast, and 
 I'll be quite satisfied if I see you at luncheon," 
 said Kate. 
 
 "Do, pray, Mr. Curtis, tell me all about it. 
 Why do si une people shoot the others who are just 
 as much Irish as themselves? Why do hungry 
 people kill the cattle and never eat tliem ? And 
 why don't the English go away and leave a coun- 
 try where nobody likes them ? If there be a 
 reason for these things, let me hear it." 
 
 "By-by," said Kate, waving her hand as she 
 turned away. 
 
 '• You are so ungenerous," cried Nina, hurry- 
 ing after her. "I am a stranger, and would 
 naturally like to learn all that I could of the 
 country and the people : here is a gentleman full 
 of the very knowledge I am seeking. lie knows 
 all about these terrible Fenians. What will 
 they do with Donogan if they take him?" 
 
 " Transport him for life ; they'll not hang him, 
 I think." 
 
 •' That's worse than hanging. I mean — that is 
 — Miss Kearney would rather they'd hang him." 
 
 "I have not said so," replied Kate; "and I 
 don't suspect I think so, either." 
 
 "Well," said Nina, after a pause, "let us go 
 back to breakfast. You'll see Mr. Walpole ; 
 he's Bare to be down by that time, and I'll tell 
 him what you wish is, that he must not think 
 any more of the incident; that it was a piece of 
 official stupidity, done, of course, out of the best 
 motives ; and that if he should cut a ridiculous 
 figure at the end, he has only himself to blame 
 for the worse than ambiguity of his private pa- 
 pers." 
 
 "I do not know that I'd exactly say that," 
 said Kate, who felt some difficulty in not laugh- 
 ing at the horror-struck expression of Mr. Cur- 
 
 " Well, then, I'll say, this was what I wished 
 to tell you, hut my cousin Kate interposed, and 
 suggested that a little adroit Battery of you, and 
 some small coquetries that might make you be- 
 lieve you were charming, would be the readiest 
 mode to make you forget any thing disagreeable, 
 and she would charge herself with the task." 
 
 " Do so," said Kate, calmly ; "and let us now 
 go back to breakfast." 
 
 ('HAITI'.]; XLV. 
 so mi: i k i s in: i i 9. 
 
 That which the English irreverently call 
 "chaff" enters largely as an clement into Irish 
 life; and when Walpole Btigmatized tin- habit 
 to Joe Atlee as essentially that of the small' r 
 island, he was not far wrong. I will not say 
 that it is a high order of wit— very elegant, OT 
 very refined ; but it is a strong incentive to good- 
 humor — a vent to good spirits; and. being a 
 weapon which every Irishman can wield in some 
 fashion or other, establishes that sort of joust 
 which prevailed in the melee tournaments, and 
 where each tilted with whom he pleased. 
 
 Any one who has witnessed the progress of an 
 Irish trial, even when the crime was of the very- 
 gravest, can not fail to have been struck by the 
 continual clash of smart remark and smarter re- 
 joinder between the bench and the bar; show- 
 ing how men feel the necessity of ready-witted- 
 ness, and a promptitude to repel attack, in which 
 even the prisoner in the dock takes bis share, 
 and cuts his joke at the most critical moment of 
 his existence. 
 
 The Irish theatre always exhibits traits of this 
 national taste ; but a dinner-party, with its due 
 infusion of barristers, is the best possible exem- 
 plification of this give and take, which, even if it 
 had no higher merit, is a powerful ally of good- 
 humor, and the sworn foe to every thing like 
 over-irritability or morbid self-esteem. Indeed 
 I could not wish a very conceited man, of a 
 somewhat grave temperament and distant de- 
 meanor, a much heavier punishment than a 
 course of Irish dinner-parties ; for even though 
 he should come out scathless himself, the out- 
 rages to his sense of propriety, and the insults 
 to his ideas of taste, would be a severe suffer- 
 ing. 
 
 That breakfast-table at Kilgobhin had some 
 heavy hearts around the board. There was not, 
 with the exception of Walpole, one there who 
 had not, in the doubts that beset his future, 
 grave cause for anxiety ; and yet to look at, still 
 more to listen to them, you would have said that 
 Walpole alone had any load of care upon his 
 heart, and that the others were a light-hearted, 
 happy set of people, with whom the world went 
 always well. No cloud ! — not even a shadow to 
 darken the road before them. Of this levity — 
 for I suppose I must give it a hard name — the 
 source of much that is best and worst among 
 us, our English rulers take no account,, and are 
 often as ready to charge us with a conviction, 
 which was no more than a caprice, as they are to 
 nail us down to some determination, which was 
 simply a drollery; and until some intelligent 
 traveler does for us what I lately perceived a 
 clevei tourist did for the Japanese, in explaining 
 their modes of thought, impulses, and passionsto 
 tin' English, I despair of our being better known 
 in Downing Street than we now are. 
 
 Captain Curtis — for it is right to give him his 
 rank — was fearfully nervous and uneasy, ami 
 though he tried to eat his breakfast with an air 
 of unconcern and carelessness, he broke his egg 
 with a tremulous hand, ami listened with painful 
 eagerness every time Walpole spoke. 
 
 "I wish somebody would send as the Stand- 
 ard, when it is known that the Lord Lieuten- 
 ant's secretary has turned Fenian," said Kilgob- 
 
til 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 bin. "Won't there be a grand Tory outcry 
 over the unprincipled Whigs ?" 
 
 " The papers need know nothing whatever of 
 the incident," interposed Curtis, anxiously, "if 
 old Flood is not busy enough to inform them." 
 
 "Who is old Flood ?" asked Walpole. 
 
 "A Tory J. P., who has copied out a consid- 
 erable share of your correspondence," said Kil- 
 gobbin. 
 
 "And four letters in a lady's hand," added 
 Dick, "that he imagines to be a treasonable 
 correspondence by symbol." 
 
 "I hope Mr. Walpole," said Kate, "will 
 rather accept felony to the law than falsehood 
 to the lady." 
 
 " You don't mean to say — " began Walpole, 
 angrily; then, correcting his irritable manner, 
 he added, "Am I to suppose my letters have 
 been read ?" 
 
 "Well, roughly looked through," said Curtis. 
 "Just a glance here and there to catch what 
 they meant." 
 
 "Which I must say was quite unnecessary," 
 said Walpole, haughtily. 
 
 " It was a sort of journal of yours," blundered 
 out Curtis, who had a most unhappy knack of 
 committing himself, "that they opened first, and 
 they saw an entry with Kilgobbin Castle at the 
 top of it, and the date last July." 
 
 "There was nothing political in that, I'm 
 sure," said Walpole. 
 
 "No, not exactly, but a trifle rebellious all 
 the same; the words 'We this evening learned 
 a Fenian song, "The time to begin," and rather 
 suspect it is time to leave off; the Greek better- 
 looking than ever, and more dangerous.'" 
 
 Curtis's last words were drowned in the laugh 
 that now shook the table ; indeed, except Wal- 
 pole and Nina herself, they actually roared with 
 laughter, which burst out afresh, as Curtis, in his 
 innocence, said, " We couldn't make out about 
 the Greek, but we hoped we'd find out later on." 
 
 "And I fervently trust you did," said Kilgob- 
 bin. 
 
 "I'm afraid not; there was something about 
 somebody called Joe, that the Greek wouldn't 
 have him, or disliked him, or snubbed him — in- 
 deed I forget the words." 
 
 "You are quite right, Sir, to distrust your 
 memory, " said Walpole ; "it has betrayed you 
 most egregiously already." 
 
 "On the contrary," burst in Kilgobbin, "I 
 am delighted with this proof of the Captain's 
 acuteness; tell us something more, Curtis." 
 
 "There was then 'From the upper castle 
 yard, Maude,' whoever Maude is, 'says, "Deny 
 it all, and say you never were there," not so easy 
 as she thinks, with a broken right arm, and a 
 heart not quite so whole as it ought to jjq.' " 
 
 "There, Sir — with the permission of my 
 friends here — I will ask you to conclude your 
 reminiscences of my private papers, which can 
 have no possible interest for any one but myself." 
 
 "Quite wrong in that," cried Kilgobbin, wip- 
 ing his eyes, which had run over with laughter. 
 "There's nothing I'd like so much as to hear 
 more of them." 
 
 " What was that about his heart ?" whispered 
 Curtis to Kate; "was he wounded in the side 
 also ?" 
 
 " I believe so," said she, dryly ; " but I believe 
 he has got (mite over it by this time." 
 
 " Will you say a word or two about me, Miss 
 Kearney ?" whispered he again ; "I'm not sure 
 I improved my case by talking so freely ; but as 
 I saw you all so outspoken, I thought I'd fall into 
 your ways." 
 
 " Captain Curtis is much concerned for any 
 fault he may have committed in this unhappy 
 business," said Kate; "and he trusts that the 
 agitation and excitement of the Donogan case 
 will excuse him. " 
 
 ' ' That's your policy now," interrupted Kilgob- 
 bin. " Catch the Fenian fellow, and nobody will 
 remember the other incident." 
 
 "We mean to give out that we know he has 
 got clear away to America," said Curtis, with an 
 air of intense cunning. "And to lull his sus- 
 picions we have notices in print to say that no 
 further rewards are to be given for his apprehen- 
 sion, so that he'll get a false confidence, and 
 move about as before." 
 
 "With such acuteness as yours on his trail, 
 his arrest is certain," said Walpole, gravely. 
 
 "Well, I hope so, too," said Curtis, in good 
 faith for the compliment. "Didn't I take up 
 nine men for the search of arms here, though 
 there were only five? One of them turned evi- 
 dence," added he, gravely; "he was the fellow 
 that swore Miss Kearney stood between you and 
 the fire after they wounded you." 
 
 "You are determined to make Mr. Walpole 
 your friend," whispered Nina in his ear ; "don't 
 you see, Sir, that you are ruining yourself?" 
 
 " I have been puzzled to explain how it was 
 that crime went unpunished in Ireland," said 
 Walpole, sententiously. 
 
 "And you know now?" asked Curtis. 
 
 " Yes ; in a great measure, you have supplied 
 me with the information." 
 
 "I believe it's all right now," muttered the 
 Captain to Kate. " If the swell owns that I have 
 put him up to a thing or two, he'll not throw me 
 over. " 
 
 "Would you give me three minutes of your 
 time ?" whispered Gorman O'Shea to Lord Kil- 
 gobbin, as they arose from table. 
 
 " Half an hour, my boy, or more if you want 
 it. Come along with me now into my study, 
 and we'll be safe there from all interruption." 
 
 CHAPTER XLAT. 
 
 SAGE ADVICE. 
 
 " So then you are in a hobble with your aunt," 
 said Mr. Kearney, as he believed he had summed 
 up the meaning of a very blundering explanation 
 by Gorman O'Shea ; "isn't that it ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir; I suppose it comes to that." 
 
 "The old story, I've no doubt, if we only knew 
 it — as old as the patriarchs : the young ones go 
 into debt, and think it very hard that the elders 
 dislike the paying it." 
 
 " No. no ; I have no debts — at least, none to 
 speak of." 
 
 "It's a woman, then? Have you gone and 
 married some good-looking girl, with no fortune 
 and less family ? Who is she ?" 
 
 " Not even that, Sir," said he, half impatient 
 at seeing how little attention had been bestowed 
 on his narrative. 
 
 "Tis bad enough, no doubt," continued the 
 
LORD KlLtiOHHIN. 
 
 Hit 
 
 old man, still in pursuit ofhifl own reflections; 
 ••not bat there's scores of things worse : for it' ■ 
 
 man is a good fellow at heart, he'll treat the 
 
 woman all the better for what she has cost him. 
 That is «'iio of the good sides of selfishness ; and 
 
 when yon have lived as long as me, Gorman, 
 
 you'll find out how often there's something good 
 to be Bqneeaed out of a bad quality, just as 
 though it were a hit of our nature that was de- 
 praved, hut not gone to the devil entirely. " 
 
 •• There is no woman in the ease here, Sir," 
 -aid o'shea, bluntly, for these speculations only 
 irritated him. 
 
 •• Ho. ho! I have it then," cried the old man. 
 "You've been burning your lingers with rebell- 
 ion. It's the Fenians have got a hold of you." 
 
 • • Nothing of the kind. Sir. 1 f you'll just read 
 these two letters. The one is mine, written on 
 the morning I came here: here is my aunt's. 
 The first is not word for word as I sent it, hut 
 as well as I can remember. At all events, it 
 will show how little I had provoked the answer. 
 There, that's the document that came along with 
 my trunks, and I have never heard from her 
 since." 
 
 "'Dear Nephew,'" — read out the old 
 man, after patiently adjusting his spectacles — 
 •• • ( (Shea's Barn is not an inn' — And more's 
 the pity," added he; " for it would be a model 
 house of entertainment. You'd say any one 
 could have a sirloin of beef or a saddle of mut- 
 ton ; but where Miss Betty gets hers is quite be- 
 yond me. ' Nor are the horses at public livery,' " 
 read he out. " I think I may say, if they were, 
 that Kattoo won't he hired out again to the 
 young man that took her over the fences. ' As 
 you seem fond of warnings,' " continued he, aloud 
 — •■ Ho, ho ! that's at you for coming over here 
 to tell me about the search-warrant; and she 
 tells you to mind your own business ; and droll 
 enough it is. We always fancy we're saying an 
 impertinence to a man when we tell him to attend 
 to what concerns him most. It shows, at least, 
 that we think meddling a luxury. And then she 
 add-, ' Eilgohbin is welcome to you,' and I can 
 only say you are welcome to Kilgohhin — ay, and 
 in her own words — 'with such regularity and 
 order as the meals succeed.' — 'All the luggage 
 belonging to you,' etc., and ' I am very respect- 
 fully, your Aunt.' By my conscience, there 
 was no need to sign it ! That was old Miss Het- 
 ty all the world over!" and he laughed till bis 
 in over, though the rueful face of young 
 O'Shea was -taring at him all the time. " Don't 
 look so gloomy, O'Shea," cried Kearney; "I 
 have not so good a cook, nor, I'm sorry to say, 
 so good a cellar, as at the Hani ; but there 
 are young face-, and young voices, and young 
 laughter, and a light step on the stairs ; and if I 
 know any thing, or rather, if I remember any 
 thing, these will warm a heart at your age bet- 
 ter than 'I 1 claret or the crustiest port that ever 
 stained a decanter." 
 
 •'I am turned out, Sir — sent adrift on the 
 world," said the young man. despondently. 
 
 •" And it is not so bad a thing, after all, take 
 my word for it. hoy. It'- a great advantage now 
 and then to begin life as a vagabond. It takes a 
 deal of snobbery out of a fellow to lie under a 
 hay-stack, and there's no better cure for preten- 
 sion than a dinner of cold potatoes. Not that I 
 say you need the treatment — far from it — but 
 
 our distinguished friend Mr. Walpole wouldn't 
 he a bit the worse of such an alterative. " 
 
 '• If I am left without a shilling in the world?" 
 
 "You must try what you can d i sixpence 
 
 — the whole thing is how you begin. I used not 
 to be able to eat my dinner when I did DOt Bed 
 the fellow in a white tie standing before the side- 
 board, and the two flunkies in plush and silk 
 stockings at either side of the table ; and when 1 
 
 perceived that the decanters had taken their de- 
 parture, and that it was beer I was given to 
 drink, I felt as if I bad dined, and was ready to 
 go out ami have a smoke in the open air; but a 
 little time, even without any patience, but just 
 time, does it all." 
 
 "Time won't teach a man to live upon nothing." 
 
 "It would be very hard for him if it did. Let 
 him begin by having few wants, and work hard 
 to supply means for them." 
 
 "Work hard! Why, Sir, if I labored from 
 daylight to dark I'd not earn the wages of the 
 humblest peasant, and I'd not know how to live 
 on it." 
 
 "Well, I have given you all the philosophy in 
 my budget, and, to tell you the truth. Gorman, 
 except so far as coming down in the world in 
 spite of myself, I know mighty little about the 
 fine precepts 1 have been giving you ; but this i 
 know, you have a roof over your head here, and 
 you're heartily welcome to it; and who knows 
 but your aunt may come to terms all the sooner 
 because she sees you here ?" 
 
 " You are very generous to rne, and I feel it 
 deeply," said the young man ; but he was almost 
 choked with the words. 
 
 "You have told me already, Gorman, that 
 your aunt gave you no other reason against com- 
 ing here than that I had not been to call on you ; 
 and I believe you — believe you thoroughly. But 
 tell me now, with the same frankness, was there 
 nothing passing in your own mind ? had you 
 no suspicions or misgivings, or something of the 
 same kind, to keep you away? Be candid with 
 me now, and speak it out freely." 
 
 '■ None, on my honor. I was sorely grieved 
 to be told I must not come," and thought very 
 often of rebelling; so that, indeed, when I did 
 rebel, I was in a measure prepared for the penal- 
 ty, though scarcely so heavy as this." 
 
 " Don't take it to heart. It will come right 
 yet. Every thing comes right if we give it time : 
 and there's plenty of time to the fellow who is 
 not live-and-tweiity. It's only the old dogs, 
 like myself, who are always doing their match 
 against time, are in a hobble. To feel that ev- 
 ery minute of the clock is something very like 
 three weeks of the almanac Hurries a man wheu 
 he wants to be cool and collected. Hut your 
 hat on a peg, and make your home here, [f you 
 want to be of use, Kitty will show you scores of 
 things to do about the garden ; and we never ob- 
 ject t<> see a brace of -nip.' at the end of dinner, 
 though there's nobody cares to shoot them : and 
 the bog trout, for all their dark color, are excel- 
 lent eating, and I know you can throw a line. 
 All I Bay i-, do something, and - ething that 
 
 takes you into the open air. Don't get tO lying 
 about in easy-chairs and reading novels: don't 
 
 get to singing duet- and philandering about with 
 the girls. May I never, if I'd not rather find a 
 brandy -flask in your pocket than Tennyson's 
 
 poems !" 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 CHAPTER XL VII. 
 
 REPROOF. 
 
 "Sat it out frankly, Kate," cried Nina, as 
 with flashing eyes and heightened color she paced 
 the drawing-room from end to end with that 
 bold, sweeping stride which in moments of pas- 
 sion betrayed her. " 8ay it out. I know per- 
 fectly what you are hinting at." 
 
 ' ' I never hint, " said the other, gravely ; " least 
 of all with those I love." 
 
 "80 much the better. I detest an equivoque. 
 If I am to be shot, let me look the fire in the 
 face." 
 
 "There is no question of shooting at all. I 
 think you are very angry for nothing." 
 
 " Angry for nothing ! Do you call that stud- 
 ied coldness you have observed toward me all 
 day yesterday nothing? Is your ceremonious 
 manner — exquisitely polite, I will not deny — is 
 that nothing ? Is your chilling salute when we 
 met — I half believe you courtesied — nothing? 
 That you shun me, that you take pains not to 
 keep my company, never to be with me alone, is 
 past denial." 
 
 "And I do not deny it," said Kate, with a 
 voice of calm and quiet meaning. 
 
 "At last, then, I have the avowal. You own 
 that you love me no longer. " 
 
 "No, I own nothing of the kind : I love you 
 very dearly; but I see that our ideas of life are 
 so totally unlike, that, unless one should bend 
 and conform to the other, we can not blend our 
 thoughts in that harmony which perfect confi- 
 dence requires. You are so much above me in 
 many things, so much more cultivated and gift- 
 ed — I was going to say civilized, and I believe I 
 might — " 
 
 "Ta — ta — ta," cried Nina, impatiently. 
 "These flatteries are very ill-timed." 
 
 " So they would be, if they were flatteries ; but 
 if you had patience to hear me out, you'd have 
 learned that I meant a higher flattery for myself." 
 
 "Don't I know it? don't I guess?" cried the 
 Greek. "Have not your downcast eyes told it ? 
 and that look of sweet humility that says, ' At 
 least I am not a flirt ?' " 
 
 "Nor am I," said Kate, coldly. 
 
 "And I am! Come, now, do confess. You 
 want to say it." 
 
 ' ' With all my heart I wish you were not ! " 
 And Kate's eyes swam as she spoke. 
 
 " And what if I tell you that I know it — that 
 in the very employment of the arts of what you 
 call coquetry, I am but exercising those powers 
 of pleasing by which men are led to frequent the 
 salon instead of the cafe', and like the society of 
 the cultivated and refined better than — " 
 
 "No, no, no!" burst in Kate. "There is no 
 such mock principle in the case. Your are a 
 flirt because you like the homage it secures you, 
 and because, as you do not believe in such a 
 thing as an honest affection, you have no scruple 
 about trifling with a man's heart." 
 
 "So much for captivating that bold hussar," 
 cried Nina. 
 
 " For the moment I was not thinking of him." 
 
 " Of whom, then ?" 
 
 "Of that poor Captain Curtis, who has just 
 ridden away." 
 "Oh, indeed!" 
 ' ' Yes. He has a pretty wife and three nice 
 
 little girls, and they are the happiest people in 
 the world. They love each other, and love their 
 home — so, at least, I am told, for I scarcely 
 know them myself. " 
 
 ' ' And what have I done with him f 
 
 "Sent him away sad and doubtful — very 
 doubtful if the happiness he believed in was the 
 real article after all, and disposed to ask himself 
 how it was that his heart was beating in a new 
 fashion, and that some new sense had been add- 
 ed to his nature, of which he had no inkling be- 
 fore. Sent him away with the notes of a melody 
 floating through his brain, so that the merry 
 laugh of his children will be a discord, and such 
 a memory of a soft glance that his wife's bright 
 look will be meaningless." 
 
 " And I have clone all this ? Poor me !" 
 
 "Yes, and done it so often that it leaves no 
 remorse behind it." 
 
 "And the same, I suppose, with the others?" 
 
 "With Mr. Walpole, and Dick, and Mr. 
 O'Shea, and Mr. Atlee, too, when he was here, 
 in their several ways." 
 
 "Oh, in theirs ; not in mine, then ?" 
 
 "I am but a bungler in my explanation. I 
 wished to say that you adapted" your fascinations 
 to the tastes of each." 
 
 "What a siren!" 
 
 "Well, yes — what a siren; for they're all iu 
 love in some fashion or other ; but I could have 
 forgiven you these had you spared the married 
 man." 
 
 "So that you actually envy that poor prisoner 
 the gleam of light and the breath of cold air that 
 comes between his prison bars — that one moment 
 of ecstasy that reminds him how he once was 
 free and at large, and no manacles to weigh him 
 down ? You will not let him even touch bliss in 
 imagination ? Are you not more cruel than 
 me t" 
 
 "This is mere nonsense," said Kate, boldly. 
 "You either believe that man was fooling you, 
 or that you have sent him away unhappy ; take 
 which one of these you like." 
 
 "Can't your rustic nature see that there is a 
 third case, quite different from both, and that 
 Harry Curtis went off' believing — " 
 
 " Was he Harry Curtis ?" broke in Kate. 
 
 "He was dear Harry when I said good-by," 
 said Nina, calmly. 
 
 ' ' Oh ! then I give up every thing ; I throw up 
 my brief. " 
 
 " So you ought, for you have lost your cause 
 long ago." 
 
 "Even that poor Donogan was not spared, 
 and Heaven knows he had troubles enough on 
 his head to have pleaded some pity for him." 
 
 "And is there no kind word to sav of me, 
 Kate ?" 
 
 "Oh, Nina, how ashamed you make me of my 
 violence when I dare to blame you! But if I 
 did not love you so dearly I could better bear 
 you should have a fault." 
 
 "I have only one, then?" 
 
 " I know of no great one but this — I mean, I 
 know of none that endangers good-nature and 
 right feeling." 
 
 "And are you so sure that this does? Are 
 you so sure that what you are faulting is not the 
 manner and the way of a world you have not 
 seen ? that all these levities, as you would call 
 them, are not the ordinary wear of people whose 
 
LORD KILCOIMIIX. 
 
 IJI 
 
 lives are passed where there is more tolerance 
 and les> rain ?" 
 
 "Be serious. Nina, for a moment, and own 
 that it was by intention yon were in the approach 
 
 when Captain Curtis rode away, that you said 
 
 something to him, or looked something — per- 
 haps both— on which begot down from his horse 
 
 and walked heside yon for full a mile." 
 
 " All true." said Nina, calmly. " I confess to 
 even pari of it." 
 
 ••I'd far rather that you said you were sorry 
 for it." 
 
 •• I'.ut I am not; I'm very glad — I*m very 
 proud of it. Yes, look as reproachfully as you 
 like. Kate! "very proud' was what 1 said." 
 
 "Then I am indeed sorry," said Kate, grow- 
 ing pale as she spoke. 
 
 "I don't think, after all this sharp lecturing 
 of me. that you deserve much of my confidence ; 
 and if I make you any, Kate, it is not by way of 
 exculpation, for I do not accept your blame. It 
 is simply out of caprice — mind that, and that I 
 am not thinking of defending myself." 
 
 " I can easily believe that," said Kate, dryly. 
 
 And the other continued : "When Captain 
 Curtis was talking to your father, and discussing 
 the chances of capturing Donogan, he twice or 
 thrice mentioned Harper and Fry — names which 
 somehow seemed familiar to me ; and on think- 
 ing the matter over when I went to my room, 
 I opened Donogan 's pocket-book and there found 
 how these names had become known to me. 
 Harper and Fry were tanners in Cork Street, 
 and theirs was one of the addresses by which, 
 if I had occasion to warn Donogan, I could write 
 to him. On hearing these names from Curtis, it 
 struck me that there might be treachery some- | 
 where. Was it that these men themselves had 
 turned traitor to the cause? or had another be- 
 trayed them ? Whichever way the matter went, 
 Donogan was evidently in great danger ; for 
 this was one of the places he regarded as per- 
 fectly safe. 
 
 •• What was to be done? I dared not ask ad- 
 vice on any side. To reveal the suspicions which 
 were tormenting me required that I should pro- 
 duce this pocket-book, and to whom could I im- 
 part this man's secret? I thought of your broth- 
 er Dick, but he was from home, and even if he 
 had not been, I doubt if I should have told him. 
 I should have come to you, Kate, but that grand 
 rebukeful tone you had taken up this last twen- 
 ty-four hours repelled me; and, finally, I took 
 counsel with myself. I set off just before Cap- 
 tain ( 'urtis started, to what you have called way- 
 lay him in the avenue. 
 
 ••.lust below the beech-copse he came up; 
 and then that small flirtation of the drawing- 
 room, which has caused you so much auger and 
 me such a sharp lesson, stood me in good stead, 
 and enabled me to arrest his progress by some 
 chance word or two, and at last so far to interest 
 him that he got down and walked along at my 
 
 side. I shall not shock you by recalling the lit- 
 tle tender 'nothings' that passed between us, 
 
 nor dwell on the small mockeries of sentiment 
 which we exchanged — I hope very harmlessly — 
 but proceed at once to what I felt my object. 
 He was profuse of bis gratitude for what I bad 
 done for him with Walpole, and firmly believed 
 that my intercession alone had saved him; ami 
 so I went on to say that the best reparation he 
 
 could make for his blunder would be Bome ex- 
 ercise of well-directed activity when occasion 
 
 should oiler. 'Suppose, for instance.' said I, 
 
 'yon could capture this man Donogan ?' 
 "'The very thing 1 hope to do,' cried he. 
 
 'The train is laid already. One of my con- 
 stables has a brother in a well-known house in 
 Dublin, the members of which, men of largo 
 wealth and good position, have long been sus- 
 pected of holding intercourse with the rebel8. 
 Through his brother, himself a Fenian, this man 
 has heard that a secret committee will meet at 
 this place on Monday evening next, at which 
 Donogan will be present Molloy, another head- 
 centre, will also be there, and Cummins, who 
 escaped from Carrickfergus.' I took down all 
 the names, Kate, the moment we parted, and 
 while they were fresh in my memory. 'We'll 
 draw the net on them all, 'said he; 'and such a 
 haul has not been made since '98. The rewards 
 alone will amount to some thousands.' It was 
 then I said. 'And is there no danger, Harry?'" 
 
 "Oh, Nina!" 
 
 " Yes, darling, it was very dreadful, and I felt 
 it so ; but somehow one is carried away by a 
 burst of feeling at certain moments, and the 
 shame only comes too late. Of course it was 
 wrong of me to call him Harry, and he, too, with 
 a wife at home, and five little girls — or three, I 
 forget which — should never have sworn that he 
 loved me, nor said all that mad nonsense about 
 what he felt in that region where chief constables 
 have their hearts ; but I own to great tenderness 
 and a very touching sensibility on either side. 
 Indeed, I may add here, that the really sensitive 
 natures among men are never found under forty- 
 five ; but for genuine, uncalculating affection, for 
 the sort of devotion that Mings consequences to 
 the winds, I'd say, give me fifty-eight or sixty." 
 
 " Nina, do not make me hate you," said Kate, 
 gravely. 
 
 "Certainly not, dearest, if a little hypocrisy 
 will avert such a misfortune. And so, to return 
 to my narrative, I learned as accurately as a gen- 
 tleman so much in love could condescend to in- 
 form me, of all the steps taken to secure Donogan 
 at this meeting, or to capture him later on if he 
 should try to make his escape by sea." 
 
 "You mean, then, to write to Donogan and 
 apprise him of his danger ?" 
 
 " It is done. I wrote the moment I got back 
 here. I addressed him as Mr. James I'.redin, 
 care of Jonas Mullory, Esq., II New Street, 
 which was the first address in the list he gave 
 me. I told him of the peril he ran, and what his 
 friends were also threatened by, and 1 recounted 
 the absurd seizure of Mr. Walpole's effects here ; 
 and, last of all, what a dangerous rival he had in 
 this ( 'aptain ( 'urtis, who was ready to desert wife, 
 children, and the constabulary to-morrow for 
 me; and assuring him confidentially that I was 
 well worth greater sacrifices of better men, I 
 signed my initials in Creek letters." 
 
 " Marvelous caution and great discretion," 
 said Kate, solemnly. 
 
 "And now come over to the drawing-room, 
 where I have promised to sing fur Mr. O'Shea 
 
 some little ballad that he dreamed Over all tin- 
 night through; and then there's something else 
 —what is it? what is it ?" 
 
 '• How should 1 know, Nina? I was not pres- 
 ent at your arrangement." 
 
122 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 "Just so, Kate — sensibilities permitting ; and, 
 indeed," she said, "I remember it already. It 
 was luncheon." 
 
 
 INHtWi 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 HOW MEN IN OFFICE MAKE LOVE. 
 
 "Is it true they have captured Donogan?" 
 said Nina, coming hurriedly into the library, 
 where Walpole was busily engaged with his cor- 
 respondence, and sat before a table covered not 
 only with official documents, but a number of 
 printed placards and handbills. 
 
 He looked up, surprised at her presence, and 
 by the tone of familiarity in her question, for 
 which he was in no way prepared, and for a sec- 
 ond or two actually stared at without answering 
 her. 
 
 "Can't you tell me? Are they correct in 
 saying he has been caught ?" cried she, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 " Very far from it. There are the police re- 
 turns up to last night from Meath, Kildare, and 
 Dublin ; and though he was seen at Naas, pass- 
 ed some hours in Dublin, and actually attended 
 a night meeting at Kells, all trace of him has 
 been since lost, and he has completely baffled us. 
 By the Viceroy's orders I am now doubling the 
 reward for his apprehension, and am prepared 
 to offer a free pardon to any who shall give in- 
 formation about him who may not actually have 
 committed a felony." 
 
 "Is he so very dangerous, then?" 
 
 "Every man who is so daring is dangerous 
 here. The people have a sort of idolatry for 
 reckless courage. It is not only that he has 
 ventured to come back to the country where his 
 life is sacrificed to the law, but he declares open- 
 ly he is ready to offer himself as a representative 
 for an Irish county, and to test in his own per- 
 son whether the English will have the temerity 
 to touch the man — the choice of the Irish people. " 
 
 " He is bold," said she, resolutely. 
 
 "And I trust he will pay for his boldness! 
 
 Our law officers are prepared to treat him as a 
 felon, irrespective of all claim to his character as 
 a member of Parliament." 
 
 "The danger will not deter him." 
 
 "You think so?" 
 
 "I know it," was the calm reply. 
 
 "Indeed!" said he, bending a steady look at 
 her. " What opportunities, might I ask, have 
 you had to form this same opinion ?" 
 
 "Are not the public papers full of him? 
 Have we not an almost daily record of his ex- 
 ploits ? Do not your own rewards for his cap- 
 ture impart an almost fabulous value to his life ?" 
 
 "His portrait, too, may lend some interest to 
 his story," said he, with a half-sneering smile. 
 " They say this is very like him." And he hand- 
 ed a photograph as he spoke. 
 
 " This was done in New York," said she, turn- 
 ing to the back of the card, the better to hide an 
 emotion she could not entirely repress. 
 
 " Yes, done by a brother Fenian long since in 
 our pay. " 
 
 " How base all that sounds ! How I detest 
 such treachery!" 
 
 "How deal with treason without it? Is it 
 like him ?" asked he, artlessly. 
 
 " How should I know ?" said she, in a slightly 
 hurried tone. " It is not like the portrait in the 
 Illustrated Neu-s. " 
 
 " I wonder which is the more like," added he, 
 thoughtfully, "and I fervently hope we shall 
 soon know. There is not a man he confides in 
 who has not engaged to betray him." 
 
 "I trust you feel proud of your achievement." 
 
 "No, not proud, but very anxious for its suc- 
 cess. The perils of this country are too great 
 for mere sensibilities. He who would extirpate 
 a terrible disease must not fear the knife." 
 
 " Not if he even kill the patient ?" asked she. 
 
 " That might happen, and would be to be de- 
 plored," said he, in the same unmoved tone. 
 " But might I ask whence has come all this in- 
 terest for this cause, and how have you learned 
 so much sympathy with these people?" 
 
 " I read the newspapers," said she, dryly. 
 
 "You must read those of only one color, 
 then," said he, slyly ; "or perhaps it is the tone 
 of comment you hear about you. Are your sen- 
 timents such as you daily listen to from Lord 
 Kilgobbin and his family?" 
 
 " I don't know that they are. I suspect I'm 
 more of a rebel than he is ; but I'll ask him, if 
 you wish it." 
 
 "On no account, I entreat you. It would 
 compromise me seriously to hear such a discus- 
 sion, even in jest. Remember who I am, mad- 
 emoiselle, and the office I hold." 
 
 "Your great frankness, Mr. Walpole, makes 
 me sometimes forget both," said she, with well- 
 acted humility. 
 
 "I wish it would do something more," said 
 he, eagerly. "I wish it would inspire a little 
 emulation, and make you deal as openly with 
 me as I long to do with you. " 
 
 "It might embarrass you very much, per- 
 haps." 
 
 " As how?" asked he, with a touch of tender- 
 ness in his voice. 
 
 For a second or two she made no answer, and 
 then, faltering at each word, she said, "What 
 if some rebel leader — this man Donogan, for in- 
 stance — drawn toward you by some secret magic 
 
LORD EH.GOBB1N. 
 
 123 
 
 of trustfulness — moved by I know not what need 
 
 of TOUT sympathy — for there is such a craving 
 
 void now and then felt in the heart — should tell 
 you some seeret thought of Ins nature — some- 
 thing that heconld otter alone to himself, wonld 
 you bring yourself to use it against 111111? Could 
 you turn round and say, ' 1 have your inmost 
 soul in my keeping. You are mine now — mine 
 — mine? 
 
 "Do I understand you aright?" said he, ear- 
 nestly. "Is it just possible, even possible, that 
 ymi have that to confide to me which would 
 show that you regard me as a dear friend?" 
 
 •M)h, Mr. Walpole!" hurst she out, passion- 
 ately, " do not by the great power of your intel- 
 lect seek the mastery over mine. Let the lone- 
 liness and isolation of my life here rather appeal 
 to you to pity, than BUggest the thought of influ- 
 encing and dominating me." 
 
 •• Would that I might. What would I not give 
 or do to have that power that you speak of?" 
 
 "Is this true?" said she. 
 
 "It is." 
 
 " Will you swear it?" 
 
 "Most solemnly." 
 
 She paused for a moment, and a slight tremor 
 shook her mouth ; but whether the motion ex- 
 pressed a sentiment of acute pain or a movement 
 of repressed sarcasm, it was very difficult to de- 
 termine. 
 
 "What is it, then, that you would swear?" 
 asked she, calmly, and even coldly. 
 
 "Swear that I have no hope so high, no am- 
 bition so great, as to win your heart." 
 
 "Indeed! And that other heart that you 
 have wtin. what is to become of it?" 
 
 " Its owner has recalled it. In fact, it was 
 never in my keeping but as a loan." 
 
 " How Btrange ! At least, how strange to me 
 this sounds. I, in my ignorance, thought that 
 people pledged their very lives in these bargains." 
 
 "So it ought to be, and so it would be, if this 
 world were not a web of petty interests and mean 
 ambitions: and these, I grieve to say, will find 
 their way into hearts that should be the home of 
 very different sentiments. It was of this order 
 was that compact with my cousin — for I will 
 speak openly to you, knowing it is her to whom 
 you allude. We were to have been married. It 
 was an old engagement. Our friends — that is, I 
 believe, the way to call them— liked it. They 
 thought it a good thing for each of us. Indeed, 
 making the dependents of a good family inter- 
 marry is an economy of patronage — the same 
 plank rescues two from drowning. I believe — 
 that is, I fear — we accepted all this in the same 
 spirit. We were to love each other as much as 
 we could, and our relations were to do their best 
 for as." 
 
 "And now it is all over?" 
 
 " All — and forever." 
 
 " How came this about?" 
 
 "At first by a jealousy about you." 
 
 "A jealousy about met You surely never 
 dared — "and here her voice trembled with real 
 passion, while her eyes Bashed angrily. 
 
 " No. no — I am guiltless in the matter. It 
 was that cur Atlee made the mischief. In a 
 moment of weak trustfulness. I sent him over to 
 Wale- to assist my ancle in his correspondence, 
 
 lie. of course, got to know Lady .Maude Bicker- 
 staffe. By what arts he ingratiated himself into 
 
 her confidence I can not say. Indeed, I had 
 trusted thai the fellow's vulgarity would form an 
 impassable barrier between them, and prevent 
 
 all intimacy; but, apparently, 1 was wrong. 
 
 lie seems to have been the companion of her 
 rides and drives, and, under the pretext of doing 
 some commissions for her in the bazars of Con- 
 stantinople, he got fo correspond with her. So 
 artful a fellow would well know what to make of 
 such a privilege." 
 
 "And is be your successor now?" asked she, 
 with a look of almost undisguised insolence. 
 
 "Scarcely that," said he, with a supercilious 
 smile. "I- think, if you had ever seen my 
 cousin, you would scarcely have asked the ques- 
 tion." 
 
 " But I have seen her. I saw her at the Odes- 
 calchi Palace at Home. I remember the stare 
 she was pleased to bestow on me as Bhe swepf 
 past me. I remember more — her words as she 
 asked, ' Is this your Titian girl I have heard so 
 much of?' " 
 
 "And may hear more of," muttered he, al- 
 most unconsciously. 
 
 "Yes, even that, too ; but not, perhaps, in the 
 sense you mean." Then, as if correcting her- 
 self, she went on, "It was a bold ambition of 
 Mr. Atlee's. I must say I like the very daring 
 of it." 
 
 "He never dared it, take my word for it." 
 
 An insolent laugh was her first reply. " How 
 little you men know of each other, and how less 
 than little you know of us ! You sneer at the 
 people who are moved by sudden impulse, but 
 you forget it is the squall upsets the boat." 
 
 " I believe I can follow what you mean. You 
 would imply that my cousin's breach with me 
 might have impelled her to listen to Atlee ?" 
 
 "Not so much that as, by establishing him- 
 self as her confidant, he got the key of her heart, 
 and let himself in as he pleased." 
 
 "I suspect he found little to interest him 
 there. " 
 
 "The insufferable insolence of that speech! 
 Can you men never be brought to see that we 
 are not all alike to each of you ; that our na- 
 tures have their separate watch-words ; ami that 
 the soul which would vibrate with tenderness to 
 this, is to that a dead and senseless thing, with 
 no trace or touch of feeling about it?" 
 
 " I only believe this in part." 
 
 " Believe it wholly, then, or own that you 
 know nothing of love — no more than do those 
 countless thousands who go through life and 
 never taste its real ecstasy nor its real sorrow ; 
 who accept convenience, or caprice, or flattered 
 vanity as its counterfeit, and live out the delu- 
 sion in lives of discontent. You have done 
 wrong to break with your cousin. It is clear to 
 me yon suited each other." 
 
 "This is sarcasm." 
 
 "If it is, I am sorry for it. I meant it for 
 sincerity. In //'""•. career ambition is every 
 thing. The woman thai could aid you OH your 
 road would be the real helpmate. She who 
 would simply en.ss your path by her sympathies 
 or her affections would be a mere embarrass 
 
 incut. Take the \ery case before US. Would 
 1 not Lady Maude point out to you how, by the 
 capture of this rebel, you might so aid your 
 
 friends as to establish a claim for recompense? 
 Would she not impress you with the necessity 
 
124 
 
 LOKD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 of showing how your activity redounded to the 
 credit of your party ? She would neither inter- 
 pose with ill-timed appeals to your pity or a mis- 
 placed sympathy. She would help the politician, 
 while another might hamper the man." 
 
 " All that might be true, if the game of polit- 
 ical life were played as it seems to be on the sur- 
 face, and my cousin was exactly the sort of 
 woman to use ordinary faculties with ability and 
 acuteness ; but there are scores of things in 
 which her interference would have been hurtful, 
 and her secrecy dubious. I will give you an in- 
 stance, and it will serve to show my implicit 
 confidence in yourself. Now with respect to 
 this man, Donogan, there is nothing we wish 
 less than to take him. To capture means to try 
 — to try means to hang him — and how much 
 better, or safer, or stronger are we when it is 
 done ? These fellows, right or wrong, represent 
 opinions that are never controverted by the scaf- 
 fold, and every man who dies for his convictions 
 leaves a thousand disciples who never believed 
 in him before. It is only because he braves us 
 that we pursue him, and in the face of our op- 
 ponents and Parliament we can not do less. So 
 that while we are offering large rewards for his 
 apprehension, we would willingly give double 
 the sum to know he had escaped. Talk of the 
 supremacy of the law — the more you assert that 
 here, the more ungovernable is this country by 
 a party. An active attorney-general is another 
 word for three more regiments in Ireland."' 
 
 ' ' I follow you with some difficulty ; but I see 
 that you would like this man to get away, and 
 how is that to be done ?" 
 
 "Easily enough, when once he knows that it 
 will be safe for him to go north. He naturally 
 fears the Orangemen of the northern counties. 
 They will, however, do nothing without the 
 police, and the police have got their orders 
 throughout Antrim and Deny. Here — on this 
 strip of paper — here are the secret instructions : 
 'To George Dargan, Chief Constable, Letter- 
 kenny district. Private and confidential. — It 
 is, for many reasons, expedient that the convict 
 Donogan, on a proper understanding that he 
 will not return to Ireland, should be suffered to 
 escape. If you are, therefore, in a position to 
 extort a pledge from him to this extent — and it 
 should be explicit and beyond all cavil — you 
 will, taking due care not to compromise your 
 authority in your office, aid him to leave the 
 country, even to the extent of moneyed assist- 
 ance.' To this are appended directions how 
 he is to proceed to carry out these instruc- 
 tions ; what he may, and what he may not do ; 
 with whom he may seek for co-operation, and 
 where he is to maintain a guarded and careful 
 secrecy. Now, in telling you all this, Made- 
 moiselle Ivostalergi, I have given you the stron- 
 gest assurance in my power of the unlimited trust 
 I have in you. I see how the questions that 
 agitate this country interest you. I read the 
 eagerness with which you watch them ; but I 
 want you to see more. I want you to see that 
 the men who purpose to themselves the great 
 task of extricating Ireland from her difficulties 
 must be politicians in the highest sense of the 
 word, and that you should see in us statesmen 
 of an order that can weigh human passions and 
 human emotions, and see that hope and fear and 
 terror and gratitude sway the hearts of men who, 
 
 to less observant eyes, seem to have no place in 
 their natures but for rebellion. That this mode 
 of governing Ireland is the one charm to the 
 Celtic heart, all the Tory rule of the last fifty 
 years, with its hangings and banishments and 
 other terrible blunders, will soon convince you. 
 The priest alone has felt the pulse of this people, 
 and we are the only ministers of England who 
 have taken the priest into our confidence. I 
 own to you I claim some credit for myself in 
 this discovery. It was in long reflecting over 
 the ills of Ireland that I came to see that where 
 the malady has so much in its nature that is sen- 
 sational and emotional, so must the remedy be 
 sensational too. The Tories were ever bent on 
 extirpating — we devote ourselves to ' healing 
 measures.' Do you follow me?" 
 
 "I do," said she, thoughtfully.- 
 
 "Do 1 interest you?" asked he, more ten- 
 derly. 
 
 "Intensely," was the reply. 
 
 "Oh, if I could but think that ! If I could 
 but bring myself to believe that the day would 
 come, not only to secure your interest, but your 
 aid and your assistance in this great Task! I 
 have long sought the opportunity to tell you that 
 we, who hold the destinies of the people in our 
 keeping, are not inferior to our great trust, that 
 we are not mere creatures of a state department, 
 small deities of the Olympus of office, but act- 
 ual statesmen and rulers. Fortune has given 
 me the wished-for moment ; let it complete my 
 happiness ; let it tell me that you see in this 
 noble work one worthy of your genius and your 
 generosity, and that you would accept me as a 
 fellow-laborer in the cause." 
 
 The fervor which he threw into the utterance 
 of these words contrasted strongly and strangely 
 with the words themselves ; so unlike the decla- 
 ration of a lover's passion. 
 
 " I do — not — know," said she, falteringly. 
 
 "What is that you do not know?" asked he, 
 with tender eagerness. 
 
 "I do not know if I understand you aright, 
 and I do not know what answer I should give 
 you." 
 
 " Will not your heart tell you?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "You will not crush me with the thought that 
 there is no pleading for me there." 
 
 "If you had desired in honesty my regard you 
 should not have prejudiced me ; you began here 
 by enlisting my sympathies in your Task ; you 
 told me of your ambitions. I like these ambi- 
 tions." 
 
 "Why not share them?" cried he, passionately. 
 
 " You seem to forget what you ask. A wom- 
 an does not give her heart as a man joins a party 
 or an administration. It is no question of an ad- 
 vantage based upon a compromise. There is no 
 sentiment of gratitude, or recompense, or reward 
 in the gift. She simply gives that which is no 
 longer hers to retain ! She trusts to what her 
 mind will not stop to question — she goes where 
 she can not help but follow." 
 
 " How immeasurably greater your every word 
 makes the prize of your love." 
 
 "It is in no vanity that I say, I know it," 
 said she, calmly. "Let us speak no more on 
 this now." 
 
 "But you will not refuse to listen to me, 
 Nina?" 
 
lokd kilgohbin. 
 
 125 
 
 " I will read you if you write to me ;" ami with 
 a wave Ofgood-Dy she slowly left the room. 
 
 " She is my master, even at my own game," 
 said Walpole, as he sat down, and rested his 
 
 head between his hands. "Still, she is mis- 
 taken : I Can write just as vaguely as I can 
 speak : and if I eould not, it would have cost 
 me mv freedom this many a day. With such a 
 woman one might venture high, but Heaven help 
 him when he ceased to climb the mountain !" 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 
 
 It was so rare an event of late for Nina to 
 seek her cousin in her own room, that Kate was 
 somewhat surprised to see Nina enter with all 
 her old ease of manner, and, flinging away her 
 hat carelessly, say. "Let me have a cup of tea, 
 dearest, for I want to have a clear head and a 
 calm mind for at least the next half hour." 
 
 "It is almost time to dress for dinner, espe- 
 cially for you. Nina, who make a careful toilet." 
 
 "Perhaps I shall make less to-day. perhaps 
 not go down to dinner at all. Do you know, 
 child, I have every reason for agitation, and 
 maiden bashfulness besides? Do you know I 
 have had a proposal — a proposal in all form — 
 from — but you shall guess whom." 
 
 ".Mr. O'Shea, of course." 
 
 " No, not Mr. O'Shea, though I am almost 
 prepared for such a step on his part— nor from 
 your brother Dick, who has been falling in and 
 out of love with me for the last three months or 
 more. My present conquest is the supremely 
 arrogant, but now condescending, Mr. Walpole, 
 who, for reasons of state and exigences of party, 
 has been led to believe that a pretty wife, with a 
 certain amount of natural astuteness, might ad- 
 vance his interests, and tend to his promotion in 
 public life ; and with his old instincts as a gam- 
 bler, he is actually ready to risk his fortunes on 
 a single card ; and I, the portionless Greek girl, 
 with about the same advantages of family as of 
 fortune — I am to be that queen of trumps on 
 which he stands to win. And now, darling, the 
 cup of tea, the cup of tea, if you want to hear 
 more." 
 
 While Kate was busy arranging the cups of a 
 little tea-service that did duty in her dressing- 
 room, Nina walked impatiently to and fro, talk- 
 ing with rapidity all the time. 
 
 "The man is a greater fool than I thought 
 him, and mistakes his native weakness of mind 
 for originality. If you had heard the imbecile 
 nonsense he talked to me for political shrewd- 
 neSS, and when he had shown me what a very 
 poor creature he was, he made me the oiler of 
 liim-elf! This was BO far honest and above- 
 board. It was Baying, in BO many word-, ' Von 
 see, I am a bankrupt.' Now I don't like bank- 
 rupts, cither of mind or money. Could he not 
 have seen that he who seeks my favor must sue 
 in another fashion?" 
 
 •• And so you refused him ?" said Kate, as she 
 poured out her tea. 
 
 "' Far from it — I rather listened to his suit. I 
 was so far curious to hear what he could plead in 
 his behalf that I bade him write it. Yes, dear- 
 est , it was a maxim of that very acute man, my 
 
 papa. that, when a person makes you any dubious 
 
 proposition in words, you oblige him to commit 
 
 it to writing. Not necessarily to lie used against 
 him afterward, but for this rea-ou- and I can al- 
 most quote my papa's phra-e on tl CCUfflOU — in 
 
 the homage Of liis self love, a man will rarely 
 
 write himself such a knave as he will dare to own 
 
 when he is talking, and in that act of weakness 
 is the gain of the other party to the compact." 
 
 " I don't think I understand you." 
 
 "I'm sure you do not ; and you have put no 
 sugar in my tea. which is worse" Do you mean 
 to say that your clock is right, and that it is al- 
 ready nigh seven? Oh dear! and I, who have 
 not told you one-half of my news. I must go and 
 dress. I have a certain green silk with white 
 roses which I mean to wear, and with my hair 
 in that crimson Neapolitan net, it is toilet a la 
 minute." 
 
 "You know how it becomes you," said Kate, 
 half slyly. 
 
 " Of course I do, or in this critical moment 
 of my life I should not risk it. It will have its 
 own suggestive meaning, too. It will recall ce 
 cher Cecil to days at Baia, or wandering along 
 the coast at Portici. I have known a fragment 
 of lace; a flower, a few bars of a song, do more to 
 link the broken chain of memory than scores of 
 more labored recollections ; and then these little 
 paths that lead you back are so simple, so free 
 from all premeditation. Don't you think so, 
 dear ?" 
 
 "I do not know, and, if it were not rude, I'd 
 say I do not care." 
 
 " If my cup of tea were not so good I should 
 be offended, and leave the room after such a 
 speech. But you do not know, you could not 
 guess, the interesting things that I could tell 
 you," cried she, with an almost breathless rapid- 
 ity. "Just imagine that deep statesman, that 
 profound plotter, telling me that they actually 
 did not wish to capture Donogan — that they 
 would rather he should escape!" 
 
 '•lie told you this?" 
 
 "He did more; he showed me the secret in- 
 structions to his police creatures — I forget how 
 they are called — showing what they might do to 
 connive at his escape, and how they should — if 
 they could — induce him to give some written 
 pledge to leave Ireland forever." 
 
 "Oh, this is impossible!" cried Kate. 
 
 " I could prove it to you if I had not just sent 
 off the veritable bit of writing by post. Yes, 
 stare and look horrified if you like ; it is all true. 
 I stole the piece of paper with the secret direc- 
 tions, and sent it straight to Donogan, under 
 cover toArchibold Casey, Esq., 'J Lower Gardner 
 Street, Dublin." 
 
 " How could you have done such a thing?" 
 
 " Say how eould I have done otherwise. 
 Donogan now knows whether it will become 
 him to sign this pact with the enemy. It he 
 deem his life worth having at the price, it is well 
 that / should know it." 
 
 "It is, then, of yourself you were thinking all 
 the while?" 
 
 "Of myself and of him. I do not say I love 
 
 this man; but I do .say bis conduct now -hall 
 decide if he be worth loving. There's the bell 
 for dinner. You shall hear all I have to say 
 this evening. What an interest it gives to life", 
 even this much of plot and peril I Short of be- 
 
12G 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 ing with the rebel himself, Kate, and sharing 
 his dangers, I know of nothing could have given 
 me such delight." 
 
 She turned back as she left the door, and said, 
 '• Make Mr. Walpole take you down to dinner 
 to-day ; I shall take Mr. O'Shea's arm, or your 
 brother's." 
 
 The address of Archibold Casey, which Nina 
 had used on this occasion, was that of a well- 
 known solicitor in Dublin, whose Conservative 
 opinions placed him above all suspicion or dis- 
 trust. One of his clients, however — a certain 
 Mr. Maher— had been permitted to have letters 
 occasionally addressed to him to Casey's care ; 
 and Maher, being an old college friend of Dono- 
 gan's, afforded him this mode of receiving let- 
 ters in times of unusual urgency or danger. 
 Maher shared very slightly in Donogan's opin- 
 ions. He thought the men of the National par- 
 ty not only dangerous in themselves, but that 
 they afforded a reason for many of the repressive 
 laws which Englishmen passed with reference to 
 Ireland. A friendship of early life, when both 
 these young men were college students, had over- 
 come such scruples, and Donogan had been per- 
 mitted to have many letters marked simply with 
 aD., which were sent under cover to Maher. 
 This facility had, however, been granted so far 
 back as '47,' and had not been renewed in the in- 
 terval, during which time the Archibold Casey 
 of that period had died, and been succeeded by 
 a son with the same name as his father. 
 
 When Nina, on looking over Donogan's note- 
 book, came upon this address, she saw, also, some i 
 almost illegible words, which implied that it was 
 only to be employed as the last resort, or had 
 been so used— a phrase she could not exactly de- | 
 termiue what it meant. The present occasion 
 — so emergent in every way — appeared to war- 
 rant both haste and security; and so, under 
 cover to S. Maher, she wrote to Donogan in 
 these words : 
 
 " I send you the words, in the original hand- 
 writing, of the instructions which regard you. 
 You will do what your honor and your con- 
 science dictate. Do not write to me : the pub- 
 lic papers will inform me what your decision has 
 been, and I shall be satisfied, however it incline. 
 I rely upon you to burn the inclosure." 
 
 A "suit at law. in which Casey acted as Maher's 
 attorney at this period, required that the letters 
 addressed to his house for Maher should be open, 
 ed and read ; and though the letter D. on the 
 outside might have suggested a caution. Casey 
 either overlooked or misunderstood it, and broke 
 the seal. Not knowing what to think of this 
 document, which was without signature, and had 
 no clew to the writer except the postmark of 
 Kilgobbin, Casey hastened to lay the letter as it 
 stood before the barrister who conducted Maher's 
 cause, and to ask his advice. The Right Hon. 
 Paul Hartigan was an ex-Attorney-General of 
 the Tory party — a zealous, active, but somewhat 
 rash member of his party : still in the House, a 
 member for Mallow, and" far more eager for the 
 return of his friends to power than the great man 
 who dictated the tactics of the Opposition, and 
 who with more of responsibility could calculate 
 the chances of success. 
 
 Paul Hartigan's estimate of the Whigs was 
 such that it would have in no wise astonished 
 him to discover that Mr. Gladstone was in close 
 
 correspondence with O'Donovan Rossa, or that 
 Chichester Portescue had been sworn in as a 
 head-centre. That the whole cabinet were se- 
 cretly papists, and held weekly confession at the 
 feet of Dr. Manning, he was prepared to prove. 
 He did not vouch for Mr. Lowe ; but he could 
 produce the form of scapular worn by Mr. Glad- 
 stone, and had a fac-simile of the scourge by 
 which Mr. Cardwell diurnally chastened his nat- 
 ural instincts. 
 
 If, then, he expressed but small astonishment 
 at this " traffic of the government with rebellion" 
 — for so he called it — he lost no time in endeav- 
 oring to trace the writer of the letter, and ascer- 
 taining, so far as he might, the authenticity of 
 the inclosure. 
 
 "It's all true, Casey," he said, a few days aft- 
 er his receipt of the papers. "The instructions 
 are written by Cecil Walpole, the private secre- 
 tary of Lord Danesbury. I have obtained sev- 
 eral specimens of his writing. There is no at- 
 tempt at disguise or concealment in this. I have 
 learned, too, that the police-constable Dargan is 
 one of their most trusted agents ; and the only 
 thing now to find out is, who is the writer of the 
 letter ; for up to tliis all we know is, the hand is 
 a woman's." 
 
 Now it chanced that when Mr. Hartigan — who 
 had taken great pains and bestowed much time 
 to learn the story of the night attack on Kilgob- 
 bin, and wished to make the presence of Mr. 
 Walpole on the scene the ground of a question 
 in Parliament — had consulted the leader of the 
 Opposition on the subject, he had met not only a 
 distinct refusal of aid, but something very like a 
 reproof for his ill-advised zeal. The Honorable 
 Paul, not for the first time disposed to distrust 
 the political loyalty that differed with his own 
 ideas, now declared openly that he would not 
 confide this great disclosure to the lukewarm ad- 
 vocacy of Mr. Disraeli : he would himself lay it 
 before the House, and stand or fall by the re- 
 sult. 
 
 If the men who " stand or fall" by any meas- 
 ure were counted, it is to be feared that they usu- 
 ally would be found not only in the category of 
 the latter, but that they very rarely rise again, so 
 very few are the matters which can be deter- 
 mined without some compromise, and so rare are 
 the political questions which comprehend a dis- 
 tinct principle. 
 
 What warmed the Hartigan ardor, and, in- 
 deed, chafed it to a white heat on this occasion, 
 was to see by the public papers that Daniel Don- 
 ogan had been fixed on by the men of King's 
 County as the popular candidate, and a public 
 meeting held at Kilbeggan to declare that the 
 man who should oppose him at the hustings 
 should be pronounced the enemy of Ireland. To 
 show that while this man was advertised in the 
 Hue and Cry, with an immense reward for his 
 apprehension, he was in secret protected by the 
 government, who actually condescended to treat 
 with him ; what an occasion would this afford 
 for an attack that would revive the memories of 
 Grattan's scorn and Curran's sarcasm, and to de- 
 clare to the senate of England that the men who 
 led them were unworthy guardians of the nation- 
 al honor ! 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 127 
 
 CHAPTEB L. 
 
 CROSS IT B POB B s. 
 
 Wiiri ii i i: Walpole found Borne peculiar diffi- 
 culty in committing bis intentions to writing, or 
 
 whether the press of business which usually oc- 
 cupied his mornings sewed as an excuse, or 
 whether lie was satisfied with the progress of his 
 suit by his personal assiduities, is not easy to -ay ; 
 
 but his attentions to Mademoiselle Kostalergi had 
 now assumed the form which prudent mothers are 
 wont to call "•serious,' - and had already passed 
 into that stage where small jealousies begin, and 
 little episodes of anger and discontent are ad- 
 mitted as symptoms of the complaint. 
 
 In fact, he hail gol to think himself privileged 
 to remonstrate against this, and to dictate that — 
 a state, be it observed, which, whatever its effect 
 upon the *' lady of his Love, "makes a man partic- 
 ularly odious to the people around him, and he is 
 singularly fortunate if it make him not ridiculous 
 also. 
 
 The docile or submissive was not the remarka- 
 ble element in Nina's nature. She usually resist- 
 ed advice, and resented any thing like dictation 
 from any quarter. Indeed, they who knew her 
 best saw that, however open to casual influences, 
 a direct show of guidance was sure to call up all 
 her spirit of opposition. It was, then, a matter 
 of actual astonishment to all to perceive not only 
 how quietly and patiently she accepted Walpole's 
 comments and suggestions, but how implicitly 
 she seemed to obey them. 
 
 All the little harmless freedoms of manner 
 with Dick Kearney and O'Shea were now com- 
 pletely given up. No more was there between 
 them that interchange of light "persiflage" 
 which, presupposing some subject of common 
 interest, is in itself a ground of intimacy. 
 
 She ceased to sing the songs that were their fa- 
 vorites. Her walks in the garden after breakfast, 
 where her ready wit and genial pleasantry used to 
 bring her a perfect troop of followers, were aban- 
 doned. The little projects of daily pleasure, hith- 
 erto her especial province, were changed for a 
 calm, subdued demeanor, which, though devoid 
 of all depression, wore the impress of a certain 
 thoughtfulness and seriousness. 
 
 No man was less observant than old Kearney, 
 and yet even he saw the change at last, and ask- 
 ed Kate what it might mean. '"She is not ill, 
 I hope," said he; "or is our humdrum life too 
 wearisome to her?" 
 
 "I do not suspect either," said Kate, slowly. 
 "I rather believe that, as Mr. Walpole has paid 
 her certain attentions, -lie has made the changes 
 in her manner in deference to some wishes of 
 Ma," 
 
 " He wants her to be more English, perhaps," 
 said he. sarcastically. 
 
 '• Perhaps so." 
 
 '• Well. Bhe is not born one of us, but she is 
 like us all the same, and I'll be sorely grieved if 
 
 she'll give up her light-heartedness and her pleas- 
 antry to win that < 'ockney." 
 
 "I think she has won the Cockney already, 
 Sir.'' 
 
 A long low whistle was his reply. At last he 
 Baid, "• I Buppoae it's a very grand conquest, and 
 what the world calls 'an elegant match;' but 
 may I never gee Ka-ter, if I wouldn't rather she'd 
 marry a tine dashing young fellow over six feet 
 
 | high, like O'Shea there, than one of your gold- 
 chain-and-locket young gentlemen who smile 
 where they ought to laugh, and pick their way 
 through life, as a man crosses a stream, on step- 
 ping-stones." 
 
 "Maybe she does not like Mr. O'Shea, Sir." 
 
 "And do you think she. likes the other man? 
 ^ or is it any thing else than one of thoBO inerce- 
 nary attachments that you young ladies under- 
 stand better. Far better, than the mOSl worldly- 
 minded father or mother of us all?" 
 
 "Mr. Walpole has not, I believe, any fortune, 
 Sir. There is nothing very dazzling in his posi- 
 tion or his prospects." 
 
 " No. Not among his own set, nor with his own 
 people — he is small enough there, I grant you ; 
 but when he comes down to OUTS, Kitty, we think 
 him a grandee of Spain ; and if he was married 
 into the family, we'd get off all his noble rela- 
 tions by heart, and soon start talking of our aunt, 
 Lady such a one, and Lord somebody else, that 
 was our first cousin, till our neighbors would 
 nearly die out of pure spite. Sitting down in 
 one's poverty and thinking over one's grand re- 
 lations, is for all the world like Paddy eating his 
 potatoes and pointing at the red herring — even 
 the look of what he dare not taste flavors his 
 meal." 
 
 "At least, Sir, you have found an excuse for 
 our conduct." 
 
 "Because we are all snobs, Kitty; because 
 there is not a bit of honesty or manliness in our 
 nature ; and because our women that need not 
 be bargaining or borrowing — neither pawnbro- 
 kers nor usurers — are just as vulgar-minded as 
 ourselves ; and, now that we have given twenty- 
 millions to get rid of slavery, like to show how 
 they can keep it up in the old country, just out 
 of defiance." 
 
 "If you disapprove of Mr. Walpole, Sir, I be- 
 lieve it is full time you should say so." 
 
 " I neither approve nor disapprove of him. I 
 don't well know whether I have any right to do 
 either — I mean so far as to influence her choice. 
 He belongs to a sort of men I know as little about 
 as I do of the Choctaw Indians. They have lives 
 and notions and ways all unlike ours. The world 
 is so civil to them that it prepares every thing to 
 their taste. If they want to shoot, the birds are 
 cooped up in a cover, and only let fly when they're 
 ready. When they fish, the salmon are kept pre- 
 paid I to be caught; and if they make love, the 
 young lady is just as ready to rise to the fly, and 
 as willing to be bagged as either. Thank God, 
 my darling, with all our barbarism, we have not 
 come to that in Ireland." 
 
 •• Here comes .Mr. Walpole now. Sir ; and, if I 
 read his face aright, he has .something of impor- 
 tance to say to you." 
 
 Kate had barely time to leave the room as 
 Walpole came forward with an open telegram 
 and a ma-s of paper- in bis band. 
 
 "M.i) 1 have a few moments of conversation 
 
 with you ?" said he ; and in the tone of his words, 
 and a certain gravity in his manner, Kearney 
 thought he could perceive what the communica- 
 tion portended. 
 
 "I am at your orders," -aid Kearney; and 
 he placed a chair for the other. 
 
 ••An incident has befallen my life here, Mr. 
 Kearney, which, I grieve to say, may not only 
 color the whole of my future career, but not im- 
 
128 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 possibly prove the barrier to my pursuit of pub- 
 lic life." 
 
 Kearney stared at him as he finished speak- 
 ing, and the two men sat fixedly gazing on each 
 other. 
 
 "It is, I hasten to own, the one unpleasant, 
 the one, the only one, disastrous event of a visit 
 full of the happiest memories of my life. Of 
 your generous and graceful hospitality I can not 
 say half what I desire — " 
 
 "Say nothing about my hospitality," said 
 Kearney, whose irritation as to what the other 
 called a disaster left him no place for any other 
 sentiment; "but just tell me why you count 
 this a misfortune." 
 
 "I call a misfortune, Sir, what may not only 
 depose me from my office and my station, but 
 withdraw entirely from me the favor and pro- 
 tection of my uncle, Lord Danesbury." 
 
 "Then why the devil do you do it?" cried 
 Kearney, angrily. 
 
 "Why do I do what, Sir? I am not aware 
 of any action of mine you should question with 
 such energy." 
 
 "I mean, if it only tends to ruin your pros- 
 pects and disgust your family, why do you per- 
 sist, Sir? I was going to say more, and ask 
 with what face you presume to come and tell 
 these things to me ?" 
 
 "I am really unable to understand you, Sir." 
 
 " Mayhap, we are both of us in the same pre- 
 dicament," cried Kearney, as he wiped his brow 
 in proof of his confusion. 
 
 " Had you accorded me a very little patience, 
 I might, perhaps, have explained myself. " 
 
 'Not trusting himself with a word, Kearney 
 nodded, and the other went on : " The post this 
 morning brought me, among other things, these 
 two newspapers, with pen-marks in the margin 
 to direct my attention. This is the Lily of Lon- 
 donderry, a wild Orange print ; this the Banner 
 of Ulster, a journal of the same complexion. 
 Here is what the Lily says : ' Our county mem- 
 ber, Sir Jonas Gettering, is now in a position to 
 call the attention of Parliament to a document 
 which will distinctly show how her Majesty's 
 ministers are not only in close correspondence 
 with the leaders of Fenianism, but that Irish re- 
 bellion receives its support and comfort from the 
 present Cabinet. Grave as this charge is, and 
 momentous as would be the consequences of 
 such an allegation if unfounded, we repeat that 
 such a document is in existence, and that we 
 who write these lines have held it in our hands 
 and have perused it.' 
 
 " The Banner copies the paragraph, and adds : 
 'We give all the publicity in our power to a 
 statement which, from our personal knowledge, 
 we can declare to be true. If the disclosures 
 which a debate on this subject must inevitably 
 lead to will not convince Englishmen that Ire- 
 land is now governed b} r a party whose falsehood 
 and subtlety not even Macchiavelli himself could 
 justify, we are free to declare we are ready to 
 join the Nationalists to-morrow, and to cry out 
 for a Parliament in College Green, in preference 
 to a Holy Inquisition at Westminster.' " 
 
 "That fellow has blood in him," cried Kear- 
 ney, with enthusiasm, "and I go a long way 
 with him." 
 
 " That may be, Sir, and I am sorry to hear 
 it," said Walpole, coldly ; " but what I am con- 
 
 cerned to tell you is, that the document or mem- 
 orandum here alluded to was among my papers, 
 and abstracted from them since I have been 
 here. " 
 
 "So that there was actually such a paper?" 
 broke in Kearney. 
 
 "There was a paper which the malevolence 
 of a party journalist could convert to the sup- 
 port of such a charge. What concerns me more 
 immediately is, that it has been stolen from my 
 dispatch-box." 
 
 ' ' Are you certain of that ?" 
 
 ' ' I believe I can prove it. The only day in 
 which I was busied with these papers I carried 
 them down to the library, and with my own 
 hands I brought them back to my room and 
 placed them under lock and key at once. The 
 box bears no trace of having been broken, so 
 that the only solution is a key. Perhaps my 
 own key may have been used to open it, for the 
 document is gone." 
 
 " This is a bad business," said Kearney, sor- 
 rowfully. 
 
 "It is ruin to me," cried Walpole, with pas- 
 sion. ' ' Here is a dispatch from Lord Danes- 
 bury commanding me immediately to go over 
 to him in Wales, and I can guess easily what 
 has occasioned the order." 
 
 "I'll send for a force of Dublin detectives. 
 I'll write to the chief of the police. I'll not rest 
 till I have every one in the house examined on 
 oath," cried Kearney. "What was it like? 
 Was it a dispatch — was it in an envelope ?" 
 
 " It was a mere memorandum — a piece of post 
 paper, and headed, ' Draught of instruction touch- 
 ing D. D. Forward to chief constable of police 
 at Letterkenny. October 9th.' " 
 
 "But you had no direct correspondence with 
 Donogan ?" 
 
 ' ' I believe, Sir, I need not assure you I had 
 not. The malevolence of party has alone the 
 merit of such an imputation. For reasons of 
 state, we desired to observe a certain course to- 
 ward the man, and Orange malignity is pleased 
 to misrepresent and calumniate us." 
 
 "And can't you say so in Parliament?" 
 
 "So we will, Sir, and the nation will believe 
 us. Meanwhile, see the mischief that the mis- 
 erable slander will reflect upon our administra- 
 tion here, and remember that the people who 
 could alone contradict the story are those very 
 Feiyians who will benefit by its being believed." 
 
 " Do your suspicions point to any one in par- 
 ticular? Do you believe that Curtis — " 
 
 " I had it in my hand the day after he left." 
 
 "Was any one aware of its existence here 
 but yourself?" 
 
 " None — wait, I am wrong. Your niece saw 
 it. She was in the library one day. I was en- 
 gaged in writing, and as we grew to talk over 
 the country, I chanced to show her the dis- 
 patch." 
 
 "Let us ask her if she remembers whether 
 any servant was about at the time, or happened 
 to enter the room. " 
 
 " 1 can myself answer that question. I know 
 there was not." 
 
 ' ' Let us call her down and see what she re- 
 members," said Kearney. 
 
 "I'd rather not, Sir. A mere question in 
 such a case would be offensive, and I would not 
 risk the chance. What I would most wish is, 
 
DOBD BJLGOBBIN. 
 
 129 
 
 to place my dispatch-box, with the key, in your 
 keeping, for the purposes of the inquiry, for I 
 
 must si;iit in half an hour. I have .-rut forpOSt- 
 
 horsea to Moate, and ordered a Bpecial train to 
 town. I shall. I hope, oatch the eight-o'clock 
 boat for Eolyhead, and be with his lordship be- 
 fore this time to morrow. It' 1 do nol sec the 
 
 ladies, for I believe they are out walking, will 
 you make my excuses and my adieux : my con- 
 fusion and discomfiture will, I feel sure, plead 
 for me? It would not he. perhaps, too much to 
 ask for any information that a police inquiry 
 might elicit ; and if either of the young ladies 
 would vouchsafe me a line to say what, if any 
 thing, has Keen discovered, I should feel deeply 
 g rati tied." 
 
 'Til look to that. You shall he informed." 
 
 '• There was another question that I much de- 
 sired to speak of," and here he hesitated and 
 faltered : " hut perhaps, on every score, it is as 
 well I should defer it till my return to Ireland." 
 
 " You know hest, whatever it is," said the old 
 man, dryly. 
 
 "Yes. I think so. I am sure of it." A 
 hurried shake-hands followed, and he was gone. 
 
 It is but right to add that a glance at the mo- 
 ment through the window had shown him the 
 wearer of a muslin dress turning into the copse 
 outside the garden, and Walpole dashed down 
 the stairs and hurried in the direction he saw 
 Nina take, with all the speed he could. 
 
 " Get my luggage on the carriage, and have 
 every thing ready," said he, as the horses were 
 drawn up at the door. " I shall return in a mo- 
 ment." 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 AWAKKMW.s. 
 
 Whbh "YYalpoIe hurried into the beech alley, 
 which he had seen Nina take, and followed her 
 in all haste, he did not stop to question himself 
 why he did so. Indeed, if prudence were to he 
 consulted, there was every reason in the world 
 why he should rather have left his leave-takings 
 to the care of Mr. Kearney than assume the 
 charge of them himself; but if young gentlemen 
 who fall in love were only to be logical or "con- 
 sequent," the tender passion would soon lose some 
 of the contingencies which give it much of its 
 charm, and people who follow such occupations 
 as mine would discover that they had lost one 
 of the principal employments of their lifetime. 
 
 As he went along, however, he bethought him 
 that a^ it was to say good-by he now followed 
 her, it behooved him to blend his leave-taking 
 with that pledge of a speedy return which, like 
 the effects of light in landscape, bring out the 
 various tints in the richest coloring, and mark 
 more distinctly all that is in shadow. "I shall 
 at least see," muttered he to himself, "how far 
 my presence here serves to brighten her daily 
 life, and what amount of gloom my absence will 
 suggest. " ('ceil Walpole was one of a class — 
 and I hasten to say it is a class — who, if not 
 very lavish of their own affections, or accustomed 
 to draw largely on their own emotions, are very 
 fond of being loved themselves, and not only are 
 they convinced that as there can be nothing 
 more natural or reasonable than to love them, 
 it is still a highly commendable feature in the 
 I 
 
 person who carries that love to the extent of n 
 small idolatry, and makes it tin- business of a 
 life. To worship the men of this order consti 
 tntes in their eyes a species of intellectual su- 
 periority for which they are grateful, and this 
 same gratitude represents to themselves all of 
 
 love their natures are capable of feeling. 
 
 lie knew thoroughly thai Nina was not alone 
 the most beautiful woman he had ever seen; that 
 the fascinations of her manner, and her grace 
 of movement and gesture, exercised a sway that 
 was almost magic; that in quickness in appre- 
 hend and readiness to reply she scarcely had an 
 equal : and that, whether she smiled, or looked 
 pensive, or listened, or spoke, there was an ab- 
 sorbing charm about her that made one forgel 
 all else around her, and unable to see any but 
 her; and yet, with all this consciousness, he rec- 
 ognized no trait about her so thoroughly at- 
 tractive as that she admired him. 
 
 Let me not he misunderstood. This same 
 sentiment can be at times something very dili'er- 
 ent from a mere egotism — not that I mean to 
 say it was such in the present case. Cecil 
 Walpole fully represented the order he belonged 
 to, and was a most well-looking, well-dressed, 
 and well-bred young gentleman, only suggesting 
 the reflection that to live among such a class 
 pure and undiluted would he little better than a 
 life passed in the midst of French communism. 
 
 I have said that, after his fashion, he was "in 
 love" with her, and so, after his fashion, he 
 wanted to say that he was going away, and to 
 tell her not to be utterly disconsolate till he 
 came back again. " I can imagine," thought 
 he, "how I made her life here; how, in devel- 
 oping the features that attract me, I made her a 
 very different creature to herself." 
 
 It was not at all unpleasant to him to think that 
 the people who should surround her were so un- 
 like himself. "The barbarians," as he courte- 
 ously called them to himself, "will be very hard 
 to endure. Nor am I very sorry for it ; only she 
 must catch nothing of their traits in accommo- 
 dating herself to their habits. On that I must 
 strongly insist. Whether it be by singing their 
 silly ballads — that four-note melody they call 
 'Irish music' — or through mere imitation, she 
 has already caught a slight accent of the coun- 
 try. She must get rid of this. She will have to 
 divest herself of all her ' Kilgobhinries' ere I 
 present her to my friends in town." Apart from 
 these disparagements, she could, as he expressed 
 it, " hold her own ;" and people take a very nar- 
 row view of the social dealings of the world who 
 fail to see how much occasion a woman has for 
 the exercise of tact and temper and discretion 
 and ready-wittedness and generosity in all the 
 well-bred intercourse of life, dust as Walpole 
 had arrived at that Btage of reflection to recog- 
 nize that she was exactly the woman to suit him 
 and push bis fortunes with the world, he reached 
 
 a part of the wood where a little space had I n 
 
 cleared, and a few rustic seats scattered aboul 
 to make a halting-place. The sound of voices 
 Caught his ear, and he stopped; and now, look- 
 ing stealthily through the brush-n 1. he saw 
 
 Gorman O-Slica as he lay in a lounging attitude 
 on a bench and Bmoked bis cigar, while Nina 
 Kostalergi was busily engaged in pinning up the 
 skirt of her Areas in a festoon fashion, which, to 
 Cecil's ideas at least, displayed more of a mar- 
 
130 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 velously pretty instep and ankle than he thought 
 strictly warranted. Puzzling as this seemed, the 
 first words she spoke gave the explanation. 
 
 " Don't flatter yourself, most valiant soldier, 
 that you are going to teach me the 'Czardasz.' 
 I learned it years ago from Tassilo Esterhazy ; 
 hut I asked you to come here to set me right 
 
 trian army, but the count was a perfect gentle- 
 man, and a special friend of mine." 
 
 " I am sorry for it," was the gruff rejoinder. 
 
 "You have nothing to grieve for, Mr. You 
 have no vested interest to be imperiled by any 
 thing that I do." 
 
 "Let us not quarrel, at all events," said he, 
 
 about that half-minuet step that begins it. I be- 
 lieve I have got into the habit of doing the man's 
 part, for I used to be Pauline Esterhazy 's part- 
 ner after Tassilo went away." 
 
 "You had a precious dancing-master in Tas- 
 silo," growled out ( TShea. " The greatest scamp 
 in the Austrian arm v." * 
 
 as he arose with some alacrity and flung away 
 his cigar; and Walpole turned away, as little 
 pleased with what lie had heard, as dissatisfied 
 with himself for having listened. "And we call 
 these things accidents," muttered he; "but I 
 believe fortune means more generously by us 
 when she crosses our path in this wise. I almost 
 
 1 know nothing of the moralities of the Aus- | wish I had gone a step further, and stood be- 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 181 
 
 fore them. At least it would have finished tins I 
 episode, and without a wmd. A> it i-. a mere 
 phrase will do it— tin- simple question as to what 
 progress she makes in dancing will show I know 
 all.' Hut do 1 know all?" Thus speculating | 
 and ruminating, ho went his way till ho reached 
 the carriage, and drove off at speed, for the first 
 
 time in his lite really and deeply in love! 
 
 He made his journey safely, and arrived at 
 Holvhead by daybreak. He had meant to go 
 
 over deliberately all that he Bhould say to the 
 Viceroy, when questioned, as he expected to be, 
 
 on the condition of Ireland. It was an old story, 
 and with very tew variations to enliven it. 
 
 How was it that, with all his Irish intelligence 
 well arranged in his mind — the agrarian crime, 
 the ineffective police, the timid juries, the inso- 
 lence of the popular press, and the arrogant de- 
 mands of the priesthood— how was it that, ready 
 to state all these obstacles to right government, 
 and prepared to show that it was only by "out- 
 jockeying" the parties he could hope to win in 
 Ireland still— that Greek girl, and what he call- 
 ed her perfidy, would occupy a most dispropor- 
 tionate share of his thoughts, ami a large place 
 in his heart also? The simple truth is, that 
 though up to this Walpole found immense pleas- 
 ure in his flirtation with Nina Kostalergi, yet his 
 feeling for her now was nearer love than any 
 thing he had experienced before. The bare sus- 
 picion that a woman could jilt him, or the pos- 
 sible thought that a rival could lie found to sup- 
 plant him. gave, by the very pain it occasioned, 
 such an interest to the episode that he could 
 scarcely think of any thing else. That the most 
 effectual way to deal with the Creek was to re- 
 new his old relations with his cousin. Lady Maude, 
 was clear enough. ''At least I shall seem to 
 he the traitor," thought he: "and she shall not 
 glory in the thought of having deceived me." 
 While he was still revolving these thoughts he ar- 
 rived at the Castle, and learned, as he crossed the 
 door, that his lordship was impatient to see him. 
 
 J. ord Danesbury had never been a fluent speak- 
 er in public, while in private life a natural in- 
 dolence of disposition, improved, so to say. by 
 an Eastern life, had made him so sparing of his 
 words that at times, when he was ill or indisposed, 
 he could never he said to converse at all. and 
 Lis talk consisted of very short sentences strung 
 loosely together, and not unfrequently so ill-con- 
 nected a- to show that an unexpressed thought 
 very often intervened between the uttered frag- 
 ment-. Except to men who, like Walpole, 
 knew him intimately, he was all but unintelligi- 
 ble. The private secretary, however, understood 
 
 how to till up the blanks in any discourse, and 
 
 so follow out indications which, to less practiced 
 
 Byes, left no foot-marks behind them. 
 
 His Excellency, slowly recovering from a sharp 
 attack of gout, was propped by pillows, and smok- 
 ing a long Turkish pipe, a- (Veil entered the 
 room and saluted him. "Come at last." was 
 his lordship's greeting. "Ought to have been 
 here weeks ago. Read that." And bepushed 
 toward him a Times, with a mark on the margin : 
 
 "To ask the Secretary for Ireland whether the 
 statement made by certain newspapers in the 
 North of a correspondence between the Castle 
 
 authorities and the Fenian leader was true, and 
 whether such correspondence could be laid on 
 the table of the House?" 
 
 ' cried the Viceroy, a- Walpole 
 
 paragraph somewhat bIowIj to 
 
 "Read it oul 
 conned over th 
 himself. 
 
 " I think, my lord, when you have heard a 
 few words of explanation from me. you will sec 
 that this charge has not the gravity these new, 
 paper people would like to attach to it." 
 
 "Can't be explained— nothing could justify — 
 infernal blunder ami must go." 
 
 '• Pray, my lord, vouchsafe me even five min- 
 utes." 
 
 "See it all— balderdash — explain nothing — 
 Cardinal more offended than the rest -and hi'ic, 
 read." And he pushed a letter toward him, 
 dated Downing Street, and marked private. 
 "The idiot you left behind you ha- been be- 
 trayed into writing to the rebels and making 
 conditions with them. To disown him now is 
 not enough." 
 
 •• Really, my lord, I don't see why I should 
 submit to the indignity of reading more of this." 
 
 His Excellency crushed the letter in his band, 
 and puffed very vigorously at his pipe, which 
 was nearly exhausted. " .Must go." said he, at 
 last, as a fresh volume of smoke rolled forth. 
 
 "That I can believe — that I can understand, 
 | my lord. When you tell me you cease to in- 
 dorse my pledges, 1 feel I am a bankrupt in your 
 esteem." 
 
 "Others smashed in the same insolvency — 
 ! inconceivable blunder — where was Cartright? — 
 what was Holmes about? Ko one in Dublin to 
 keep you out of this cursed folly ?" 
 
 "Until your lordship's patience will permit 
 me to say a few words, I can not hope to justify 
 my conduct." 
 
 " No justifying — no explaining — no! regular 
 smash, and complete disgrace. Must go." 
 1 "I am quite ready to go. Your Excellency 
 j has no need to recall me to the necessity." 
 
 "Knew it all — and against my will, too — said 
 so from the first — thing I never liked — nor see 
 my way in. Must go — must go." 
 
 "I presume, my lord, I may leave you now. 
 1 want a bath and a cup of Coffee." 
 
 "Answer that!" was the gruff reply, as he 
 tossed across the table a few lines signed, " Ber- 
 tie Spencer, Private Secretary." 
 
 "I am directed to request that Mr. Walpole 
 will enable tin' Right Honorable Mr. Annihnugh 
 to give the flattest denial to the inclosed." 
 
 "That must be done at once. ' said ihe Vice- 
 roy, as the other ceased to read the note. 
 
 "It is impossible, my lord; 1 can not deny 
 my own handwriting." 
 
 "Annihongh will find some road out of it.'« 
 muttered the other. " You were a fool, and 
 
 mistook your instructions : or the constable was a 
 fool, and required a misdirection ; or the /•"</*.'■/// 
 
 was a fool, which he would have been if ho gave 
 the pledge yOU asked for. Mu-t go all the -a ." 
 
 '• But I'm quite ready to go, m\ lord," re- 
 joined Walpole, angrily, "There is no need 
 
 to insist so often on that point." 
 
 "Who talks — who thinks of you t Sir?" cried 
 the Other, v\ith an irritated manner. "I speak 
 
 of myself, it Is / mu-t resign— no great sacri- 
 fice, perhaps, after till — stupid office, fal-e po- 
 sition — impracticable people .Make ibeiu all 
 
 Papists to-marrow, and ask to be Hindoos. 
 
 They've got the land, and not content if they 
 
 can't shoot the landlords !" 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 "If you think, my lord, that by any personal 
 explanation of mine I could enable the minis- 
 ter to make his answer in the House more plau- 
 sible — " 
 
 " Leave the plausibility to himself, Sir;" and 
 then he added, half aloud, "He'll be unintelli- 
 gible enough without you. There, go and get 
 some breakfast. Come back afterward, and 111 
 dictate my letter of resignation. Maude has 
 had a letter from Atlee. Shrewd fellow, Atlee 
 — done the thing well." 
 
 As Walpole was near the door, his Excellen- 
 cy said, "You can have Guatemala, if they 
 have not given it away. It will get you out of 
 Europe, which is the first thing, and with the 
 yellow fever it may do more." 
 
 " I'm profoundly grateful, my lord," said he, 
 bowing low. 
 
 " Maude, of course, would not go, so it ends 
 that." 
 
 "I am deeply touched by the interest your 
 lordship vouchsafes to my concerns." 
 
 "Try and live five years, and you'll have a 
 retiring allowance. The last fellow did, but 
 was eaten by a crocodile out bathing." And 
 with this he resumed his Times, and turned 
 away, while Walpole hastened oft' to his room, 
 in a frame of mind very far from comfortable 
 or reassuring. 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 "a chance agreement." 
 
 As Dick Kearney and young O'Shea had nev- 
 er attained any close intimacy, a strange sort of 
 half jealousy, inexplicable as to its cause, served 
 to keep them apart ; it was by mere accident that 
 the two young men met one morning after break- 
 fast in the garden, and on Kearney's offer of a ci- 
 gar, the few words that followed led to a conver- 
 sation : 
 
 " I can not pretend to give you a choice Ha- 
 vana, like one of Walpole's," said Dick, " but 
 you'll perhaps find it smokable." 
 
 "I'm not difficult," said the other; "and as 
 to Mr. Walpole's tobacco, I don't think I ever 
 tasted it." 
 
 " And I," rejoined the other, " as seldom as I 
 could — I mean, only when politeness obliged me." 
 
 "I thought you liked him?" said Gorman, 
 shortly. 
 
 " I ? Far from it. I thought him a consum- 
 mate puppy, and I saw that he looked down on 
 us as inveterate savages. " 
 . "He was a favorite with your ladies, I think ?" 
 
 "Certainly not with my sister, and I doubt 
 very much with my cousin. Did you like him ?"' 
 
 " No, not at all ; but then he belongs to a class 
 of men I neither understand nor sympathize 
 with. Whatever I know of life is associated with 
 downright hard work. As a soldier, I had my 
 five hours' daily drill and the care of my equip- 
 ments ; as a lieutenant, I had to see that my men 
 kept to their duty ; and whenever I chanced to 
 have a little leisure I could not give it up to 
 ennui, or consent to feel bored and wearied." 
 
 " And do you mean to say you had to groom 
 your horse and clean your arms when you served 
 in the ranks ?" 
 
 "Not always. As a cadet, I had a soldier- 
 servant — what we call a 'Eursche' — but there 
 
 were pei'iods when I was out of funds, and bare- 
 ly able to grope my way to the next quarter-day, 
 and at these times I had but one meal a day, and 
 was obliged to draw my waist-belt pretty tight to 
 make me feel I had eaten enough. A Bursclie 
 costs very little, but I could not spare even that 
 little." 
 
 " Confoundedly hard, that." 
 
 ' ' All my own fault. By a little care and fore- 
 sight, even without thrift, I had enough to live 
 as well as I ought ; but a reckless dash of the old 
 spendthrift blood I came of would master me 
 now and then, and I'd launch out into some ex- 
 travagance that would leave me penniless for 
 months after." 
 
 "I believe I can understand that. One does 
 get horribly bored by the monotony of a well-to- 
 do existence: just as I feel my life here — almost 
 insupportable." 
 
 " But you are going into Parliament ; you are 
 going to be a great public man." 
 
 "That bubble has burst already; don't you 
 know what happened at Birr ? They tore down 
 all Miller's notices and mine ; they smashed our 
 booths, beat our voters out of the town, and 
 placed Donogan — the rebel Donogan — at the 
 head of the poll, and the head-centre is now M.P. 
 for King's County." 
 
 " And has he a right to sit in the House ?" 
 
 "There's the question. The matter is dis- 
 cussed every day in the newspapers, and there 
 are as many for as against him. Some aver that 
 the popular will is a sovereign edict that rises 
 above all eventualities ; others assert that the sen- 
 tence which pronounces a man a felon declares 
 him to be dead in law." 
 
 "And which side do you incline to ?" 
 
 " I believe in the latter ; he'll not be permitted 
 to take his seat." 
 
 " You'll have another chance, then ?" 
 
 "No; I'll venture no more. Indeed, but for 
 this same man, Donogan, I had never thought of 
 it. He filled my head with ideas of a great part 
 to be played, and a proud place to be occupied ; 
 and that, even without high abilities, a man of a 
 strong will, a fixed resolve, and an honest con- 
 science might, at this time, do great things for 
 Ireland." 
 
 "And then betrayed you?" 
 
 " No such thing : he no more dreamed of Par- 
 liament himself than you do now. He knew he 
 was liable to the law, he was hiding from the po- 
 lice, and well aware that there was a price upon 
 his head." 
 
 " But if he was true to you, why did he not 
 refuse this honor? why did he not decline to be 
 elected ?" 
 
 " They never gave him the choice. Don't you 
 see it is one of the strange signs of the times we 
 are living in that the people fix upon certain 
 men as their natural leaders, and compel them to 
 march in the van, and that it is the force at the 
 back of these leaders that, far more than their 
 talents, makes them formidable in public life ?" 
 
 " I only follow it in part. I scarcely see what 
 they aim at, and I do not know if they see it 
 more clearly themselves. And now what will 
 you turn to?" 
 
 "I wish you could tell me." 
 
 "About as blank a future as my own!" mut- 
 tered Gorman. 
 
 "Come, come, you have a career: you are a 
 
LOW) KILOOBBIN. 
 
 i;)3 
 
 lieutenant of lancers j in time you will be a cap* 
 tain, and eventually a colonel, and wlio knows 
 
 but a general at last, with Heaven knows how 
 many crosses and medals on your breasl ?" 
 
 "Nothing less likely: the day is gone by 
 when Englishmen were advanced to places of 
 high honor and trust in the Austrian army. 
 There are do more field-marshals like Nugent 
 than major-generals like O'Connell. I might be 
 made a drill meister. and if I lived long enough, 
 and was not superannuated, a major; but there 
 my ambition must cease." 
 
 •• And you are content with that prospect?" 
 
 "Of course I am not. I go back to it with 
 something little short of despair." 
 
 •' Why go hack, then?"' 
 
 "Tell me what else to do — tell me what other 
 road in life to take — show - me even one alterna- 
 tive." 
 
 The silence that now succeeded lasted several 
 minutes, each immersed in his own thoughts, 
 and each doubtless convinced how little presump- 
 tion he had to advise or counsel the other. 
 
 "Do you know, O'Shea," cried Kearney. " I 
 I used to fancy that this Austrian life of yours 
 was a mere caprice — that you took 'a cast.' as 
 we call it in the hunting field, among those fel- 
 lows, to see what they were like and what sort of 
 an existence was theirs — but that being your 
 aunt's heir, and with a snug estate that must 
 one day come to you, it was a mere 'lark,' and 
 not to be continued beyond a year or two?" 
 
 " Not a bit of it. I never presumed to think 
 I should be my aunt's heir — and now less than 
 ever. Do you know that even the small pension 
 she has allowed me hitherto is now about to be 
 withdrawn, and I shall be left to live on my pay ?" 
 
 " How much does that mean?" 
 
 •■ A few pounds more or less than you pay for 
 your saddle-horse at livery at Dycers'." 
 
 "You don't mean that?" 
 
 "I do mean it, and even that beggarly pit- 
 tance is stopped when I am on my leave ; so that 
 at this moment my whole worldly wealth is here," 
 and he took from his pocket a handful of loose 
 coin, in which a few gold pieces glittered amidst 
 a mass of discolored and smooth-looking silver. 
 
 " On my oath, I believe you are the richer 
 man of the two." cried Kearney ; " for except a 
 few half crowns on my dressing-table, and some 
 coppers, I don't believe I am master of a coin 
 with the Queen's image." 
 
 " I say, Kearney, what a horrible take-in we 
 should prove to mothers with daughters to 
 marry!" 
 
 11 Not a bit of it. You may impose upon any 
 one else — your tailor, your boot-maker, even the 
 horsey gent that jobs your cabriolet, but you'll 
 never cheat the mamma who has a daughter on 
 sale." 
 
 Gorman could not help laughing at the more 
 than ordinary irritability with which these words 
 were spoken, and charged him at last witli hav- 
 ing uttered a personal experience. 
 
 "True, after alii" said Dick, half indolently. 
 " I used to spoon a pretty girl up in Dublin, ride 
 with her when I could, and dance with her at all 
 the balls; and a certain chum of mine, a Joe 
 Atlee — of whom you may have heard — under- 
 took, simply by a series of artful rumors as to 
 my future prospects — now extolling me a- a man 
 of fortune and a tine estate, to-morrow exhibit- 
 
 ing me as a mere pretender with a mock title 
 and mock income — to determine how 1 should 
 lie Heated in this family; and be would BBJ to 
 me. - Dick, yon are going to be asked to dinner 
 on Saturday next ;' or. ' 1 say, old fellow, they're 
 going to leave you out of thai pieiiie ;it l'owles 
 
 Court, You'll find the Clanceys rather cold at 
 your next meeting." 1 
 
 " And he would be right in bis gueSS?" 
 
 "To the letter! Ay. and I shame to say that 
 the young girl answered the signal as promptly 
 as the mother." 
 
 "I hope it cured you of your passion?" 
 
 " I don't know that it did. When you begin 
 to like a girl, and find that she has regularly in- 
 stalled herself in a corner of your heart, there is 
 scarcely a thing she can do you'll not discover a 
 good reason for, and even when your ingenuity 
 fails, go and pay a visit; there is some artful 
 witchery in that creation you have built op about 
 her — for I heartily believe most of us are merely 
 clothing a sort of lay figure of loveliness with 
 attributes of our fancy — and the end of it is. we 
 are about as wise about our idols as the South 
 Sea savages in their homage to the gods of their 
 own carving. " 
 
 "1 don't think that!" said Gorman, sternly. 
 "I could no more invent the fascination that 
 charms me than I could model a Venus or an 
 Ariadne." 
 
 "I see where your mistake lies. You do all 
 this, and never know you do it. Mind. I am 
 only giving you Joe Atlee's theory all this time ; 
 for, though I believe in, I never invented it." 
 
 " And who is Atlee?" 
 
 "A chum of mine — a clever dog enough — 
 who, as he says himself, takes a very low opin- 
 ion of mankind, and, in consequence, finds this 
 a capital world to live in." 
 
 "I should hate the fellow." 
 
 "Not if you met him. lie can be very com- 
 panionable, though I never saw any one take less 
 trouble to please. He is popular almost every 
 where." 
 
 " I know I should hate him." 
 
 "My cousin Nina thought the same, and de- 
 clared from the mere sight of his photograph that 
 he was false and treacherous, and Heaven knows 
 what else besides, and now she'll not sutler a 
 I word in his disparagement. She began exactly 
 las you say you would, by a strong prejudice 
 | against him. I remember, the day be came down 
 here, her manner toward him was more than 
 distant, and I told my sister Kate how it of- 
 fended me, and Kate only smiled and said, 
 ' Have a little patience, Dick.'" 
 
 "And you took the advice? You did have a 
 little patience?" 
 
 "Yes; and the end is, they are linn friends. 
 I'm not sure they don't correspond." 
 
 "' Is there love in the case, then P" 
 
 "That is what I can not make out. So far 
 
 as I know either of them, there is no trustful- 
 ness in their dispositions ; each of them mast see 
 
 into the nature of the other. 1 have beard doc 
 Atlee say, 'With that woman for a wife, a man i 
 might safely bet on his BUCCCSS in life.' And she 
 herself one day owned, ' If a girl was obligt d to 
 
 marry a man without sixpence, she might take 
 ' Atlee.'" 
 
 "So — I have it; they will be man and wife 
 . vet !" 
 
134 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 " Who knows ! Have another weed ?" 
 
 Gorman declined the offered cigar, and again 
 a pause in the conversation followed. At last 
 he suddenly said, "She told me she thought she 
 would many Walpole. " 
 
 " She told you that ? How did it come about 
 to make you such a confidence?" 
 
 "Just this way: I was getting a little — not 
 spooney, but attentive, and rather liked hanging 
 after her, and in one of our walks in the wood — 
 and there was no flirting at the time between us 
 — she suddenly said, ' I don't think you are half 
 a bad fellow, lieutenant. ' ' Thanks for the com- 
 pliment,' said I, coldly. She never heeded my 
 remark, but went on. ' I mean, in fact, that if 
 you had something to live for, and somebody to 
 care about, there is just the sort of stuff in you 
 to make you equal to both.' Not exactly know- 
 ing what I said, and half, only half in earnest, 
 I answered, 'Why can I not have one to care 
 for ?' » And I looked tenderly into her eyes as I 
 spoke. She did not wince under my glance. 
 Her face was calm, and her color did not change, 
 and she was full a minute before she said, with 
 a faint sigh, ' I suppose I shall marry Cecil Wal- 
 pole.' 'Do yon mean,' said I, 'against your 
 will ?' ' Who told you I had a will, Sir ?' said 
 she, haughtily ; ' or that, if I had, I should now 
 be walking here in this wood alone with you? 
 No, no,' added she, hurriedly, 'you can not un- 
 derstand me. There is nothing to be offended 
 at. Go and gather me some of those wild flow- 
 ers, and we'll talk of something else.' " 
 
 "How like her! — how like her!" said Dick, 
 and then looked sad and pondered. " I was 
 very near falling in love with her myself," said 
 he, after a considerable pause. 
 
 "She has a way of curing a man if he should 
 get into such an indiscretion," muttered Gor- 
 man ; and there was bitterness in his voice as he 
 spoke. 
 
 "Listen! listen to that!" and from the open 
 window of the house there came the prolonged 
 cadence of a full, sweet voice, as Nina was sing- 
 ing an Irish ballad air. " That's for my father : 
 'Kathleen Mavourneen' is one of his favorites, 
 and she can make him cry over it." 
 
 " I'm not very soft-hearted," muttered Gor- 
 man, "but she gave me such a sense of fullness 
 in the throat, like choking, the other day, that I 
 vowed to myself I'd never listen to that song 
 again." . 
 
 "It is not her voice — it is not the music; 
 there is some witchery in the woman herself that 
 does it!" cried Dick, almost fiercely. " Take a 
 walk with her in the wood, saunter down one of j 
 these alleys in the garden, and I'll be shot if 
 your heart will not begin to beat in another fash- j 
 ion, and your brain to weave all sorts of bright 
 fancies, in which she will form the chief figure ; 
 and though you'll be half inclined to declare i 
 your love, and swear that you can not live with- j 
 out her, some terror will tell you not to break 
 the spell of your delight, but to go on walking ' 
 there at her side and hearing her words just as 
 though that ecstasy could last forever." 
 
 "I suspect you are in love with her," said 
 O'Shea, dryly. 
 
 " Not now, not now: and I'll take care not to 
 have a relapse," said he, gravely. 
 
 " How do you mean to manage that?" 
 
 "The only one way it is possible — not to see 
 
 her, nor to hear her; not to live in the same 
 land with her. I have made up my mind to go 
 to Australia. I don't well know what to do 
 when I get there ; but whatever it be, and what- 
 ever it cost me to bear, I shall meet it without 
 shrinking, for there will be no old associates to 
 look on and remark upon my shabby clothes and 
 broken boots." 
 
 "What will the passage cost you ?" asked Gor- 
 man, eagerly. 
 
 "I have ascertained that for about fifty pounds 
 I can land myself in Melbourne, and if I have a 
 ten-pound note after, it is as much as I mean to 
 provide." 
 
 " If I can raise the money, I'll go with you," 
 said O'Shea. 
 
 " Will you? is this serious? is it a promise?" 
 
 "I pledge my word on it. I'll go over to the 
 Barn to-day and see my aunt. I thought, up to 
 this, I could not bring myself to go there, but I 
 will now. It is for the last time in my life, and I 
 must say good-by, whether she helps me or not." 
 
 "You'll scarcely like to ask her for money," 
 said Dick. 
 
 "Scarcely — at all events, I'll see her, and I'll 
 tell her that I'm going away, with no other 
 thought in my mind than of all the love and af 
 fection she had for me — worse luck mine that I 
 have not got them still." 
 
 " Shall I walk over with — Would you rather 
 be alone V" 
 
 "I believe so; I think I should like to be 
 alone." 
 
 "Let us meet, then, on this spot to-morrow, 
 and decide what is to be done ?" 
 
 " Agreed," cried O'Shea; and with a warm 
 shake-hands to ratify the pledge, they parted; 
 Dick walking toward the lower part of the gar- 
 den, while O'Shea turned toward the house. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 A SCRAPE. 
 
 We have all of us felt how depressing is the 
 sensation felt in a family circle in the first meet- 
 ing after the departure of their guests. The 
 friends who have been staying some time in 
 your house not only bring to the common 
 stock their share of pleasant converse and com- 
 panionship, but, in the quality of strangers, they 
 exact a certain amount of effort for their amuse- 
 ment which is better for him who gives than for 
 the recipient, and they impose that small reserve 
 which excludes the purely personal inconven- 
 iences and contrarieties, which unhappily in sti ict- 
 ly family intercourse have no small space allotted 
 them for discussion. 
 
 It is but right to say that they who benefit 
 most by, and most gratefully acknowledge, this 
 boon of the visitors are the voting. The elders, 
 sometimes more disposed to indolence than effort, 
 sometimes irritable at the check essentially put 
 upon many little egotisms of daily use, and oft- 
 ener than either, perhaps, glad to get back to the 
 old groove of home discussion, unrestrained by 
 the presence of strangers — the elders, I say, are 
 now and then given to express a most ungracious 
 gratitude for being once again to themselves, and 
 free to lie as confidential and outspoken and dis- 
 agreeable as their hearts desire. 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 I.::, 
 
 
 The dinner at Kflgobbin Castle on the day I 
 speak of consisted solely of the Kearney family, 
 and except in the person of the old man himself, 
 no trace of pleasantry could be detected. Kate 
 had her own share of anxieties. A number of 
 notices had been served by refractory tenants for 
 demands they were about to prefer for improve- 
 ments under the new land act. The passion for 
 litigation so dear to the Irish peasant's, heart — 
 that sense of having something to be quibbled 
 for so exciting to the imaginative nature of the 
 Celt — had taken possession of all the tenants on 
 the estate, and even the well-to-do and the satis- 
 fied were now bestirring themselves to think if 
 they had not some grievance to be turned into 
 profit, and some possible hardship to be discount- 
 ed into an abatement. 
 
 Dick Kearney, entirely preoccupied by the 
 thought of his intended journey, already began 
 to feel that the things of home touched him no 
 longer. A few months more and he should be 
 far away from Ireland and her interests, and why 
 should he harass himself about the contests of 
 party or the balance of factions, which never 
 again could have any bearing on his future life? 
 His whole thought was what arrangement he 
 
 could make with his father by which, fur a lit- 
 tle present assistance, he might surrender all his 
 right un the entail, and give up Kilgobbin forever. 
 As for Nina, her complexities were too many 
 and too much interwoven for our investigation, 
 and there were thoughts of all the various per- 
 sons she had met in Ireland, mingled with scenes 
 of the past, and. more strangely still, tin' people 
 
 placed in situations and connections which by no 
 likelihood should they ever have occupied. I'll" 
 
 thought that the little comedy of everyday lite, 
 which abe relished immensely, "as now to cease 
 
 for lack of actors made her Berious — almost sad 
 — and she seldom spoke during the meal. 
 
 At Lord Kilgobbin's request that they would 
 not leave him to take his wine alone, they drew 
 their chairs round the dining-room tire ; but, ex- 
 
 cept the bright glow of the ruddy turf and the 
 
 pleasant look of the old man himself, there was 
 
 little that Bmacked of the agreeable fireside. 
 
 '• What has come overyou girls this evening?" 
 said the old man. "Arc you in love, or has the 
 man that ought to be in love with either of you 
 
 discovered it was only a mistake he was making?" 
 
 •• A>k Nina. Sir,' said Kate, gravely. 
 
 "Perhaps you are right, uncle," .-aid Nina, 
 dreamily. 
 
 "In which of my guesses — the first or the 
 last ?" 
 
 "Don't puzzle me. Sir. for I have no head for 
 a subtile distinction. I only meant to say it is 
 not so easy to he in love without mistakes. You 
 mistake realities and traits for something not a 
 bit like them, and you mistake yourself by im- 
 agining that you mind them." 
 
 " I don't think I understand you," said the 
 old man. 
 
 " Very likely not, Sir. I do not know if I had 
 a meaning that I could explain." 
 
 "Nina wants to tell you, my lord, that the 
 right man has not come forward yet. and she 
 does not know whether she'll keep the place open 
 in her heart for him any longer," said Dick, with 
 a half-malicious glance. 
 
 "That terrible cousin Dick! nothing escapes 
 him." said Nina, with a faint smile. 
 
 "Is there any more in the newspapers about 
 that scandal of the government ?" cried the old 
 man, turning to Kate. " Is there not going to 
 be some inquiry as to whether his Excellency 
 wrote to the Fenians?" 
 
 "There are a few words here, papa," cried 
 Kate, opening the paper. "In reply to the 
 question of Sir Barnes Malone as to the late 
 communications alleged to have passed between 
 the head of the Irish government and the head- 
 centre of the Fenians, the Right Honorable the 
 First Lord of the Treasury said, 'That the ques- 
 tion would he more properly addressed to the 
 
 noble lord the Secretary tor Ireland, who was 
 
 not then in the House. Meanwhile, Sir." contin- 
 
 I tied he, 'I will take on myself the responsibility of 
 
 Baying that in this, as in a variety of other cases, 
 
 the zeal of party has greatly outstripped the dis- 
 | cretiou that should govern political warfare. The 
 exceptional state of a nation, in which the admin- 
 istration of justice mainly depends on those aids 
 which a rigid morality might disparage — the so- 
 cial state of a people whose integrity calls for the 
 
 application of means the most certain to dissemi- 
 nate distrust and disunion — are facts which con- 
 stitute reasons for political action that, however 
 assailable in the mere abstract, the mind of States- 
 manlike form will at once accept as solid and 
 effective, and to reject which would only show 
 
 that, in overlooking the consequences of senti 
 ment, a man can ignore the most vital interests 
 
 of his country.' " 
 
 •• Docs he say that they wrote to Donogan?" 
 cried Kilgobbin, whose patience had been sorely 
 pushed by the Premier's exordium. 
 
 •• Let me read on, papa." 
 
 " Ski]) all that, and get down to a simple 
 question and an>wcr, Kitty; don't read the long 
 
 sentences." 
 
 "This is how he winds up. papa. ' I trust I 
 have now. Sir, satisfied the Iloii-e that there are 
 abundant reasons w by this Correspondence should 
 not be produced on the table, while I have fur- 
 
136 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 ther justified my noble friend for a course of ac- I 
 tion in which the humanity of the man takes no i 
 lustre from the glory of the statesman' — then I 
 there are some words in Latin — 'and the right 
 hon. gentleman resumed his seat amidst loud 
 cheers, in which some of the Opposition were 
 heard to join. ' " 
 
 " I want to be told, after all, did they write 
 the letter to say Donogan was to be let escape ?" 
 
 " Would it have been a great crime, uncle?" 
 said Nina, artlessly. 
 
 "I'm not going into that. I'm only asking 
 what the people over us say is the best way to 
 govern us. I'd like to know, once for all, what 
 was wrong and what was right in Ireland." 
 
 " Has not the Premier just told you, Sir," re- 
 plied Nina, " that it is always the reverse of 
 what obtains every where else ?" 
 
 "I have had enough of it, anyhow," cried 
 Dick, who, though not intending it before, now 
 was carried away by a momentary gust of pas- 
 sion to make the avowal. 
 
 " Have you been in the cabinet all this time, 
 then, without our knowing it ?" asked Nina, 
 archly. 
 
 " It is not of the cabinet I was speaking, 
 mademoiselle. It was of the country." And he 
 answered haughtily. 
 
 "And where would you go, Dick, and find 
 better ?" said Kate. 
 
 " Any where. I should find better in Amer- 
 ica, in Canada, in the far West, in New Zealand 
 — but I mean to try in Australia." 
 
 " And what will you do when you get there?" 
 asked Kilgobbin, with a grim humor in his look. 
 
 "Do tell me, Cousin Dick, for who knows 
 that it might not suit me also ?" 
 
 Young Kearney filled his glass, and drained it 
 without speaking. At last he said, "It will be 
 for you, ISir, to say if I make the trial. It is 
 clear enough I have no course open to me here. 
 For a few hundred pounds, or, indeed, for any 
 thing you like to give me, you get rid of me for- 
 ever. It will be the one piece of economy my 
 whole life comprises." 
 
 " Stay at home, Dick, and give to your own 
 country the energy you are willing to bestow on 
 a strange land," said Kate. 
 
 "And labor side by side with the peasant I 
 have looked down upon since I was able to walk. " 
 
 " Don't look down on him, then — do it no 
 longer. If you would treat the first stranger you 
 met in the bush as your equal, begin the Chris- 
 tian practice in your own country." 
 
 "But he needn't do that at all," broke in the 
 old man. " If he would take to strong shoes and 
 early rising here at Kilgobbin, he need never go 
 to Geelong for a living. Your great-grandfa- 
 thers lived here for centuries, and the old house 
 that sheltered them is still standing. " 
 
 " What should I stay for — " He had got 
 thus far when his eyes met Nina's, and he 
 stopped and hesitated, and, as a deep blush cov- 
 ered his face, faltered out, " Gorman O'Shea 
 says he is ready to go with me, and two fellows 
 with less to detain them in their own country 
 would be hard to find. " 
 
 "O'Shea will do well enough," said the old 
 man; "he was not brought up to kid-leather 
 boots and silk linings in his great-coat. There's 
 stuff in him, and if it comes to sleeping under a 
 hay-stack or dining on a red herring he'll not rise 
 
 up with rheumatism or heart-burn. And, what's 
 better than all, he'll not think himself a hero be- 
 cause he mends his own boots or lights his own 
 kitchen fire." 
 
 ' ' A letter for your honor, " said the servant, 
 entering with a very informal-looking note on 
 coarse paper, and fastened with a wafer. " The 
 gossoon, Sir, is waiting for an answer ; he run 
 every mile from Moate." 
 
 " Read it, Kitty," said the old man, not heed- 
 ing the servant's comment. 
 
 "It is dated ' Moate Jail, 7 o'clock, ' " said 
 Kitty, as she read : 
 
 " 'Dear Sir, — I have got into a stupid scrape, 
 and have been committed to jail. Will you come, 
 or send some one to bail me out ? The thing is 
 a mere trifle, but the " being locked up" is very 
 hard to bear. Yours always, G. O'Shea."' 
 
 " Is this more Fenian work ?" cried Kilgobbin. 
 
 " I'm certain it is not, Sir," said Dick. "Gor- 
 man O'Shea has no liking for them, nor is he 
 the man to sympathize with what he owns he 
 can not understand. It is a mere accidental 
 row. " 
 
 " At all events, we must see to set him at lib- 
 erty. Order the gig, Dick, and while they are 
 putting on the harness I'll finish this decanter 
 of port. If it wasn't that we're getting retired 
 shop-keepers on the bench we'd not see an O'Shea 
 sent to prison like a gossoon that stole a bunch 
 of turnips." 
 
 "What has he been doing, I wonder?" said 
 Nina, as she drew her arm within Kate's and 
 left the room. 
 
 " Some loud talk in the bar parlor, perhaps," 
 was Kate's reply, and the toss of her head as she 
 said it implied more even than the words. 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 "how it befell." 
 
 While Lord Kilgobbin and his son are plod- 
 ding along toward Moate with a horse not long 
 released from the harrow, and over a road which 
 the late rains had sorely damaged, the moment 
 is not inopportune to explain the nature of the 
 incident, small enough in its way, that called on 
 them for this journey at night-fall. It befell that 
 when Miss Betty, indignant at her nephew's de- 
 fection, and outraged that he should descend to 
 call at Kilgobbin, determined to cast him oft" for- 
 ever, she also resolved upon a project over which 
 she had long meditated, and to which the con- 
 versation at her late dinner greatly predisposed 
 her. 
 
 The growing unfertility of the land, the sturdy 
 rejection of the authority of the Church, mani- 
 fested in so many ways by the people, had led 
 Miss O'Shea to speculate more on the insecurity 
 of landed property in Ireland than all the long 
 list of outrages scheduled at Assizes, or all the 
 burning haggards that ever flared in a wintry 
 sky. Her notion was to retire into some relig- 
 ious sisterhood, and, away from life and its cares, 
 to pass her remaining years in holy meditation 
 and piety. She would have liked to have sold 
 her estate, and endowed some house or convent 
 with the proceeds, but there were certain legal 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 137 
 
 difficulties that stood in t!ic way, and her law 
 agent, M'Keown, must lie seen and conferred 
 with about these. 
 
 Her moods of passion were usually so very 
 
 fiolent that Bhe would stop at nothing; and in 
 the torrent of her anger Bhe would deride on a 
 course of action which would color a whole 
 
 lifetime. < >u the |>re>ent occasion her firs! step 
 was t,i write ami acquaint M'Keown thai she 
 would be at Moodie's Hotel. Dominick Street, 
 
 the same evening, and begged he might call 
 
 there at eight or nine o'clock, as her business 
 with him was pressing. Her next care was to 
 
 let the house and lands oft ►'Shea's Barn to Peter 
 
 Gill, for the term of one year, at a rent scarcely 
 more than nominal, the said Gill binding him- 
 
 selfto maintain the gardens, the shrubberies, and 
 all the ornamental plantings in their accustomed 
 order and condition. In fact, the extreme mod- 
 eration of the rent was to he recompensed by the 
 large space allotted to unprofitable land, and the 
 great care he was pledged to exercise in its pres- 
 ervation; and while nominally the tenant, so! 
 manifold were the obligations imposed on him, | 
 he was in reality very little other than the care- 
 taker of O'Shea'a Earn and its dependencies. 
 No femes were to he altered, or boundaries 
 changed. All the copses of young timber were 
 to be carefully protected by palings as heretofore, 
 and even the ornamental cattle — the short-horns, 
 and the Alderheys, and a few favorite "Kerries" ; 
 — were to be kept on the allotted paddocks ; and 
 to old Kattoo herself was allotted a loose box, 
 with a small field attached to it, where she might 
 saunter at will, and ruminate over the less happy 
 quadrupeds that had to work for their subsist- 
 ence. 
 
 Now though Miss Betty, in the full torrent of 
 her anger, had that much of method in her mad- 
 ness to remember the various details whose in- 
 terests were the business of her daily life, and so 
 far made provision for the future of her pet cows 
 and horses and dogs and Guinea-fowls, so that 
 if she should ever resolve to return she should 
 find all as site had left it — the short paper of 
 agreement by which she accepted Gill as her 
 tenant was drawn up by her own hand, unaided 
 by a lawyer, and, whether from the intemperate 
 haste of the moment or an unbounded confidence j 
 in Gill's honesty and fidelity, was not only care- 
 lessly expressed, but worded in a way that im- 
 plied how her trustfulness exonerated her from 
 any thing beyond the expression of what she 
 wished for and what she believed her tenant 
 would strictly perform. Gill's repeated phrase 
 of "whatever her honor's ladyship liked" had 
 followed every sentence as sle- read the docu- 
 ment aloud to him, and the only real puzzle she 
 had was to explain to the poor man's simple 
 comprehension that she was not making a haul 
 bargain with him. hut treating him handsomely 
 and in all confidence 
 
 Shrewd and sharp as the old lady was, versed 
 in the habits of the people, and long trained to 
 suspect a certain air of dullness, by which, when 
 asking the explanation of a point, they watch, 
 with a native casuistry, to see what Haw or clonk 
 may open an equivocal meaning or intention, 
 she was thoroughly convinced by the simple and 
 unreasoning concurrence this humble man gave 
 to every proviso, and the hearty assurance he al- 
 ways gave '• that her honor knew what was best : 
 
 God reward and keep her long in the way to do 
 
 it!"— with all this. Bliss O'Shea had not accom- 
 plished the first stage of her journey to Dublin 
 when Peter Gill was seated in the office of Pal 
 M'Kvoy. the attorney at Moate. a smart practi- 
 tioner, who had done more to foster litigation 
 between tenant and landlord than all the "griev- 
 ances" that ever were placarded by the press. 
 
 "When did you get this. Peter?" said the at- 
 torney, as he looked about, unable to find a date. 
 
 "This morning. Sir, just before she started." 
 
 " You'll have to come before a magistrate and 
 make an oath of the date; and, by my conscience, 
 it's worth rhe trouble." 
 
 " Why, Sir, what's in it ?" cried Peter, eagerly. 
 
 "I'm no lawyer if she hasn't given you a clear 
 possession of the place, subject to certain trusts, 
 and even for the non- performance of these 
 there is no penalty attached. When Counselor 
 Holmes comes down at the Assizes I'll lay a case 
 before him, and I'll wager a trifle, Peter, you 
 will turn out to he an estated gentleman." 
 
 "Blood alive!" was all Peter could utter. 
 
 Though the conversation that ensued occupied 
 more than an hour, it is not necessary that we 
 should repeat what occurred, nor state more 
 than the fact that Peter went home fully assured 
 that if O'Shea's Barn was not his own indisputa- 
 bly, it would be very hard to dispossess him, and 
 that, at all events, the occupation was secure to 
 him for the present. The importance that the 
 law always attaches to possession .Mr. M'Kvoy 
 took care to impress on Gill's mind, and he fully 
 convinced him that a forcible seizure of the prem- 
 ises was far more to be apprehended than the 
 slower process of a suit and a verdict. 
 
 It was about the third week after this opinion 
 had been given when young O'Shea walked over 
 from Eilgobbin Castle to the Barn, intending to 
 see his aunt and take his farewell of her. 
 
 Though be had steeled his heart against the 
 emotions such a leave-taking was likely to evoke, 
 he was in no wise prepared for the feelings the 
 old place itself would call up; and as he opened 
 a little wicket that led by a shrubbery walk to 
 the cottage he was glad to throw himself on the 
 first seat he could find, and wait till his heart 
 could beat more measuredly. What a strange 
 thing was life — at least that conventional life 
 we make for ourselves — was bis thought now. 
 " Here am I ready to cross the globe, to be the 
 servant, the laborer, of some rude settler in the 
 wilds of Australia, and yet I can not be the 
 herdsman here, and tend the cattle in the scenes 
 that I love, where every tree, every bush, every 
 shady nook, and every running stream is dear to 
 me. I can not serve my own kith and kin, but 
 must seek my bread from the Stranger I This is 
 our glorious civilization. I should like to hear 
 in what consists its marvelous advantage." 
 
 And then he began to think of those men of 
 whom he had often heard, gentlemen ami men 
 
 of refinement, who bad gone out to Australia. 
 
 and who. in all the drudgery of daily labor — 
 herding cattle on the plains, or conducting droves 
 of horses long miles away — still managed to re- 
 tain the habits of their better days, and by the 
 instinct of the breeding, which had become a 
 nature, to keep intact in their hearts the thoughts 
 
 and the. sympathies and the affections that made 
 them gentlemen. 
 
 "If my dear aunt only knew me as I know 
 
138 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 myself, she would let me stay here and serve her I 
 as the humblest laborer on her land. I can see 
 no indignity in being poor and faring hardly. I i 
 have known coarse food and coarse clothing, 
 and I never found that they either damped my ' 
 courage or soured my temper/' 
 
 It might not seem exactly the appropriate mo- 
 ment to have bethought him of the solace of 
 companionship in such poverty, but somehow 
 his thoughts did take that flight, and, unwar- 
 rantable as was the notion, he fancied himself 
 returning at night-fall to his lowly cabin, and a 
 certain girlish figure, whom our reader knows as 
 Kate Kearney, standing watching for his coming. 
 
 There was no one to be seen about as he ap- 
 proached the house. The hall door, however, I 
 lay open. He entered and passed on to the lit- 
 tle breakfast parlor on the left. The furniture | 
 was the same as before, but a coarse fustian 
 jacket was thrown on the back of a chair, and | 
 a clay pipe and a paper of tobacco stood on the 
 table. While he was examining these objects 
 with some attention a very ragged urchin of 
 some ten or eleven years entered the room with 
 a furtive step, and stood watching him. From '. 
 this fellow all that he could hear was that Miss ! 
 Betty was gone away, and that Peter was at the 
 Kilbeggan market, and though he tried various ' 
 questions, no other answers than these were to | 
 be obtained. Gorman now tried to see the 
 drawing-room and the library, but these, as well 
 as the dining-room, were all locked. He next 
 essayed the bedrooms, but with the same unsuc- 
 eess" At length he turned to his own well- 
 known corner — the well - remembered little 
 "green room" — which he loved to think his I 
 own. This too was locked ; but Gorman re- 
 membered that by pressing the door underneath | 
 with his walking-stick he could lift the bolt from 
 the old-fashioned receptacle that held it, and 
 open the door. Curious to have a last look at a 
 spot dear by so many memories, he tried the 
 old artifice, and succeeded. 
 
 He had still on his watch-chain the little key 
 of an old marquetry cabinet, where he was wont 
 to write; and now he was determined to write 
 a last letter to his aunt from the old spot, and 
 send her his good-by from the very corner where 
 he had often come to wish her "good-night." 
 
 He opened the window and walked out on the 
 little wooden balcony, from which the view ex- j 
 tended over the lawn and the broad belt of wood 
 that fenced the demesne. The Sliebh Bloom j 
 Mountain shone in the distance, and in the calm 
 of an evening sunlight the whole picture had 
 something in its silence and peacefulness of al- , 
 most rapturous charm. 
 
 Who is there among us that has not felt in 
 walking through the room of some uninhabited 
 house, with every appliance of human comfort 
 strewn about, ease and luxury within, wavy trees ' 
 and sloping lawn or eddying waters without — 
 who, in seeing all these, has not questioned him- 
 self as to why this should be deserted? and why 
 is there none to taste and feel all the blessedness 
 of such a lot as life here should offer? Is not 
 the world full of these places ? Is not the puzzle 
 of this query of all lands and of all peoples ? 
 That ever-present delusion of what we should do, J 
 what be, if we were aught other than ourselves 
 — how happy, how contented, how unrepining, 
 and how good : ay, even our moral nature comes 
 
 into the compact — this delusion, I say, besets 
 most of us through life, and we never weary of 
 believing how cruelly fate has treated us, and 
 how unjust destiny has been to a variety of good 
 gifts and graces which are doomed to die un- 
 recognized and unrequited. 
 
 I will not go to the length of saying that Gor- 
 man O'Shea's reflections went thus far, though 
 they did go to the extent of wondering why his 
 aunt had left this lovely spot, and asking himself 
 again and again where she could possibly have 
 found any thing to replace it. 
 
 "My "dearest aunt," wrote he, "in my own 
 old room, at the dear old desk, and on the spot 
 knitted to my heart by happiest memories, I sit 
 down to send you my last good-by ere I leave 
 Ireland forever. 
 
 " It is in no mood of passing fretfulness or 
 impatience that I resolve to go and seek my for- 
 tune in Australia. As I feel now, believing you 
 are displeased with me, I have no heart to go 
 further into the question of my own selfish inter- 
 ests, nor say why I resolve to give up soldiering, 
 and why I turn to a new existence. Had I been 
 to you what I have hitherto been — had I the as- 
 surance that I possessed the old claim on your 
 love which made me regard you as a dear moth- 
 er — I should tell you of every step that lias led 
 me to this determination, and how carefully and 
 anxiously I tried to study what might be the 
 turning-point of my life." 
 
 When he had written thus far, and his eyes 
 had already grown glassy with the tears which 
 would force their way across them, a heavy foot 
 was heard on the stairs, the door was burst rude- 
 ly open, and Peter Gill stood before him. 
 
 No longer, however, the old peasant in shabby 
 clothes, and with his look half shy, half syco- 
 phantic, but vulgarly dressed in broadcloth and 
 bright buttons, a tall hat on his head, and a 
 crimson cravat round his neck. His face was 
 flushed, and his eye flashing and insolent, so 
 that O'Shea only feebly recognized him by his 
 voice. 
 
 "Yon thought you'd be too quick for me, 
 young man," said the fellow; and the voice in 
 its thickness showed he had been drinking, "and 
 that you would do your bit of writing there be- 
 fore I'd be back, but I was up to you." 
 
 " I really do not know what you mean," cried 
 O'Shea, rising; "and as it is only too plain you 
 have been drinking, I do not care to ask you." 
 
 "Whether I was drinking or no is my own 
 business ; there's none to call me to account 
 now. I'm here in my own house, and I order 
 you to leave it, and if you don't go by the way 
 you came in, by my soul you'll go by that win- 
 dow !" A loud bang of his stick on the floor 
 gave the emphasis to the last words ; and wheth- 
 er it was the action or the absurd figure of the 
 man himself overcame O'iShea, he burst out in a 
 hearty laugh as he surveyed him. " I'll make 
 it no laughing matter to you," cried Gill, wild 
 with passion ; and, stepping to the door, he cried 
 out, "Come up, boys, every man of ye: come 
 up and see the chap* that's trying to turn me out 
 of my holding." 
 
 The sound of voices and the tramp of feet out- 
 side now drew O'Shea to 'the window, and, pass- 
 ing out on the balcony, hs saw a considerable 
 crowd of country people assembled beneath. 
 They were all armed with sticks, and had that 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 189 
 
 lm.k of mischief and daring so unmistakable in 
 n mob. As the young man stood looking at 
 them, some one pointed him oat to the rest, and 
 a wild yell, mingled \\irh hisses, now broke from 
 the crowd, lie was turning away from the spot 
 
 "Stand back, yOU Old fool, and let me pBSB," 
 
 cried ( 1'Hiea. 
 
 "Touch me if you dare; onlj laj one finger 
 on me in my own bouse," said the fellow; and 
 
 lie grinned almost in liis tare as lie spoke. 
 
 - 
 
 in disgust when he found that Gill had station- I "Stand back, "said Gorman; and, suiting the 
 ed himself at the window, and harred the pas- action to the word, he raised Ins arm to make 
 BBge. I space for him to pass out. (Jill, no sooner did 
 
 "The boy8 want another look nt ye," said he feel the arm graze his chest, than he struck 
 GUI, insolently ; "go back and show yourself: O'Shea across the face; and though the blow 
 it is not every day they see an informer." | was that of an old man. the insult was so mad- 
 
140 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 dening that O'Shea, seizing him by the arms, 
 dragged him out upon the balcony. 
 
 " He's going to throw the old man over," cried 
 several of those beneath, and, amidst the tumult 
 of voices, a number soon rushed up the stairs 
 and out on the balcony, where the old fellow was 
 clinging to O'Shea's legs in his despairing attempt 
 to save himself. The struggle scarcely lasted 
 many seconds, for the rotten wood-work of the 
 balcony creaked and trembled, and at last gave 
 way with a crash, bringing the whole party to 
 the ground together. 
 
 A score of sticks rained the blows on the luck- 
 less young man, and each time that he tried to 
 rise he was struck back and rolled over by a 
 blow or a kick, till at length he lay still and 
 senseless on the sward, his face covered with 
 blood and his clothes in ribbons. 
 
 " Put him in a cart, boys, and take him off to 
 the jail," said the attorney, M'Evoy. "We'll 
 be in a scrape about all this if we don't make 
 him in the wrong." 
 
 His audience fully appreciated the counsel, and 
 while a few were busied in carrying old Gill to the 
 house — for a broken leg made him unable to reach 
 it alone — the others placed O'Shea on some straw 
 in a cart, and set out with him to Kilbeggan. 
 
 "It is not a trespass at all, "said M'Evoy. 
 " I'll make it a burglary and forcible entry, and 
 if he recovers at all, I'll stake my reputation I 
 transport him for seven years." 
 
 A hearty murmur of approval met the speech, 
 and the procession, with the cart at their head, 
 moved on toward the town. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 TWO J. P. S. 
 
 It was the Tory magistrate, Mr. Flood — the 
 same who had ransacked Walpole's correspond- 
 ence — before whom the informations were sworn 
 against Gorman O'Shea, and the old justice of 
 the peace was, in secret, not sorry to see the 
 question of land tenure a source of dispute and 
 quarrel among the very party who were always 
 •inveighing against the landlords. 
 
 When Lord Kilgobbin arrived at Kilbeggan it 
 was nigh midnight ; and as young O'Shea was at 
 that moment a patient in the jail infirmary, and 
 sound asleep, it was decided between Kearney 
 and his son that they would leave him undis- 
 turbed till the following morning. 
 
 Late as it was, Kearney was so desirous to 
 know the exact narrative of events that he re- 
 solved on seeing Mr. Elood at once. Though 
 Dick Kearney remonstrated with his father, and 
 reminded him that old Tom Flood, as he was 
 called, was a bitter Tory, had neither a civil word 
 nor a kind thought for his adversaries in politics, 
 Kearney was determined not to be turned from 
 his purpose by any personal consideration, and 
 being assured by the innkeeper that he was sure 
 to find Mr. Flood in his dining-room and over 
 his wine, he set out for the snug cottage at the 
 entrance of the town where the old justice of the 
 peace resided. 
 
 Just as he had been told, Mr. Flood was still 
 in the dinner-room, and with his guest, Tony 
 Adams, the rector, seated with an array of de- 
 canters between them. 
 
 "Kearney — Kearney!" cried Flood, as he 
 read the card the servant handed him. " Is it 
 the fellow who calls himself Lord Kilgobbin, I 
 wonder ?" 
 
 ' ' Maybe so, " growled Adams, in a deep gut- 
 tural, for he disliked the effort of speech. 
 
 "I don't know him, nor do I want to know 
 him. He is one of your half-and-half Liberals 
 that, to my thinking, are worse than the rebels 
 themselves! What is this here in pencil on the 
 back of the card ? ' Mr. K. begs to apologize 
 for the hour of his intrusion, and earnestly en- 
 treats a few minutes from Mr. Flood.' Show 
 him in, Philip, show him in; and bring some 
 fresh glasses." 
 
 Kearney made his excuses with a tact and po- 
 liteness which spoke of a time when he mixed 
 freely with the world, and old Flood was so aston- 
 ished by the ease and good-breeding of his visitor 
 that his own manner became at once courteous 
 and urbane. 
 
 " Make no apologies about the hour, Mr. 
 Kearney," said he. "An old bachelor's house 
 is never very tight in discipline. Allow me to 
 introduce Mr. Adams, Mr. Kearney — the best 
 preacher in Ireland, and as good a judge of port- 
 wine as of theology." 
 
 The responsive grunt of the parson was 
 drowned in the pleasant laugh of the others, as 
 Kearney sat down and filled his glass. In a 
 very few words he related the reason of his visit 
 to the town, and asked Mr. Flood to tell him 
 what he knew of the late misadventure. 
 
 " Sworn information, drawn up by that worthy 
 man, Pat M'Evoy, the greatest rascal in Europe, 
 and I hope I don't hurt you by saying it, Mr. 
 Kearney. Sworn information of a burglarious 
 entry and an aggravated assault on the premises 
 and person of one Peter Gill, another local bless- 
 ing — bad luck to him. The aforesaid — if I spoke 
 of him before — Gorman O'Shea having, suadente 
 diabo/o, smashed down doors and windows, pal- 
 isadings and palings, and broken open cabinets, 
 chests, cupboards, and other contrivances. In 
 a word, he went into another man's house, and 
 when asked what he did there, he threw the 
 proprietor out of the window. There's the whole 
 of it." 
 
 " Where was the house?" 
 
 "O'Shea's Barn." 
 
 "But, surely, O'Shea's Barn being the resi- 
 dence and property of his aunt, there was no 
 impropriety in his going there?" 
 
 "The informant states that the place was in 
 the tenancy of this said Gill, one of your own 
 people, Mr. Kearney. I wish you luck of him." 
 
 "I disown him. Root and branch: he is a 
 disgrace to any side. And where is Miss Bettv 
 O'Shea ?" 
 
 "In a convent or a monastery, they say. She 
 has turned abbess or monk ; but, upon my con- 
 science, from the little I've seen of her, if a 
 strong will and a plucky heart be the qualifica- 
 tions, she might be the Pope!" 
 
 "And are the young man's injuries serious? 
 Is he badly hurt? for they would not let me see 
 him at the jail." 
 
 " Serious, I believe they are. He is cut cru- 
 elly about the face and head, and his body bruised 
 all over. The finest peasantry have a taste for 
 kicking with strong brogues on them, Mr. Kear- 
 ney, that can not be equaled." 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 II! 
 
 "I wish, with all my heart, they'd kick the 
 English out of Ireland!'' cried Kearney, with a 
 savage energy. 
 
 '•Faith, ii' they go on governing us in the 
 present fashion, I do not say I'll make any great 
 objection. Eh, Adams?" 
 
 "Ma\ 1h- so! was the slow and very guttural 
 reply, as the tat man crossed his hands on his 
 waistcoat. 
 
 "I'm sick of them all, "Whigs and Tories.'' 
 said Kearney. 
 
 "Is not every Irish gentleman sick of them, 
 Mr. Kearney? Ain't you sick of being cheated 
 and cajoled, and ain't ■<-, Bick of being cheated 
 ami insulted? They seek to conciliate you by 
 outraging us. Don't you think we could settle 
 our own differences better among ourselves? It 
 was Philpot Oman said of the fleas in Man- 
 chester that if they'd all pulled together, they'd 
 have pulled him out of bed. Now, Mr. Kear- 
 ney, what if we all took to 'pulling together?'" 
 •• We can not get rid of the notion that we'd 
 be outjockeyed." said Kearney, slowly. 
 
 •• We know," cried the other, " that we should 
 be outnumbered, and that is worse. Eh, Adams?'' 
 "Ay!" sighed Adams, who did not desire to 
 be appealed to by either side. 
 
 " Now we're alone here, and no eavesdropper 
 near us, tell me fairly, Kearney, are you better 
 because we are brought down in the world ? Are 
 you richer — are you greater — are you happier?" 
 '•I believe we are, Mr. Flood, and I'll tell 
 you why I say so." 
 
 "I'll be shot if I hear you, that's all. Fill 
 your glass. That's old port that John Beresford 
 tasted in the Custom-house Docks seventy odd 
 years ago, and you are the only Whig living that 
 ever drank a drop of it!" 
 
 "I am proud to be the first exception, and 
 I go so far as to believe — I shall not be the 
 last!" 
 
 ' ' I'll send a few bottles over to that boy in 
 the infirmary. It can not but be good for him," 
 said Flood. 
 
 "Take care, for Heaven's sake: if he be 
 threatened with inflammation. Do nothing 
 without the doctor's leave." 
 
 " I wonder that the people who are so afraid 
 of inflammation are so fond of rebellion," said 
 he, sarcastically. 
 
 " Perhaps I could tell you that too — " 
 "No. do not — do not, I beseech you; reading 
 the Whig ministers' speeches has given me such 
 a disgust to all explanations, I'd rather concede 
 any thing than hear how it could be defended! 
 Apparently Mr. Disraeli is of my mind also, for 
 he won't support Paul Hartigan's motion." 
 "What was Ilartigan's motion?" 
 "For the papers, or the correspondence, or 
 whatever they called it, that passed between 
 Danesbury and Dan Donogan." 
 " But there was none." 
 
 "Is that all you know of it? They were as 
 thick as two thieves. It was 'Dear Dane' and 
 'Dear Dan' between them. ' Stop the shooting. 
 We want a light calender at the summer Assizes, 1 
 says one. ' You shall have forty thousand pounds 
 yearly for a Catholic college, if the House will 
 let us.' 'Thank you for nothing for the Catho- 
 lic college,' says Dan. ' We want our own Par- 
 liament and our own militia: free pardon for 
 political offenses.' What would you say to a 
 
 bill to make landlord-shooting manslaughter, 
 
 Mr. Kearney ?" 
 
 "Justifiable homicide, Mr. Bright called it 
 years ago; but the judges didn't see it." 
 
 "This Danesbury •muddle,' for that is the 
 name they give it, will lie hushed up, for lie has 
 got some Tory connections, and the lords are 
 never hard on one of their 'order,' so I hear. 
 Ilartigan is to be let have his talk out in the 
 House, anil as he is said to lie violent and indis- 
 creet, the Prime Minister will only reply to the 
 violence and the indiscretion, and lie will con- 
 clude by-saying that the noble Viceroy has begged 
 her Majesty to release him of the charge of the 
 Irish government, and though the cabinet have 
 urgently entreated him to remain and cany out 
 the wise policy of conciliation so happily begun 
 in Ireland, he is rooted in his resolve, and lie will 
 not Stay; and there will be cheers ! and when he 
 adds that Mr. Cecil Walpole, having shown his 
 great talents for intrigue, will lie sent back to the 
 fitting sphere — his old profession of diplomacy 
 — there will be laughter, for, as the minister sel- 
 dom jokes, the House will imagine this to be a 
 slip, and then, with every one in good humor — 
 but Paul Ilartigan, who will have to withdraw 
 his motion — the right honorable gentleman will 
 sit down, well pleased at his afternoon's work." 
 Kearney could not but laugh at the sketch of 
 a debate given with all the mimicry of tone and 
 mock solemnity of an old debater, and the two 
 men now became, by the bond of their geniality, 
 like old acquaintances. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Kearney, I won't say we'd do it 
 better on College Green, but we'd do it more 
 kindly, more courteously, and, above all, we'd be 
 less hypocritical in our inquiries. I believe we 
 try to cheat the devil in Ireland just as much as 
 our neighbors; but we don't pretend that we 
 are archbishops all the time we're doing it. 
 There's where we differ from the English." 
 
 "And who is to govern us," cried Kearney, 
 " if we have no Lord-Lieutenant ?" 
 
 "The Privy Council, the Lords Justices, or 
 maybe the Board of Works, who knows ? When 
 you are going over to Holyhead in the packet, 
 do you ever ask if the man at the wheel is decent, 
 or a born idiot, and liable to fits? Not a bit of 
 it. You know that there are other people to look 
 to this, and you trust, besides, that they'll land 
 you all safe." 
 
 "That's true," said Kearney, and he drained 
 his glass; "and now tell me one thing more. 
 How will it go with young O'Shea about this 
 scrimmage: will it lie serious?" 
 
 "Curtis, the chief constable, says it will be an 
 ugly affair enough. They'll swear hard, and 
 they'll try to make out a title to the land through 
 the, action of trespass: and if, as I hear, the 
 young fellow is a scamp and a bad lot — " 
 
 "Neither one nor the other," broke in Kear- 
 ney; "a- line a hov and as thorough a gentle- 
 man as there is in Ireland." 
 
 "And a hit of a Fenian, too," slowly inter- 
 posed Mood. 
 
 "Not that I know; I'm not sure that he fol- 
 lows the distinctions of party here; he is little 
 
 acquainted with Ireland. 
 
 " llo, ho! a Yankee sympathizer?" 
 
 " Not even that ; an Austrian soldier, a young 
 lieutenant of I.aneers, over here for hi.-, leave." 
 "And why couldn't he shoot, or course, or 
 
142 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 kiss tlie girls, or play at foot-ball, and not be 
 burning his fingers with th3 new land laws? 
 There's plenty of ways to amuse yourself in Ire- 
 land without throwing a man out of window. 
 Eh, Adams?" And Adams bowed his assent, 
 but did not utter a word. 
 
 "You are not going to open more wine?" re- 
 monstrated Kearney, eagerly. 
 
 '"It's done. Smell that, Mr. Kearney, "cried 
 Flood, as he held out a fresh-drawn cork at the 
 end of the screw. " Talk to me of clove pinks 
 and violets and carnations after that ? I don't 
 know whether you have any prayers in your 
 Church against being led into temptation." 
 
 " Haven't we?" sighed the other. 
 
 " Then all I say is, Heaven help the people up 
 at Oporto : they'll have more to answer for even 
 than most men." 
 
 It was nigh dawn when they parted, Kearney 
 muttering to himself as he sauntered back to the 
 inn, " If port like that is the drink of the Tories, 
 they must be good fellows with all their preju- 
 dices." 
 
 "I'll be shot if I don't like that rebel," said 
 Flood as he went to bed. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 BEFORE THE DOOR. 
 
 Though Lord Kilgobbin, when he awoke 
 somewhat late in the afternoon, did not exactly 
 complain of headache, he was free to admit that 
 his faculties were slightly clouded, and that his 
 memory was not to the desired extent retentive 
 of all that passed on the preceding night. In- 
 deed, beyond the fact — which he reiterated with 
 great energy— that "old Flood, Tory though he 
 was, was a good fellow, an excellent fellow, and 
 had a marvelous bin of port-wine," his son Dick 
 was totally unable to get any information from 
 him. '" Bigot, if you like, or Blue Protestant, and 
 
 all the rest of it ; but a fine hearty old soul, and 
 an Irishman to the heart's core!" This was the 
 sum of information which a two hours' close cross- 
 examination elicited ; and Dick was sulkily about 
 to leave the room in blank disappointment, when 
 the old man suddenly amazed him by asking: 
 " And do you tell me that you have been loun- 
 ging about the town all the morning, and have 
 learned nothing? Were you down to the jail? 
 Have you seen O'Shea? What's his account of 
 it ? Who began the row ? Has be any bones 
 broken ? Do you know any thing at all ?" cried 
 he, as the blank look of the astonished youth 
 | seemed to imply utter ignorance, as well as dis- 
 may. 
 
 " First of all," said Dick, drawing a long 
 breath, " I have not seen O'Shea : nobody is ad- 
 mitted to see him. His injuries about the head are 
 so severe the doctors are in dread of erysipelas." 
 
 " What if he had ? Have not every one of us 
 had the erysipelas some time or other ; and, 
 barring the itching, what's the great harm ?" 
 
 "The doctors declare that if it come they will 
 not answer for his life." 
 
 "They know best, and I'm afraid they know 
 why also. Oh dear, oh dear! if there's any 
 thing the world makes no progress in, it's the 
 science of medicine. Every body now dies of 
 what we all used to have when I was a boy ! 
 Sore throats, small-pox, colic, are all fatal since 
 they've found outGreek names for them, and with 
 their old vulgar titles they killed nobody." 
 
 "Gorman is certainly in a bad way, and Dr. 
 Rogan says it will be some days before he could 
 pronounce him out of danger." 
 
 "Can he be removed ? Can we take him back 
 with us to Kilgobbin?" 
 
 "That is utterly out of the question; he can 
 not be stirred, and requires the most absolute 
 rest and quiet. Besides that, there is another 
 difficulty : I don't know if they would permit us 
 to take him away." 
 
 " What ! do you mean refuse our bail ?" 
 
 "They have got affidavits to show old Gill's 
 life's in danger ; he is in high fever to-day, and 
 raving furiously ; and if be should die, M 'Evoy 
 declares that they'll be able to send bills for man- 
 slaughter, at least, before the grand jury." 
 
 "There's more of it!" cried Kilgobbin, with a 
 long whistle. "Is it Rogan swears that the 
 fellow is in danger?" 
 
 " No ; it's Tom Price, the dispensary doctor : 
 and, as Miss Betty withdrew her subscription last 
 year, they say he swore he'd pay her off for it." 
 
 "I know Tom, and I'll see to that," said 
 Kearney. "Are the affidavits sworn ?" 
 
 "No. They're drawn out. M'Evoy is copy- 
 ing them now; but they'll be ready by three 
 o'clock." 
 
 "I'll have Rogan to swear that the boy must 
 be removed at once. We'll take him over with 
 us ; and, once at Kilgobbin, they'll want a regi- 
 ment of soldiers if they mean to take him. It 
 is nigh twelve o'clock now, is it not ?" 
 
 " It is on the stroke of two. Sir." 
 
 " Is it possible? I believe I overslept myself 
 in the strange bed. Be alive now, Dick, and 
 take the 2.40 train to town. Call on M'Keown, 
 and find out where Miss Betty is stopping ; break 
 this business to her gently — for, with all that 
 damnable temper, she has a fine womanly heart ; 
 tell her the poor boy was not to blame at all; 
 
LORD KIUior.l'.IN. 
 
 143 
 
 that he went over to see her. and knew nothing 
 of the place being lei onl or hired; and tell her, 
 besides, that the blackguards that heat him were 
 not her own people at all, bnt villains from an- 
 other barony that old (iill brought oxer to work 
 
 ner in which the old man detailed all his direc- 
 tions one would have pronounced him a model 
 of orderly arrangement and ride. Having dis- 
 patched Dick to town, however, he began i<> be 
 
 think him of all the mailers on which he was 
 
 on short wages. .Mind that von say that, or we'll | desirous t<, [earn Mi-s < I'Slua's mind. Had she 
 
 have more law and more trouble — noticed to | 
 
 quit, and the devil knows what. I know .Miss 
 Hetty well, and she'd not leave a man on a town- j 
 land" if they raised a finger against one of her 
 name ! There now, you know what to do : go 
 and do it !" 
 
 To hear the systematic and peremptory man- I 
 
 really leased the Barn to this man (iill ; and if 
 BO, fa- what term? And was her quarrel with 
 her nephew of so serious a nature that she mighl 
 
 hesitate as to taking his side here— at least, till 
 she knew he was in the right; and then, wa- he 
 in the right? That was, though the last, the 
 
 most vital consideration of all. 
 
144 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 " I'd have thought of all these if the boy had 
 not flurried me so. These hot-headed fellows 
 have never room in their foolish brains for any 
 thing like consecutive thought ; they can just en- 
 tertain the one idea, and till they dismiss that they 
 can not admit another. Now he'll come back 
 by the next train, and bring me the answer to 
 one of my queries, if even that!" sighed he, as 
 he went on with his dressing. 
 
 "All this blessed business," muttered he to 
 himself, "comes of this blundering interference 
 with the land laws. Paddy hears that they have 
 given him some new rights and privileges, and 
 no mock-modesty of his own will let him lose any 
 of them, and so he claims every thing. Old ex- 
 perience had taught him that, with a bold heart 
 and a blunderbuss, he need not pay much rent ; 
 but Mr. Gladstone — long life to him — had said, 
 'We must do something for you.' Now what 
 could that be ? He'd scarcely go so far as to give 
 them out Minie' rifles or Chassepots ; though 
 arms of precision, as they call them, would have 
 put many a poor fellow out of pain — as Bob Ma- 
 grath said when he limped into the public-house 
 with a ball in his back, ' It's only a "healing 
 measure ;" don't make a fuss about it.'" 
 
 "Mr. Flood wants to see your honor when 
 you're dressed, " said the waiter, interrupting his 
 soliloquy. 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "Walking up and down, Sir, forenent the 
 door." 
 
 "Will ye say I'm coming down? I'm just 
 finishing a letter to the Lord Lieutenant," said 
 Kilgobbin, with a sly look to the man, who re- 
 turned the glance with its rival, and then left 
 the room. 
 
 "Will you not come in and sit down?" said 
 Kearney, as he cordially shook Flood's hand. 
 
 "I have only five minutes to stay, and with 
 your leave, Mr. Kearney, we'll pass it here;" 
 and, taking the other's arm, he proceeded to 
 walk up and down before the door of the inn. 
 
 " You know Ireland well — few men better, I am 
 told — and you have no need, therefore, to be told 
 how the rumored dislikes of party, the reported 
 jealousies and rancors of this set to that, influence 
 the world here. It will be a fine thing, therefore, to 
 show these people here that the Liberal Mr. Kear- 
 ney and that bigoted old Tory, Tom Flood, were 
 to be seen walking together, and in close confab. 
 It will show them, at all events, that neither of 
 us wants to make party capital out of this scrim- 
 mage ; and that he who wants to affront one of 
 us can not, on that ground at least, count upon 
 the other. Just look at the crowd that is watch- 
 ing us already ! There's a fellow neglecting the 
 sale of his pig to stare at us, and that young 
 woman has stopped gartering her stocking for 
 the last two minutes in sheer curiosity about us." 
 
 Kearney laughed heartily as he nodded assent. 
 
 "You follow me, don't you?" asked Flood. 
 "Well, then, grant me the favor I am about to 
 ask, and it will show me that you see all these 
 things as I do. This row may turn out more 
 seriously than we thought for. That scoundrel 
 Gill is in a high fever to-day — I would not say 
 that just out of spite the fellow would not die. 
 Who knows if it may not become a great case at 
 the assizes ? and if so, Kearney, let us have pub- 
 lic opinion with us. There are scores of men 
 who will wait to hear what you and I say of this 
 
 business. There are hundreds more who will 
 expect us to disagree. Let us prove to them 
 that this is no feud between Orange and Green ; 
 this is nothing of dispute between Whig and 
 Tory, or Protestant and Papist ; but a free fight, 
 where, more shame to them, fifty fell upon one. 
 Now what you must grant me is leave to send this 
 boy back to Kilgobbin in my own carriage, and 
 with my own liveries. There is not a peasant 
 cutting turf on the bog will not reason out his 
 own conclusions when he sees it. Don't refuse 
 me, for I have set my heart on it." 
 
 " I'm not thinking of refusing. I was only 
 wondering to myself what my daughter Kitty 
 j will say when she sees me sitting behind the blue 
 and orange liveries." 
 
 "You may send me back with the green flag 
 i over me the next day I dine with you!" cried 
 Flood ; and the compact was ratified. 
 
 "It is more than half past already," said 
 ! Flood. " We are to have a full bench at three : 
 so be ready to give your bail, and I'll have the 
 carriage at the corner of the street, and you shall 
 set off with the boy at once." 
 
 "I must say," said Kearney, "whatever be 
 your Tory faults, lukewarmness is not one of 
 them ! You stand to me like an old friend in all 
 this trouble." 
 
 "Maybe it's time to begin to forget old grudges. 
 Kearney, I believe in my heart neither of us is as 
 bad as the other thinks him. Are you aware that 
 they are getting affidavits to refuse the bail ?" 
 
 " I know it all ; but I have sent a man to 
 M'Evoy about a case that will take all his morn- 
 ing, and he'll be too late with his affidavits." 
 
 " By the time he is ready you and your charge 
 will be snug in Kilgobbin. And another thing, 
 Kearney — for I have thought of the whole mat- 
 ter — you'll take out with you that little vermin, 
 Price, the doctor, and treat him well. He'll be 
 as indiscreet as you wish, and be sure to give him 
 the opportunity. There, now, give me your most 
 affectionate grasp of the hand, for there's an at- 
 tentive public watching us." 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 Yottng O'Shea made the journey from Kil- 
 i beggan to Kilgobbin Castle in total uneonscious- 
 ■ ness. The symptoms had now taken the form 
 | which doctors call concussion ; and though to a 
 ! first brief question he was able to reply reason- 
 j ably and well, the effort seemed so exhausting 
 that to all subsequent queries he appeared utter- 
 I ly indifferent ; nor did he even by look acknowl- 
 edge that he heard them. 
 
 Perfect and unbroken quiet was enjoined as 
 I his best, if not his only, remedy ; and Kate gave 
 | up her own room for the sick man, as that most 
 remote from all possible disturbance, and away 
 from all the bustle of the house. The doctors 
 consulted on his case in the fashion that a coun- 
 I try physician of eminence condescends to con- 
 | suit with a small local practitioner. Dr. Rogan 
 pronounced his opinion, prophetically declared 
 the patient in danger, and prescribed his reme- 
 dies ; while Price, agreeing with every thing, and 
 even slavishly abject in his manner of concur- 
 rence, went about among the underlings of the 
 
LOUD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 I I i 
 
 household, saying, ''There's two fractures <>f the 
 frontal bone. lis trepanned he ought t<> be; 
 and when there's an inquest on the body I'll de- 
 clare I said si i." 
 
 Though nearly all the eare of providing for 
 
 the sick man's nursing fell to Kate Kearney, she 
 
 fulfilled the duty without attracting any notice 
 
 whatever, or appearing to feel as if any extra de- 
 mand were made upon her time or her attention : 
 BO much so that a careless observer might have 
 
 thought her far more interested in providing for 
 the reception of the aunt than in cares for the 
 nephew. 
 
 Dick Kearney had written to say that Miss 
 Betty was so overwhelmed with affliction at 
 young Gorman's mishap that she had taken to 
 bed, and could not he expected to be able to 
 travel for several days. She insisted, however, 
 on two telegrams daily to report on the hoy's 
 case, and asked which of the great Dublin celeb- 
 rities of physic should he sent down to see him. 
 
 '"They're all alike to me," said Kilgobbin; 
 " but if I was to choose, I think I'd say Dr. 
 Chute.'' 
 
 This was so far unlucky, since Dr. Chute had 
 then been dead about forty years, scarcely a jun- 
 ior of the profession having so much as heard 
 his name. 
 
 " We really want no one," said Rogan. " We 
 are doing most favorably in every respect. If 
 one of the young ladies would sit and read to 
 him, but not converse, it would be a service, 
 lie made the request himself this morning, and 
 I promised to repeat it." 
 
 A telegram, however, announced that Sir St. 
 Xavier Brennan would arrive the same evening, 
 and as Sir X. was physician in chief to the nuns 
 of the Bleeding Heart, there could be little doubt 
 whose orthodoxy had chosen him. 
 
 He came at nightfall — a fat, comely looking, 
 somewhat unctuous gentleman, with excellent 
 teeth, and snow-white hands, symmetrical and 
 dimpled like a woman's. He saw the patient, 
 questioned him slightly, and divined, without 
 waiting for it, what the answer should be. He 
 was delighted with llogan, pleased with Price, 
 but he grew actually enthusiastic over those 
 charming nurses, Nina and Kate. 
 
 '•With such sisters of charity to tend me, I'd 
 consent to pass my life as an invalid," cried he. 
 
 Indeed, to listen to him, it would seem that, 
 whether from the salubrity of the air, the peace- 
 ful quietude of the spot, the watchful kindness 
 and attention of the surrounders, or a certain 
 general air — an actual atmosphere of benevolence 
 and contentment around — there was no pleasure 
 of life could equal the delight of being laid up at 
 Kilgobbin. 
 
 '•I have a message for you from my old friend 
 Miss O'Shea," said he to Kate the fust moment 
 he had the opportunity of speaking with her 
 alone. "It is not necessary to tell you that I 
 neither know nor desire to know its import. Her 
 words were these: 'Tell my godchild to forgive 
 me if she still has any memory for some very 
 rude words I once spoke. Tell her that I have 
 been sorely punished for them since, and that 
 till I know I have her pardon I have no courage 
 to cross her doors.' This was my message, and 
 I was to bring back your answer." 
 
 "Tell her," cried Kate, warmly, "I have no 
 place in my memory but for the kindnesses she 
 
 has bestowed on me. and that I ask no better 
 
 boon from fortune than to be allowed to love her, 
 and to be worthy of her love." 
 
 " 1 will repeat every word you have told me. 
 
 and 1 am proud to he bearer of Buch a Bpeech. 
 May I presume, upon the casual confidence I 
 
 have thus acquired, to add one word for myself 
 
 —and it is as the doctor I would spuak ?" 
 
 " Speak freely. What is it ?" 
 
 "It is this, then : you young ladies keep your 
 watches in turn in the sick-room. The patient 
 is unlit for much excitement, and as I dare not 
 take the liberty of imposing a line of conduct 
 on Mademoiselle Kostalergi. 1 have resolved to 
 run the hazard with you .' Let hers be the task 
 of entertaining him : let her be the reader — and 
 he loves being read to — and the talker, and the 
 narrator of whatever goes on. To you be the 
 part of quiet watchfulness and care, to bathe the 
 heated brow or the burning hand, to hold the 
 cold cup to the parched lips, to adjust the pillow, 
 to temper the light, and renew the air of the sick- 
 room, but to speak seldom, if at all. Do you un- 
 derstand me?" 
 
 "Perfectly; and you are wise and acute in 
 your distribution of labor ; each of us has her tit- 
 ting station." 
 
 " I dared not have said this much to her ; my 
 doctor's instinct told me I might be frank with 
 
 " ^ ou arc safe in speaking to me," said she. 
 calmly. 
 
 ' ' Perhaps I ought to say that I give these sug- 
 gestions without any concert with my patient. I 
 have not only abstained from consulting, but — " 
 
 " Forgive my interrupting you, Sir X. It was 
 quite unnecessary to tell me this." 
 
 " You are not displeased with me, dear lady '.'" 
 said he, in his softest of accents. 
 
 "No; but do not say any thing which might 
 make me so." 
 
 The doctor bowed reverentially, crossed his 
 white hands on his waistcoat, and looked like 
 a saint ready for martyrdom. 
 
 Kate frankly held out her hand in token of 
 perfect cordiality, and her honest smile suited the 
 action well. 
 
 "Tell Miss Betty that our sick charge shall 
 not be neglected, but that we want her here her- 
 self to help us." 
 
 " I shall report your message word for word," 
 said he, as he withdrew. 
 
 As the doctor drove back to Dublin he went 
 over a variety of things in his thoughts. There 
 were serious distui bailees in the provinces— those 
 Ugly outrages which forerun long winter nights, 
 and make the last days of October dreary and 
 sail-colored. Disorder and lawlessness were 
 abroad; and that want of something remedial 
 to be done which, like the thirst in fever, is fos- 
 tered and fed by partial indulgence. Then he 
 had some puzzling cases in hospital, and one or 
 two in private practice, which harassed him : for 
 
 some had reached that critical stage where a false 
 
 1 move would be fatal, and it was far from dear 
 
 which path should be taken. Then there was 
 
 that matter of Bliss O'Shea herself, who, if her 
 
 nephew were to die, would most likely endow 
 that hospital in connection wiih the Bleeding 
 
 Heart, and of which he wa- himself the found- 
 er; and that this fate was hv no mean-, improb- 
 | able, Sir X. persuaded himself, as he counted 
 
146 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 over all the different stages of peril that stood 
 between him and convalescence. " We have 
 now the concussion, with reasonable prospect 
 of meningitis ; then there may come on erysip- 
 elas from the scalp wounds, and high fever, with 
 all its dangers ; next there may be a low typhoid 
 state, with high nervous excitement; and through 
 all these the passing risks of the wrong food or 
 drink, the imprudent revelations, or the mistaken 
 stimulants. Heigho!" said he at last; "we 
 come through storm and shipwreck, forlorn 
 hopes and burning villages, and we succumb 
 to ten drops too much of a dark brown liquor, 
 or the improvident rashness that reads out a note 
 to us incautiously ! 
 
 "Those young ladies thought to mystify me," 
 said he aloud, after a long reverie. " I was not 
 to know which of them was in love with the sick 
 boy. I could make nothing of the Greek, I own, 
 for, except a half-stealthy regard for myself, she 
 confessed to nothing, and the other was nearly 
 as inscrutable. It was only the little warmth at 
 last that betrayed her. I hurt her pride, and as 
 she winced, I said, 'There's the sore spot — 
 there's mischief there !' How the people grope 
 their way through life who have never studied 
 physic nor learned physiology is a puzzle to me ! 
 With all its aid and guidance / find humanity 
 quite hard enough to understand every day I 
 live." 
 
 Even in his few hours' visit — in which he re- 
 marked every thing, from the dress of the man 
 who waited at dinner to the sherry decanter with 
 the smashed stopper, the weak " Gladstone" that 
 did duty as claret, and the cotton lace which Nina 
 sported as "point d'Alencon," and numberless 
 other shifts, such as people make who like to 
 play false money with Fortune — -all these he 
 saw, and he saw that a certain jealous rivalry 
 existed between the two girls ; but whether ei- 
 ther of them, or both, cared for young O'Shea, 
 he could not declare; and, strange as it may 
 seem, his inability to determine this weighed 
 upon him with all the sense of a defeat. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 IN TURKEY. 
 
 Leaving the sick man to the tender care of 
 those ladies whose division of labor we have just 
 hinted at, we turn to other interests, and to one 
 of our characters, who, though to all seeming 
 neglected, has not lapsed from our memory. 
 
 Joe Atlee had been dispatched on a very con- 
 fidential mission by Lord Danesbury. Not only 
 was he to repossess himself of certain papers he 
 had never heard of, from a man he had never 
 seen, but he was also to impress this unknown 
 individual with the immense sense of fidelity to 
 another who no longer had any power to reward 
 him, and besides this, to persuade him, being a 
 Greek, that the favor of a great embassador of 
 England was better than rubles of gold and 
 vases of malachite. 
 
 Modern history has shown us what a great aid 
 to success in life is the contribution of a "light 
 heart,'' and Joe Atlee certainly brought this ele- 
 ment of victory along with him on his journey. 
 
 His instructions were assuredly of the rough- 
 est. To impress Lord Danesbury favorably on 
 
 the score of his acuteness, he must not press for 
 details, seek for explanations, and, above all, he 
 must ask no questions. In fact, to accomplish 
 that victory which he ambitioned for his clever- 
 ness, and on which his Excellency should say, 
 "Atlee saw it at once — Atlee caught the whole 
 thing at a glance," Joe must be satisfied with the 
 least definite directions that ever were issued, and 
 the most confused statement of duties and diffi- 
 culties that ever puzzled a human intelligence. 
 Indeed, as he himself summed up his instructions 
 in his own room, they went no further than this : 
 That there was a Greek, who, with a number of 
 other names, was occasionally called Speridion- 
 ides (a great scoundrel, and with every good rea- 
 son for not being come at), who was to be found 
 somewhere in Stamboul — probably at the ba- 
 zar at nightfall. He was to be bullied, or bribed, 
 or wheedled, or menaced to give tip some letters 
 which Lord Danesbury had once written to him, 
 and to pledge himself to complete secrecy as to 
 their contents ever after. From this Greek, 
 whose perfect confidence Atlee was to obtain, 
 he was to learn whether Kulbash Pasha, Lord 
 Danesbury's sworn friend and ally, was not laps- 
 ing from his English alliance, and inclining to- 
 ward Russian connections. To Kulbash him- 
 self Atlee had letters, accrediting him as the 
 trusted and confidential agent of Lord Danes- 
 bury, and with the pasha Joe was instructed to 
 treat with an air and bearing of unlimited trust- 
 fulness. He was also to mention that his Ex- 
 cellency was eager to be back at his old post as 
 embassador, that he loved the country, the cli- 
 mate, his old colleagues in the Sultan's service, 
 and all the interests and questions that made up 
 their political life. 
 
 Last of all, Atlee was to ascertain every point 
 on which any successor to Lord Danesbury was 
 likely to be mistaken, and how a misconception 
 might be ingeniously widened into a grave blun- 
 der ; and by what means such incidents should 
 be properly commented on by the local papers, 
 and unfavorable comparisons drawn between the 
 author of these measures and "the great and 
 enlightened statesman" who had so lately left 
 them. 
 
 In a word, Atlee saw that he was to personate 
 the character of a most unsuspecting, confiding 
 young gentleman, who possessed a certain natu- 
 ral aptitude for affairs of importance, and that 
 amount of discretion such as suited him to be' 
 employed confidentially; and to perform this 
 part he addressed himself. 
 
 The pasha liked him so much that he invited 
 him to be his guest while he remained at Con- 
 stantinople ; and soon satisfied that he was a 
 guileless youth, fresh to the world and its ways, 
 he talked very freely before him, and, affecting 
 to discuss mere possibilities, actually sketched 
 events and consequences which Atlee shrewdly 
 guessed to be all within the range of casualties. 
 
 Lord Danesbury's post at Constantinople had 
 not been filled up, except by the appointment 
 of a charge' d'affaires ; it being one of the ap- 
 proved modes of snubbing a government to ac- 
 credit a person of inferior rank to its court. 
 Lord Danesbury detested this man with a hale 
 that only official life comprehends, the mingled 
 rancor, jealousy, and malice suggested by a suc- 
 cessor being a combination only known to men 
 who serve their country. 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 n; 
 
 "Find out what Brumsey is doing ; he is said 
 to be doing wrong. He knows nothing of Tur- 
 key. Learn his blunders, and Let me know 
 them." 
 
 This was the easiest of all Atlee's missions, 
 for Briunsey was the weakest and most transpar- 
 ent of all imbecile Whigs. A junior diplomatist 
 of small faculties and great ambitions, he wanted 
 to do something, not being clear as to what. 
 which should startle his chiefs, and make M the 
 Office" exclaim : "See what Sam Brumsey has 
 been doing: Hasn't Bmmsey hit the nail on the 
 head ! Brnmsey's last dispatch is the finest state 
 paper since the days of Canning!'' Now no one 
 knew the short range of this man's intellectual 
 tether better than Lord Danesbury, since Brum- 
 sey had been his own private secretary once: 
 and the two men hated each other as only a 
 haughty superior and a craven dependent know 
 tiow to hate. 
 
 The old embassador was right. Russian craft 
 had dug many a pitfall for the English diploma- 
 tist, and Brumsey had fallen into every one of 
 them. Acting on secret information — all ingen- 
 iously prepared to entrap him — Brumsey had 
 discovered a secret demand made by Russia to 
 enable one of the Imperial family to make the 
 tour of the Black Sea with a ship of war. Though 
 it might be matter of controversy whether Tur- 
 key herself could, without the assent of the oth- 
 er powers to the Treaty of Paris, give her per- 
 mission, Brumsey was too elated by his discov- 
 ery to hesitate about this, but at once communi- 
 cated to the Grand Vizier a formal declaration 
 of the displeasure with which England would 
 witness such an infraction of a solemn engage- 
 ment. 
 
 As no sneh project had ever been entertained, 
 no such demand ever made. Kulbash Pasha not 
 only laughed heartily at the mock-thunder of the 
 Englishman, but at the energy with which a 
 small official always opens tire, and in the jocu- 
 larity of his Turkish nature — for they are jocu- 
 lar, these children of the Koran — he told the 
 whole incident to Atlee. 
 
 '"Your old master, Mr. Atlee," said he, 
 " would scarcely have read us so sharp a lesson 
 as that; but," he added, "we always hear 
 stronger language from the man who couldn't 
 station a gun-boat at l'era than from the embas- 
 sador who could call up the Mediterranean squad- 
 ron from Malta." 
 
 If Atlee's first letter to Lord Danesbury ad- 
 mitted of a certain disappointment as regarded 
 S-peridionides, it made ample compensation by 
 the keen sketch it conveyed of how matters stood 
 at the Porte, the uncertain fate of Kulbash Pa- 
 Bha's policy, and tho scarcely credible blunder 
 of Bmmsey. 
 
 To tell the English embassador how much he 
 was regretted and how much, needed, how the 
 partisans of England felt themselves deserted 
 and abandoned by his withdrawal, and how grave- 
 ly the best interests of Turkey itself were compro- 
 mised for want of that statesmanlike intelligence 
 that had up to this guided the counsels of the Di- 
 van : all these formed only a part of Alice's task, 
 for he wrote letters and leaders, in this - 
 all the great journals of London, Paris, and Vien- 
 na : so that when the Times and the Post asked the 
 English people whether they were satisfied that 
 the benefit of the Crimean war should he flittered 
 
 away by an incompetent youth in the position 
 of a man of high ability, the Dibats commented 
 on the want of support Fiance Buffered at the 
 
 Porte by the inferior agency of England, and 
 the New Pr€ese, of Vienna, more openly de- 
 clared that it' England had determined to annex 
 
 Turkey, and govern it as a crown colony, it would 
 
 have been at least courtesy to have informed her 
 
 co-signatories of the fact. 
 
 At the same time an [rish paper in the na- 
 tional interest quietly desired to be informed 
 how was it that the man who made such a lunll 
 of Ireland could be so much needed in Turkey, 
 aided by a well-known fcllow-ciiizen, more cele- 
 brated for smashing lamps and wringing off 
 knockers than for administering the rights of a 
 colony ; and by which of his services, ballad- 
 writing or beating the police, he had gained the 
 favor of the present Cabinet. "In fact," con- 
 eluded the writer, " if we hear more of this ap- 
 pointment, we promise our readers some bio- 
 graphical memoirs of the respected individual, 
 which may serve to show the rising youth of Ire- 
 land by what gifts success in life is most surely 
 achieved, as well as what peculiar accomplish- 
 ments find most merit with the grave-minded 
 men who rule us." 
 
 A Cork paper announced on the same day, 
 among the promotions, that Joseph Atlee had 
 been made C.B., and mildly inquired if the hon- 
 or were bestowed for that paper on Ireland in 
 the last Quarterly, and dryly wound up by say- 
 ing: "We are not selfish, whatever people may 
 say of us. Our friends on the Bosphorus shail 
 have the noble lord cheap ! Let his Excellency 
 only assure us that he will return with his whole 
 staff, and not leave us Mr. Cecil Walpole, or any 
 other like incapacity, behind him, as a director 
 of the Poor Law Board, or inspector-general of 
 jails, or deputy-assi.-tant-seeretary any where, 
 and we assent freely to the change that scuds 
 this man to the East, and leaves us here to floun- 
 der on with such aids to our mistakes as a Lib- 
 eral government can safely afford to spare us." 
 
 A paragraph in another part of the same pa- 
 per, which asked if the Joseph Atlee who, it was 
 rumored, was to go out as Governor to Labuan 
 could be this man, had, it is needless to say, 
 been written by himself. 
 
 The Levant Herald contented itself with an 
 authorized contradiction to the report that Sir 
 Joseph Atlcj — the Sir was an ingenious blunder 
 — had conformed to Islamism, and was in treaty 
 for the palace ofTashkir Bey at Therapia. 
 
 With a neatness and a tact all his own, Atlee 
 narrated Brnmsey's blunder in a tone so simple 
 and almost deferential that Lord Danesbnry 
 could show the letter to any of his colleagues. 
 The whole spirit of the document was regret that 
 a very well-intentioned gentleman of good con- 
 nections and irreproachable morals should he an 
 as>: Not that he employed the insufferable 
 designation. 
 
 The Cabinet at home were on thorns lesl the 
 pres. — the vile Tory organs — should get wind 
 of the case, and cap the blundering government 
 of Ireland with the almost equally gross mistake 
 in diplomacy. 
 
 " We shall have the Standard at us. "said the 
 
 Premier. 
 
 " Far worse," replied the Foreign Secretary. 
 ••I shall have Brunow here in a white passion 
 
H8 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 to demand an apology, and the recall of our man 
 at Constantinople." 
 
 To accuse a well-known house-breaker of a 
 burglary that he had not committed, nor had 
 any immediate thought of committing, is the very 
 luckiest stroke of fortune that could befall him. 
 He comes out not alone innocent, but injured! 
 The persecutions by which bad men have assail- 
 ed him for years have at last their illustration, 
 and the calumniated saint walks forth into the 
 world, his head high and his port erect, even 
 though a crow-bar should peep out from his coat 
 pocket, and the jingle of false keys go with him 
 as he went. 
 
 Far too astute to make the scandal public by 
 the newspapers, Atlee only hinted to his chief 
 the danger that might ensue if the secret leaked 
 out. He well knew that a press scandal is a 
 nine-day fever, but a menaced publicity is a 
 chronic malady that may go on for years. 
 
 The last lines of his letter were: "I have 
 made a curious and interesting acquaintance — a 
 certain Stephanotis Bey, governor of Scutari, in 
 Albania, a very venerable old fellow, who was 
 never at Constantinople till now. The pasha 
 tells me in confidence that he is enormously 
 wealthy. His fortune was made by brigandage 
 in Greece, from which he retired a few years 
 ago, shocked by the sudden death of his brother, 
 wno was decapitated at Corinth, with five others. 
 The bey is a nice, gentle-mannered, simple- 
 hearted old man, kind to the poor, and eminent- 
 ly hospitable. He has invited me down to Pre- 
 vesa for the pig-shooting. If I have your per- 
 mission to accept the invitation, I shall make a 
 rapid visit to Athens, and make one more effort 
 to discover Speridionides. Might I ask the 
 favor of an answer by telegraph ? So many 
 documents and archives were stolen here at the 
 time of the fire of the embassy that, by a timely 
 measure of discredit, we can impair the value of 
 all papers whatever, and I have already a mass 
 of false dispatches, notes, and telegrams ready 
 for publication and subsequent denial, if you 
 advise it. In one of these I have imitated Wal- 
 pole's style so well that I scarcely think he will 
 read it without misgivings. With so much ' bad 
 bank paper' in circulation, Speridionides is not 
 likely to set a high price on his own 'scrip.' " 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 A LETTKK-llAc;. 
 
 Lord Danesbdry read Atlee's letter with an 
 enjoyment not unlike the feeling an old sports- 
 man experiences in discovering that his cover 
 hack — an animal not worth twenty pounds — was 
 a capital fencer; that a beast only destined to 
 the commonest of uses should actually have 
 qualities that recalled the steeple-chaser — that 
 the scrubby little creature with the thin ne*ck and 
 the shabby quarters should have a turn of speed 
 and a " big jump" in him — was something scarce- 
 ly credible, and highly interesting. 
 
 Now political life has its handicaps like the 
 turf, and that old jockey of many cabinets began 
 seriously to think whether he might not lay a 
 little money on that dark horse Joe Atlee, and 
 make something out of him before he was better 
 known in "the ring." 
 
 He was smarting, besides, under the annoy- 
 ances of that half-clever fellow Walpole when 
 Atlee's letter reached him, and, though the un- 
 lucky Cecil had taken ill and kept his room ever 
 since his arrival, his Excellency had never for- 
 given him, nor by a word or sign showed any 
 disposition to restore him to favor. 
 
 That he was himself overwhelmed by a corre- 
 spondence, and left to deal with it almost alone, 
 scarcely contributed to reconcile him to a youth 
 more smarting, as he deemed it, under a recent 
 defeat than really ill ; and he pointed to the mass 
 of papers which now littered his breakfast-table, 
 and querulously asked his niece if that brilliant 
 young gentleman up stairs could be induced to 
 postpone his sorrows and copy a dispatch. 
 
 " If it be not something very difficult, or re- 
 quiring very uncommon care, perhaps I could do 
 it myself." 
 
 "So you could, Maude, but I want you too: 
 I shall want to copy out parts of Atlee's last 
 letter, which I wish to place before the Foreign 
 Office Secretary. He ought to see what his pro- 
 te'ge' Brumsey is making of it. These are the 
 idiots who get us into foreign wars, or those 
 apologetic movements in diplomacy which are 
 as bad as lost battles. AVhat a contrast to Atlee. ! 
 — a rare clever dog, Atlee : and so awake not 
 only to one, but to every contingency of a case. 
 I like that fellow : I like a fellow that stops all 
 the earths ! Your half- clever ones never do 
 that ; they only do enough to prolong the race : 
 they don't win it. That bright relative of ours — 
 Cecil — is one of those. Give Atlee Walpole's 
 chances, and where would he be ?" 
 
 A very faint color tinged her cheek as she list- 
 ened, but did not speak. 
 
 " That's the real way to put it," continued he, 
 more warmly. " Say to Atlee, ' You shall enter 
 public life without any pressing need to take of- 
 fice for a livelihood ; you shall have friends able 
 to push you with one party, and relations and 
 connections with the opposition, to save you from 
 unnecessary cavil or question ; you shall be well 
 introduced socially, and have a seat in the House 
 before — ' What's his age? five-and-twenty ?" 
 
 " I should say about three-and-twenty, my 
 lord ; but it is a mere guess." 
 
 " Three-and-twenty, is he ? I suspect you are 
 right — he can't be more. But what a deal the 
 fellow has crammed for that time! — plenty of 
 rubbish, no doubt : old dramatists and such like; 
 but he is well up in his treaties, and there's not 
 a speaker of eminence in the House that he can 
 not make contradict himself out of Hansard." 
 
 "Has he any fortune?" sighed she, so lazily 
 that it scarcely sounded as a question. 
 
 "I suppose not." 
 
 "Nor any family?" 
 
 "Brothers and sisters he may have — indeed, 
 he is sure to have; but if you mean connections 
 — belongings to persons of admitted station — of 
 course he has not. The name alone might show 
 it." 
 
 Another little sigh, fainter than before, fol- 
 lowed, and all was still. 
 
 "Five years hence, if even so much, the ple- 
 beian name and the unknown stock will be in his 
 favor ; bat we have to wade through a few dreary 
 measures before that. I wish he was in the 
 House : he ought to be in the House." 
 
 " Is there a vacancy?" said she, lazily. 
 
LORD KILGOBB1X. 
 
 1411 
 
 '•Two. Then' is Cradford, and there is that 
 Scotch place — tin- something-Burg, which, of 
 coarse, one of their own people "ill insist on." 
 
 "Coaldn'l he have Cradford?" asked she, 
 
 •with a very slight animation. 
 
 " Ee might — at least if Brand knew him. he'd 
 see he was the man they wanted. I almost think 
 I'll write a line to Brand, and send him some 
 extracts of the last letter. 1 will — here goes :" 
 
 "If you'll tell me — " 
 
 "Di:.vrcB., — Read the inclosed, ami say have 
 von any body better than the writer for your an- 
 cient borough of Cradford? The fellow can 
 talk, and I am sure he can speak as well as he 
 writes, lie is well up in all Irish press iniquities. 
 Better than all. he has neither prejudices nor 
 principles, nor, as I believe, a five-pound note in 
 the world. He is now in Greece, hut I'll have 
 him over by telegraph if you give me encourago- 
 lnent. 
 
 "Tell Tycross at F. O. to send Walpole to 
 Guatemala, and order him to his post at once. 
 G. will have told you that 1 shall not go hack to 
 Ireland. The blander of my ever seeing it was 
 the blackest in the life of yours, 
 
 "D.VXESISCUY. " 
 
 The first letter his lordship opened gave him 
 very little time or inclination to bestow more 
 thought on Atlee. It was from the head of the 
 Cabinet, and in the coldest tone imaginable. 
 The wiiter directed his attention to what had 
 occurred in the House the night before, and how 
 impossible it was for any Government to depend 
 on colleagues whose administration had been so 
 palpably blundering and unwise. "Conciliation 
 can only succeed by the good faith it inspires. 
 Once that it leaks out you are more eager to 
 achieve a gain than confer a benefit, you cease 
 to conciliate, and you only cajole. Now your 
 lordship might have apprehended that, in this 
 especial game, the Popish priest is your master 
 and mine — not to add that he gives an undivided 
 attention to a subject which we have, to treat as 
 one among many, and with the relations and 
 bearings which attach it to other questions of 
 
 state. 
 
 "That you can not, with advantage to the 
 Crown, or, indeed, to your own dignity, continue 
 to hold your present office is clear enough ; and 
 the only question now is in what way, consistent 
 with the safety of the Administration and re- 
 spect fa- your lordship's high character, the re- 
 linquishment had best be made. The. debate has 
 been, on Gregory's motion, adjourned. It will 
 be continued fin Tuesday, and my colleagues 
 
 opine that if your resignation was in their hands 
 
 before that day certain leaders of the Opposition 
 would consent to withdraw their motion. I am 
 not wholly agreed with the other members of the 
 Cabinet on this point : but, without embarrassing 
 you with the reasons which sway my judgment, 
 I will simply place the matter before you for 
 
 your own consideration, perfectly assured, as I 
 am, that your decision will be come to only on 
 consideration of what you deem best for the in- 
 terests of the. country. 
 
 "My colleague at the Foreign Office will 
 ■write to-day or to-morrow with reference to your 
 firmer post, and I only allude to it now to say 
 the unmixed satisfaction it would give the Cab- 
 
 inet to find that the greatest interests of Eastern 
 ESurope were once more in the keeping of the 
 
 ablest diplomatist of the age, and one of the 
 
 most far-sighted of modern statesmen. 
 
 "Amotion for the abolition of the Irish nce- 
 royalty is now on the notice paper, and it will 
 be matter for consideration whether we ma\ no! 
 make it an open question in the Cabinet. Per- 
 haps your lordship would favor me witli such 
 opinions on the subject as your experienc 
 gest. 
 
 "The extra session has wearied out every 
 one, and we can with difficulty make a house". 
 
 " Yours sincerely, '<;. Anm-.ii. 
 
 The next he opened was briefer. It ran thus i 
 
 "Dear Danesbukt, — You must go back at 
 once to Turkey. That inscrutable idiot Brum- 
 sey has discovered another mare's-nest, and we 
 are lucky if Gortchakoft' does not call upon as 
 for public apology. Brunow is outrageous, and 
 demands B.'s recall. I sent off the dispatch 
 while he was with me. Leflo Pasha is very ill. 
 they say dying, so that you must haste back to 
 your old friend (query: which is he?) Eulbash, 
 if it be not too late, as Apponyi thinks. 
 
 "Yours, G." 
 
 "P.S. — Take none of your Irish suit with 
 you to the East. The papers are sure to note 
 the names, and attack you if you should. They 
 shall be cared for somehow, if there he any who 
 interest you. 
 
 " You have seen that the House was not over- 
 civil to you on Saturday night, though A. thinks 
 j you got off well." 
 
 "Resign!" cried he, aloud, as he dashed the 
 
 . letter on the table. " I think I would resign ! 
 If they asked what would tempt me to go back 
 
 I there, I should be sorely puzzled to name it. 
 No ; not the blue ribbon itself would induce me 
 to face that chaos once more. As to the bint 
 
 j about my Irish staff, it was quite unnecessary. 
 Not very likely, Maude, we should take Wal- 
 pole to finish on the Bosphorus what he has be- 
 
 I gun on the Liffey." 
 
 He turned hastily to the Times, and threw 
 his eyes over the summary of the debate. It 
 was acrimonious and sneery. The opposition 
 leaders, with accustomed smoothness, had made 
 it appear that the Viceroy's Eastern experience 
 had misled him, and that he thought " Tip- 
 perary was a pashalic!" Imbued with notions 
 
 of wholesale measures of government, so appli- 
 cable to Turkey, it was easy to see how the er- 
 rors had affected his Irish policy. "There 
 was," said the. speaker, "somebody to lie con- 
 ciliated in Ireland, and some one to In' hanged : 
 and what more natural than that he should for- 
 get which, or thai he should make the mistake 
 of keeping all the (lattery for the rebel and the 
 rope for the priest !" The neatness of the illus- 
 tration took with the House, and the speaker 
 was interrup te d by "much laughter." And then 
 he went on to say that, "as with those well- 
 known ointments or medicines, whose specific 
 virtues lay in the enormous costliness of some of 
 
 the constituents, so it must givt speakahle 
 
 value to the efficacy of those healing me 
 
 for Ireland to know that the whole British 
 
 Constitution was boiled down to make one of 
 
150 
 
 LOED KILGOBBIN. 
 
 them ; and every right and liberty brayed in the 
 raortar to furnish even one duse of this precious 
 elixir." And then there was '"laughter" again. 
 
 " He ought to be more merciful to charlatans. 
 Dogs do not eat dogs," muttered his lordship to 
 himself, and then asked his niece to send Wal- 
 pole to him. 
 
 It was some time before "Walpole appeared, 
 and when he did it was with such a wasted look 
 and care-worn aspect as might have pleaded in 
 his favor. 
 
 ' ' Maude told me you wished to see me, my 
 lord, " said he, half diffidently. 
 
 "Did I? eh? Did I say so? I forget all 
 about it. What could it be ? Let us see — was 
 it this stupid row they were making in the 
 House ? Have you read the debate ?" 
 
 " No, my lord ; not looked at a paper." 
 
 "Of course not; you have been too ill, too 
 weak. Have you seen a doctor ?" 
 
 " 1 don't care to see a doctor ; they all say the 
 same thing. I only need rest and quiet." 
 
 "Only that! Why, they are the two things 
 nobody can get. Power can not have them, nor 
 money buy them. The retired tradesman — I 
 beg his pardon, the cheese-monger: he is always 
 a cheese-monger now who represents vulgarity 
 and bank stock — he may have his rest and quiet ; 
 but a minister must not dream of such a luxury, 
 nor any one who serves a minister. Where's 
 the quiet to come from, 1 ask you, after such a 
 tirade of abuse as that?" And he pointed to 
 the Times. "There's Punch, too, with a pic- 
 ture of me measuring out ' Danesbury's drops, to 
 cure loyalty.' That slim youth handling the 
 spoon is meant for you, Walpole." 
 
 "Perhaps so, my lord," said he, coldly. 
 
 " They haven't given you too much leg, Cecil," 
 said the other, laughing ; but Cecil scarcely rel- 
 ished the joke. 
 
 "I say, Piccadilly is scarcely the place for a 
 man after that — I mean, of course, for a while," 
 continued he. " These things are not eternal ; 
 they have their day. They had me last week 
 traveling in Ireland on a camel ; and I was made 
 to say that ' the air of the desert always did me 
 good !' Poor fun, was it not ?" 
 
 " Very poor fun indeed !" 
 
 "And you were the boy preparing my chi- 
 bouque, and I must say, devilish like." 
 
 " I did not see it, my lord." 
 
 "That's the best way: don't look at the car- 
 icatures ; don't read the Saturday Revieiv ; nev- 
 er know there is any thing wrong with you ; nor, 
 if you can, that any thing disagrees with you." 
 
 " I should like the last delusion best of all," 
 said he. 
 
 "Who would not?" cried the old lord. "The 
 way I used to eat potted prawns at Eton, and 
 peach jam after them, and iced guavas, and never 
 felt better ! And now every thing gives acidity." 
 
 "Just because our fathers and grandfathers 
 would have those potted prawns you spoke of. " 
 
 "No, no; you are all wrong. It's the new 
 race — it's the new generation. They don't bear 
 reverses. Whenever the world goes wrong with 
 them, they talk as they feel, they lose appetite, 
 and they fall down to a state like your — a — 
 Walpole — like your own !'' 
 
 "Well, my lord, I don't think I could be 
 called captious for saying that the world has not 
 gone over-well with me." 
 
 "Ah — hum. You mean — No matter. I sup- 
 pose the luckiest hand is not all trumps. The 
 thing is to score the trick : that's the point, Wal- 
 pole — to score the trick!" 
 
 " Up to this I have not been so fortunate." 
 
 "Well, who knows what's coming? I have 
 just asked the Foreign Office people to give you 
 Guatemala : not a bad thing, as times go." 
 
 "Why, my lord, it's banishment and barba- 
 rism together. The pay is miserable. It is far 
 away, and it is not Pall Mall, or the Rue Rivoli." 
 
 " No ; not that. There is twelve hundred for 
 salary, and something for a house, and some- 
 thing more for a secretary that you don't keep, 
 and an office that you need not have. In fact, 
 it makes more than two thousand ; and for a sin- 
 gle man, in a place where he can not be extrava- 
 gant, it will suffice." 
 
 "Yes, my lord; but I was presumptuous 
 enough to imagine a condition in which I should 
 not be a single man, and I speculated on the pos- 
 sibility that another might venture to share even 
 poverty as my companion." 
 
 "A woman wouldn't go there — at least, she 
 ought not. It's all bush life, or something like 
 it. Why should a woman bear that ? or a man 
 ask her to do so ?" 
 
 "You seem to forget, my lord, that affections 
 may be engaged and pledges interchanged." 
 
 " Get a bill of indemnity, therefore, to release 
 you. Better that than wait for yellow fever to 
 do it. " 
 
 " I confess that your lordship's words give me 
 ] great discouragement, and if I could possibly be- 
 lieve that Lady Maude was of your mind — " 
 
 " Maude ! Maude ! Why, you never imagined 
 that Lady Maude would leave comfort and civ- 
 ilization for this bush life, with its rancheros and 
 rattlesnakes! I confess," said he, with a bitter 
 laugh, "I did not think either of you was bent 
 on being Paul or Virginia." 
 
 " Have I your lordship's permission to ask her 
 own judgment in the matter: I mean, with the 
 assurance of its not being biased by you ?" 
 
 " Freely, most freely do I give it. She is not 
 the girl I believe her if she leaves you long in 
 doubt. But I prejudge nothing, and I influence 
 nothing. " 
 
 "Am I to conclude, my lord, that I am sure 
 of this appointment ?" 
 
 " I almost believe I can say you are. I have 
 asked for a reply by telegraph, and I shall prob- 
 ably have one to-morrow." 
 
 "You seem to have acted under the convic- 
 tion that I should be glad to get this place." 
 
 "Yes; such was my conclusion. After that 
 ' fiasco' in Ireland, you must go somewhere, for 
 a time at least, out of the way. Now as a man can 
 not die for half a dozen years and come back to 
 life when people have forgotten his unpopularity, 
 the next best thing is South America. Bogota 
 and the Argentine Republic have whitewashed 
 many a reputation." 
 
 " I will remember your lordship's wise words." 
 
 "Do so," said my lord, curtly, for he felt of- 
 fended at the flippant tone in which the other 
 spoke. " I don't mean to say that I'd send the 
 writer of that letter yonder to Yucatan or Costa 
 Rica." 
 
 " Who may the gifted writer be, my lord ?" 
 
 " Atlee, Joe Atlee; the fellow you sent over 
 here." 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 L51 
 
 " Indeed !" was :ill that Walpole could utter. 
 
 "Just take it to your room and read it over. 
 You will he astonished at the thing. The fellow 
 has got to know the beaiings of a whole set of 
 new questions: ami how he understands the men 
 he hus got t<> deal with !" 
 
 •■ Willi your leave I will do so," said he, as 
 he took the letter ami left the room. 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 Cecil Wawole's Italian experiences had sup- 
 plied him with an Italian proverb, which says, 
 "Tntto il mnl non Tien per nuocere,"or, in oth- 
 er words, that no evil comes unmixed with good ; 
 and there is a marvelous amount of wisdom in 
 the adage. 
 
 That there is a deep philosophy, too, in show- 
 ing how carefully we should sift misfortune to the 
 dregs, and ascertain what of benefit we might 
 rescue from the dross, is not to be denied ; and 
 the more we reflect on it, the more should we see 
 that the germ of all real consolation is intimate- 
 ly bound up in this reservation. 
 
 No sooner, then, did Walpole, in novelist 
 phrase, "realize the fact" that he was to go to 
 Guatemala, than he set very practically to in- 
 quire what advantages, if any, could be squeezed 
 out of this unpromising incident. 
 
 The creditors — and he had some — would not 
 like it ! The dreary process of dunning a man 
 across half the globe, the hopelessness of appeals 
 that took two months to come to hand, and the 
 inefficacy of threats that were wafted over miles 
 of ocean! And certainly he smiled as bethought 
 of these, and rather maliciously bethought him 
 of the truculent importunity that menaced him , 
 with some form of publicity in the more insolent ' 
 appeal to some minister at home. "Our tai- 
 lor will moderate his language, our jeweler will 
 appreciate the merits of polite Letter-writing," 
 thought he. "A few parallels of latitude be- 
 come a great school-master." 
 
 But there were greater advantages even than 
 these. This banishment — for it was nothing less 
 — could not by possibility be persisted in, and if 
 Lady Maude should consent to accompany him, 
 would be very short-lived. 
 
 "The women will take it up," said he, "and 
 with that charming clanship that distinguishes 
 them, will lead the Foreign Secretary a life of mis- 
 ery till he gives us something better. ' Maude 
 says the thermometer has never been lower than 
 1292 degrees, ami that there is no shade. The 
 nights have no breeze, and are rather hotter than 
 the days. She objects Beriously to l>e waited on 
 by people in feathere, and very few of them, and 
 she remonstrate, against alligators in the kitch- 
 en-garden, and wild-cats coming after the ca- 
 naries in the drawing-room. 1 
 
 "I hear the catalogue of misfortunes, which be- 
 gins with nothing to eat, pint the terror of being 
 eaten. I recognize the lament over lost civiliza- 
 tion and a wasted life, and I see Downing Street 
 besieged with ladies in deputations, declaring 
 that they care nothing for parties or politics, but 
 a great deal for the life of a dear young creature. 
 who is to be sacrificed to nppea-e some people 
 belonging to the existing Ministry. 1 think I 
 
 know how beautifully illogical they will he, but 
 how necessarily useful; and now for Maude her- 
 self." 
 
 Of Lady Maude Bickerstaffe Walpole had Been 
 
 next to nothing since his return; his own id 
 
 health had conlincd him to his room, and her in- 
 quiries after him had been cold and formal; and 
 though he wrote a tender little note and asked for 
 
 hooks, Blying hinting what measure of bli>- a five 
 
 minutes' visit would confer on him, the books he 
 begged for were sent, but not a line of answer ac 
 companied them. On the whole, he did not dis- 
 like this little show of resentment. What he real- 
 ly dreaded was indifference. So long as a wom- 
 an is piqued with you, something can always he 
 done; it is only when she becomes careless and 
 unmindful of what you do or say, or look or 
 think, that the game looks hopeless. Therefore 
 
 it was that he regarded this de nstration of 
 
 anger as rather favorable than otherwise. 
 
 "Atlee has told her of the Greek! Atlee has 
 stirred up her jealousy of the Titian Girl. Atlee 
 has drawn a long indictment against me, and the 
 fellow has done me good service in giving me 
 something to plead to. Let me have a charge 
 to meet, and I have no misgivings. What real- 
 lv unmans me is the distrust that will not even 
 titter an allegation, and the indifference that does 
 not want disproof." 
 
 He learned that her ladyship was in the gar- 
 den, and he hastened down to meet her. In his 
 own small way Walpole was a clever tactician ; 
 and he counted much on the ardor with which 
 he should open his case, and the amount of im- 
 petuosity that would give her very little time for 
 reflection. 
 
 " I shall at once assume that her fate is irrev- 
 ocably knitted to my own, and I shall act as 
 though the tie was indissoluble. After all, if 
 she puts me to the proof, I have her letters — cold 
 and guarded enough, it is true. No fervor, no 
 gush of any kind, but calm dissertations on a fu- 
 ture that must come, and a certain dignified ac- 
 ceptance of her own part in it. Not the kind of 
 letters that a Q. C. could read with much rapture 
 before a crowded court, and ask the assembled 
 grocers, ' What happiness has life to offer to the 
 man robbed of those precious pledges of atlee 
 tion — how was he to face the world, stripped of 
 every attribute that cherished hope and fed am- 
 bition ?' " 
 
 He was walking slowly toward her when he 
 first saw her, and he had some seconds to prepare 
 himself ere they met. 
 
 " I came down after you, Maude," said he, in 
 a voice ingeniously modulated between the tone 
 of old intimacy and a slight suspicion of emotion. 
 " I came down to tell you my news"— he waited, 
 and then added — "my fate!" 
 
 Still she was silent, the changed word exciting 
 no more interest than it-- predecessor. 
 
 "Feeling 88 I do," he went on, '"and how we 
 Btand toward each other, 1 can not hut know thai 
 my destiny has nothing of good or evil in it, ex- 
 cept as it contributes to your happiness." He stole 
 a glance at her, Li- 1 there was nothing in that 
 cold, calm face that could guide him. With a bold 
 effort, however, he went on : " My own fortune in 
 lite ha- but one test— is my existence to he -bared 
 with you or not? With your hand in mine, 
 Maude"— ami he grasped the marble cold fingers 
 a- be spoke — "poverty, exile, hardships, and the 
 
152 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIX. 
 
 world's neglect have no terrors for me. With 
 your love, every ambition of my heart is grati- 
 fied. Without'it— " 
 
 "Well, without it — what?" said she, with a 
 faint smile. 
 
 "You would not torture me by such a doubt? 
 Would you rack my soul by a misery I have not 
 words to speak of?" 
 
 "I thought you were going to say what it 
 might be, when I stopped you." 
 
 " Oh, drop this cold and bantering tone, dear- 
 est Maude. Remember the question is now of 
 my very life itself. If you can not be affection- 
 ate, at least be reasonable !" 
 
 " I shall try," said she, calmly. 
 
 Stung to the quick by a composure which he 
 could not imitate, he was able, however, to re- 
 press every show of anger, and with a manner 
 cold and measured as her own he went on : 
 "My lord advises that I should go back to di- 
 plomacy, and has asked the Ministry to give me 
 Guatemala. It is nothing very splendid. It is 
 far away in a remote part of the world ; not over- 
 well paid, but at least I shall be charge' d'af- 
 faires, and by three years — four at most — of this 
 banishment 1 shall have a claim for something 
 better." 
 
 " I hope you may, I'm sure," said she, as he 
 seemed to expect something like a remark. 
 
 "That is not enough, Maude, if the hope be not 
 a wish — and a wish that includes self-interest." 
 
 "I am so dull, Cecil: tell me what you 
 mean." 
 
 " Simply this, then : does your heart tell you 
 that you could share this fortune, and brave these 
 hardships? In one word, will you say what will 
 make me regard this fate as the happiest of my 
 existence? will you give me this dear hand as 
 my own — my own ?" and he pressed his lips upon 
 it rapturously as he spoke. 
 
 She made no effort to release her hand ; nor 
 for a second or two did she say one word. At 
 last, in a very measured tone, she said, "I 
 should like to have back my letters." 
 
 " Your letters? Do you mean, Maude, that 
 — that you would break with me ?" 
 
 " I mean certainly that I should not go to this 
 horrid place — " 
 
 " Then I shall refuse it," broke he in, impet- 
 uously. 
 
 " Not that only, Cecil," said she, for the first 
 time faltering; "but except being very good 
 friends, I do not desire that there should be 
 more between us." 
 
 " No engagement ?" 
 
 "No, no engagement. I do not believe there 
 ever was an actual promise, at least on my part. 
 Other people had no right to promise for either 
 of us — and — and. in fact, the present is a good 
 opportunity to end it." 
 
 " To end it?" echoed he, in intense bitterness 
 — "to end it?" 
 
 "And I should like to have my letters," said 
 she, calmly, while she took some freshly plucked 
 Mowers from a basket on her arm, and appeared 
 to seek for something at the bottom of the 
 basket. 
 
 " I thought you would comedown here, Cecil," 
 said she, "when you had spoken to my uncle. 
 Indeed, I was sure you would, and so I brought 
 these with me." And she drew forth a some- 
 what thick bundle of notes and letters tied with 
 
 a narrow ribbon. " These are yours," said she, 
 handing them. 
 
 Far more piqued by her cold self-possession 
 than really wouuded in feeling, he took the pack- 
 et without a word. At last he said, "This is 
 your own wish — your own, unprompted by 
 others ?" 
 
 She stared almost insolently at him for an- 
 swer. 
 
 " I mean, Maude — oh, forgive me if I utter 
 that dear name once more! — I mean there lias 
 been no influence used to make you treat me 
 thus?" 
 
 "You have known me to very little purpose 
 all these years, Cecil Walpole, to ask me such a 
 question." 
 
 "I am not sure of that. I know too well 
 what misrepresentation and calumny can do any- 
 where ; and I have been involved in certain dif- 
 ficulties which, if not explained away, might be 
 made accusations — grave accusations. " 
 
 "I make none — I listen to none." 
 
 "I have become an object of complete indif- 
 ference, then ? You feel no interest in me ei- 
 ther way ? If I dared, Maude. I should like to 
 ask the date of this change — when it began ?" 
 
 "I don't well know what you mean. There 
 was not, so far as I am aware, any thing between 
 us. except a certain esteem and respect, of which 
 convenience was to make something more. Now 
 convenience has broken faith with us, but we are 
 not the less very good friends — excellent friends 
 if you like." 
 
 "Excellent friends! I could swear to the 
 friendship !" said he, with a malicious energy. 
 
 " So at least I mean to be," said she, calmly. 
 
 " I hope it is not I shall fail in the compact. 
 And now will my quality of friend entitle me to 
 ask one question, Maude ?" 
 
 " I am not sure till I hear it." 
 
 " I might have hoped a better opinion of my 
 discretion : at all events, I will risk my question. 
 What I would ask is, how far Joseph Atlee is 
 mixed up with your judgment of me ? Will you 
 tell me this ?" 
 
 "I will only tell you, Sir, that you are over- 
 vain of that discretion you believe you possess." 
 
 "Then I am right!" cried he, almost inso- 
 lently. " I have hit the blot." 
 
 A glance, a mere glance of haughty disdain, 
 was the only reply she made. 
 
 "I am shocked, Maude," said he at last. 
 "I am ashamed that we should spend in this 
 way perhaps the very last few minutes we shall 
 ever pass together. Heart-broken as I am, I 
 should desire to carry away one memory at least 
 of her whose love was the loadstar of my ex- 
 istence. " 
 
 "I want my letters, Cecil," said she, coldly. 
 
 "So that you came down here with mine, 
 prepared for this rapture, Maude? It was all 
 prearranged in your mind ?" 
 
 " More discretion, more discretion, or good 
 taste — which is it ?" 
 
 " I ask pardon, mostly humbly I ask it ; your 
 rebuke was quite just. I was presuming upon a 
 past which has no relation to the present. I 
 shall not offend any more. And now, what was 
 it you said ?" 
 
 "I want my letters." 
 
 "They are here," said he, drawing a thick 
 envelope fully crammed with letters from his 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 l:..: 
 
 pocket and placing it in her hand. " Scarcely 
 as carefully or as nicely kept oa mine, for they 
 have been read over t » >• > many times and with 
 what rapture, Maude ! How pressed to my heart 
 
 ami to inv lips — how treasured! Shall I tell 
 von ?" 
 
 There was that of exaggerated passion — al- 
 
 antieipation of my wishes that I ask for nothill ■ 
 
 more. 
 
 lie bowed his head lowly; lint his sinilc was 
 one of triumph, as lie thought how, this lime at 
 least, he had wounded her. 
 
 "There are gome trinkets, ( Veil," said she, 
 
 coldly, "which 1 have made into a packet, and 
 
 most rant — in these last words that certainly did 
 not impress them with reality; and either Lady 
 Maude was right in doubting their sincerity, or 
 cruelly unjust ; for she smiled faintly us she 
 heard them. 
 
 " No, don't tell me," said she, faintly. " I 
 am already so much flattered hy a courteous 
 
 you will find them on your dressing-table. And 
 — it may save you some discomfort it" I say that 
 you need not give yourself trouble to recover a 
 
 little ring with an opal I once gave you, for I 
 have it now." 
 
 '■ .May [ dare ?" 
 
 "You may nut dare. Good-hy." And she 
 
154 
 
 LORD KLLGOBBIN. 
 
 gave her hand. He bent over it for a moment, 
 scarcely touched it with his lips, and turned 
 away. 
 
 CHAPTER LXL 
 A "change of front." 
 
 Of all the discomfitures in life there was one 
 which Cecil Walpole did not believe could pos- 
 sibly befall him. Indeed, if it could have been 
 made a matter of betting, he would have wagered 
 all he had in the world that no woman should ever 
 be able to say she refused his offer of marriage. 
 
 He had canvassed the matter very often with 
 himself, and always arrived at the same conclu- 
 sion : that if a man were not a mere coxcomb, 
 blinded by vanity and self-esteem, he could al- 
 ways know how a woman really felt toward him ; 
 and that where the question admitted of a doubt 
 — where, indeed, there was even a flaw in the 
 absolute certaiuty — no man with a due sense of 
 what was owing to himself would risk his digni- 
 ty by the possibility of a refusal. It was a part 
 of his peculiar ethics that a man thus rejected 
 was damaged, pretty much as a bill that has 
 been denied acceptance. It was the same wound 
 to credit, the same outrage on character. Con- 
 sidering, therefore, that nothing obliged a man 
 to make an offer of his hand till he had assured 
 himself of success, it was to his thinking a mere 
 gratuitous pursuit of insult to be refused. That 
 no especial delicacy kept these things secret, that 
 women talked of them freely — ay, triumphantly 
 — that they made the staple of conversation at 
 afternoon tea and the club, with all the flippant 
 comments that dear friends know how to con- 
 tribute as to your vanity and presumption, he 
 was well aware. Indeed, he had been long an 
 eloquent contributor to that scandal literature 
 which amuses the leisure of fashion, and helps on 
 the tedium of an ordinary dinner. How Lady 
 Maude would report the late scene in the garden 
 to the Countess of Mecherscroft, who would tell 
 it to her company at her cbuntry house! How 
 the Lady Georginas would discuss it over lunch- 
 eon, and the Lord Georges talk of it out shoot- 
 ing ! What a host of pleasant anecdotes would be 
 told of his inordinate puppyism and self-esteem! 
 How even the dullest fellows would dare to throw 
 a stone at him ! What a target for a while he 
 woidd be for every marksman at any range to 
 shoot at! All these his quick-witted ingenuity 
 pictured at once before him. 
 
 " I see it all," cried he, as he paced his room 
 in self-examination. " I have suffered myself 
 to be carried away by a burst of momentary im- 
 pulse. I brought up all my reserves, and have 
 failed utterly. Nothing can save me now but 
 a 'change of front.' It is the last bit of gener- 
 alship remaining — a change of front — a change 
 of front!" And he repeated the words over and 
 over, as though hoping they might light up his 
 ingenuity. "I might go and tell her that all I 
 had been saying was mere jest ; that I could 
 never have dreamed of asking her to follow me 
 into barbarism ; that to go to Guatemala was 
 equivalent to accepting a yellow fever — it was 
 courting disease, perhaps death ; that my insist- 
 ence was a mere mockery, in the worst possible 
 taste ; but that I had already agreed with Lord 
 Danesbury our engagement should be canceled, 
 
 that his lordship's memory of our conversation 
 would corroborate me in saying I had no inten- 
 tion to propose such a sacrifice to her; and in- 
 deed I had but provoked her to say the very 
 things and use the very arguments I had al- 
 ready employed to myself as a sort of aid to my 
 own heart-felt convictions. Here would be a 
 ' change of front' with a vengeance. 
 
 "!She will already have written off the whole 
 interview: the dispatch is finished," cried he, 
 after a moment. " It is a change of front the 
 day after the battle. The people will read of 
 my manoeuvre with the bulletin of victory before 
 them. 
 
 "Poor Frank Touch et used to say," cried he, 
 aloud, " ' Whenever they refuse my checks at the 
 bank, I always transfer my account;' and fortu- 
 nately the world is big enough for these tactics 
 ! for several years. That's a change of front too, 
 I if I knew how to adapt it. I must marry an- 
 ! other woman — there's nothing else for it. It is 
 i the only escape ; and the question is, who shall 
 I she be?" The more he meditated over this 
 ' change of front, the more he saw that his destiny 
 pointed to the Greek. If he could see clearly 
 before him to a high career in diplomacy, the 
 { Greek girl, in every thing but fortune, would suit 
 j him well. Her marvelous beauty, her grace of 
 manner, her social tact and readiness, her skill 
 in languages, were all the very qualities most in 
 1 request. Such a woman would make the full 
 | complement, by her fascinations, of all that her 
 \ husband could accomplish by his abilities. The 
 ; little indiscretions of old men — especially old 
 men— with these women, the lapses of confidence 
 \ they made them, the dropping admissions of 
 ' this or that intention, made up what Walpole 
 knew to be high diplomacy. 
 
 ' ' Nothing worth hearing is ever got by a man," 
 was an adage he treasured as deep wisdom. Why 
 kings resort to that watering-place, and accident- 
 ally meet certain ministers going somewhere 
 else ; why kaisers affect to review troops here, 
 that they may be able to talk statecraft there; 
 j how princely compacts and contracts of marriage 
 are made at sulphur springs : all these and such 
 like leaked out as small-talk with a young and 
 pretty woman, whose frivolity of manner went 
 . bail for the safety of the confidence, and went 
 far to persuade Walpole that though bank stock 
 might be a surer investment, there were paying 
 qualities in certain women that in the end prom- 
 ised larger returns than mere money, and higher 
 , rewards than mere wealth. " Yes," cried he to 
 himself, "this is the real change of front — this 
 has all in its favor." 
 
 ' Nor yet all. Strong as Walpole 's self-esteem 
 ! was, and high his estimate of his own capacity, 
 he had — he could not conceal it — a certain mis- 
 giving as to whether he really understood that 
 girl or not. " I have watched many a bolt from 
 her bow," said he, "and I think 1 know their 
 range. But now and then she has shot an arrow 
 into the clear sky, and far beyond my sight to 
 follow it. " 
 
 That scene in the wood, too. Absurd enough 
 that it should obtrude itself at such a moment — 
 but it was the sort of indication that meant much 
 more to a man like Walpole than to men of other 
 experiences. Was she flirting witli this young 
 Austrian soldier? No great harm if she were; 
 but still there had been passages between himself 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 1 :.. 
 
 and her which should have hound her over to 
 more circumspection. \V:is there not a shadowy 
 
 sort of engagement between them? Lawyers 
 deem a mere promise to grant a lease as equiv- 
 alent to a contract It would be a curious ques- 
 tion in morals to inquire how tar the licensed 
 perjuries of courtship are statutory offenses. 
 Perhaps a sly consciousness on his own part that 
 he was not playing perfectly fair made him, as 
 it might do, more than usually tenacious thai Ids 
 adversary should hi- honest What chance the 
 innocent public would have with two people who 
 were so adroit with each other, was his next 
 thought : and he actually laughed aloud as it oc- 
 curred to him. " I only wish my had would 
 invite us here before we sail. If I could hut 
 show her to Maude, half an hour of these women 
 together would he the heaviest vengeance I could 
 ask her! I wonder how could that he man- 
 aged ?" 
 
 "A dispatch, Sir, his lordship begs you to 
 read," said a servant, entering. It was an open 
 envelope, and contained these words on a slip 
 of paper : 
 
 '• W. shall have Guatemala. He must go out 
 by the mail of November 15. Send him here 
 for instructions." Some words in cipher follow- 
 ed, and an under-secretary's initials. 
 
 ••Now, then, for the 'change of front.' I'll 
 write to Nina by this post. I'll ask my lord to 
 let me tear off this portion of the telegram, and 
 I shall inclose it." 
 
 The letter was not so easily written as he 
 thought — at least he made more than one draft, 
 and was at last in great doubt whether a long 
 statement or a few and very decided lines might 
 be better. How be ultimately determined, and 
 what he said, can not be given here : for, unhap- 
 pily, the conditions of my narrative require I 
 should ask my reader to accompany me to a 
 very distant spot and other interests, which were 
 then occupying the attention of an almost for- 
 gotten acquaintance of ours, the redoubtable 
 Joseph Atlee. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIL 
 
 WITH A PASHA. 
 
 JoSEPrt Atlee bad a very busy morning of it 
 on a certain November day at i'era, when the 
 post brought him tidings that Lord Danesbury 
 had resigned the Irish Viceroyalty, and been 
 once more named to his old post as embassador 
 at Constantinople. 
 
 •• My uncle desires me," wrote Lady Maude, 
 "to impress you with the now all-important 
 necessity of obtaining the papers you know of, 
 and, mi fir as you are able, to secure that no 
 authorized copies Of them arc extant. Kulbash 
 Pasha will, my lord says, be very tractable when 
 once assured that our return to Turkey is a cer- 
 tainty : but should you detect signs of hesitation 
 or distrust in the Grand Vizier's conduct, you 
 will hint that the investigation as to the issue of 
 the Galata shares — 'preference shares' — may be 
 reopened at any moment, and thai the Ottoman 
 Hank agent. Schiiffer, has drawn up a memoir 
 which my uncle now hold-. I COpy my lord's 
 words for all this, and sincerely hope you will 
 understand it. which, I confess, / do not at all. 
 My lord cautioned me not to occupy your time 
 
 OT attention by any reference to Irish questions, 
 but leave you perfectly free to deal with thOK 
 larger interests of the Bast that should now en- 
 gage you. 1 forbear, therefore, to do more than 
 
 mark with a pencil the part in the debate- which 
 
 might interest you especially, and merely add 
 
 the fact. Otherwise, perhaps, not very credible, 
 that Mr. Walpole did write the famous letter im- 
 puted to him, did promise tin- amnesty, or what- 
 ever be the name of it, and did pledge the honor 
 of the Government to a transaction with these 
 Fenian leaders. With what success to his own 
 prospects, the Gazette will speak that announces 
 his appointment to Guatemala. 
 
 " I am myself very far from sorry at our change 
 of destination. I prefer the Bosphorns to the 
 Hay of Dublin, and like l'era better than the 
 Phoenix. It is not alone that the interests are 
 greater, the questions larger, and the conse- 
 quences more important to the world at large, 
 but that, as my uncle has just said, you are spat ed 
 the peddling impertinence of Parliament inter- 
 fering at every moment and questioning your 
 conduct, from an invitation to Cardinal Cullen 
 to the dismissal of a chief constable. Happily, 
 the gentlemen at Westminster know nothing 
 about Turkey, and have the prudence not to ven- 
 tilate their ignorance, except in secret commit- 
 tee. I am sorry to have to tell you that my lord 
 sees great difficulty in what you propose as to 
 yourself. F.O., he says, would not easily consent 
 "to your being named even a third secretary with- 
 out your going through the established grade of 
 attache. All the unquestionable merits he knows 
 you to possess would count for nothing against 
 an official regulation. The course my lord would 
 suggest is this : to enter now as a mere attache', 
 to continue in this position some three or four 
 months, come over here for the general election 
 in February, get into 'the Bouse,' and after 
 some few sessions, one or two, rejoin diplomacy, 
 to which you might be appointed as a secretary 
 of legation. My uncle named to me three, if not 
 four, cases of this kind — one, indeed, stepped at 
 once into a mission, and became a minister; 
 and though, of course, the opposition made a 
 fuss, they failed in their attempt to break the 
 appointment and the man will probably be soon 
 an embassador. I accept the little yataghan, 
 but sincerely wish the present had been of less 
 value. There is one enormous emerald in the 
 handle which I am much tempted to trans- 
 fer to a ring. Perhaps 1 ought, in decency, 
 to have your permission for the change. The 
 burnous is very beautiful, but I could not accepl 
 it — an article of dress is in the category of things 
 impossible. Have you no Irish sisters, or even 
 cousins ? Pray give me a destination to address 
 it to in your next. 
 
 '• My uncle doires me to say that, all invalu- 
 able as youi services have become where you 
 
 i are, be needs you greatly here, and would hear 
 with pleasure that you were about to return. 
 He is curious to know who wrote 'L'Orient el 
 Lord I).' in the last Revue <l> Deux Mondes, 
 The savagery of the attack implies a personal 
 
 ! rancor. Kind out the author, and replj t" him 
 in the Edinburgh. My lord Bnspects he may 
 have had access to the papers he has already 
 
 alluded to, and is the more eager to rep 
 j them." 
 
 A telegraphic dispatch in cipher was put into 
 
15G 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 his hand as he was reading. It was from Lord 
 Danesbury, and said: "Comeback as soon as 
 you can, but not before making K. Pasha know- 
 bis fate is in my hands." 
 
 As the Grand Vizier had already learned from 
 the Ottoman embassador at London the news 
 that Lord Danesbury was about to resume his 
 former post at Constantinople, his Turkish im- 
 passiveness was in no way imperiled by Atlee's 
 abrupt announcement. It is true, he would have 
 been pleased had the English Government sent 
 out some one new to the East and a stranger to 
 all Oriental questions. He would have liked one 
 of those veterans of diplomacy versed in the old- 
 fashioned ways and knaveries of German courts, 
 and whose shrewdest ideas of a subtle policy are 
 centred in a few social spies and a "Cabinet 
 Noir." The Pasha had no desire to see there a 
 man who knew all the secret machinery of a 
 Turkish administration, what corruption could 
 do, and where to look for the men who could 
 employ it. 
 
 The thing was done, however, and with that 
 philosophy of resignation to a fact in which no 
 nation can rival his own, he muttered his polite 
 congratulations on the event, and declared that 
 the dearest wish of his heart was now accom- 
 plished. 
 
 "We had half begun to believe you had 
 abandoned us, Mr. Atlee," said he. "When 
 England commits her interests to inferior men, 
 she usually means to imply that they are worth 
 nothing better. I am rejoiced to see that we are 
 at last awakened from this delusion. With his 
 Excellency Lord Danesbury here, we shall be 
 soon once more where we have been." 
 
 ' ' Your fleet is in effective condition, well 
 armed, and well disciplined ?" 
 
 " All, all," smiled the Pasha. 
 
 "The army reformed, the artillery supplied 
 with the most efficient guns, and officers of Eu- 
 ropean services encouraged to join your staff?" 
 
 "All." 
 
 "Wise economies in your financial matters, 
 close supervision in the collection of the revenue, 
 and searching inquiries where abuses exist?" 
 
 "All." 
 
 "Especial care that the administration of 
 justice should be beyond even the malevolence 
 of distrust, that men of station and influence 
 should be clear-handed and honorable, not a 
 taint of unfairness to attach to them?" 
 
 "Be it all so," ejaculated the Pasha, blandly. 
 
 " By-the-way, I am reminded by a line I have 
 just received from Ids Excellency with reference 
 to Sulina, or was it Galatz ?" 
 
 The Pasha could not decide, and he went on : 
 
 "I remember: it is Galatz. There is some 
 curious question there of a concession for a line 
 of railroad, which a Servian commissioner had 
 the skill to obtain from the cabinet here by a 
 sort of influence which our (Stock Exchange 
 people in London scarcely regard as regular. " 
 
 The Pasha nodded to imply attention, and 
 smoked on as before. 
 
 " But I weary your Excellency," said Atlee, 
 rising, "and my real business here is accom- 
 plished. " 
 
 "Tell my lord that I await his arrival with 
 impatience; that of all pending questions none 
 shall receive solution till he comes ; that I am the 
 very least of his servants." And with an air of 
 
 most dignified sincerity he bowed him out, and 
 Atlee hastened away to tell his chief that he had 
 " squared the Turk," and would sail on the mor- 
 row. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIIL 
 
 ATLEE ON HIS TRAVELS. 
 
 0\ board the Austrian Lloyd's steamer in 
 which he sailed from Constantinople Joseph 
 Atlee employed himself in the composition of a 
 small volume purporting to be the " Experiences 
 of a Two Years' Residence in Greece." In an 
 opening chapter of this work he had modestly 
 intimated to the reader how an intimate ac- 
 quaintance with the language and literature of 
 modern Greece, great opportunities of mixing 
 with every class and condition of the people, a 
 mind well stored with classical acquirements and 
 thoroughly versed in antiquarian lore, a strong 
 poetic temperament, and the feeling of an artist 
 for scenery, had all combined to give him a cer- 
 tain fitness for his task ; and by the extracts from 
 his diary it would be seen on what terms of free- 
 dom he conversed with ministers and embassa- 
 dors, even with royalty itself. 
 
 A most pitiless chapter was devoted to the ex- 
 posure of the mistakes and misrepresentations of 
 a late Quarterly article called "Greece and her 
 Protectors," whose statements were the more 
 mercilessly handled and ridiculed that the paper 
 in question had been written by himself, and the 
 sarcastic allusions to the sources of the informa- 
 tion not the less pungent on that account. 
 
 That the writer had been admitted to frequent 
 audiences of the King; that he had discussed with 
 his Majesty the cutting of the Isthmus of Corinth ; 
 that the King had seriously confided to him his 
 belief that, in the event of his abdication, the 
 Ionian Islands must revert to him as a personal 
 appanage, the terms on which they were annexed 
 to Greece being decided by lawyers to bear this 
 interpretation — all these Atlee denied of his own 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 167 
 
 knowledge, ami asked the reader to follow him 
 into the royal cabinet for bis reasons. When, 
 fore, he heard that, from Borne damage to the 
 machinery, the vessel musi be detained Bomedays 
 at Syra to refit, Atlee was Bcarcely Borry that ne- 
 cessity gave him an opportunity to visit Alliens. 
 A little abont Ulysses and a good ileal about 
 Lord Byron, a smattering of Grote ami a more 
 perfect memory of About, were, as he owned to 
 himself, all his Greece; hut he could answer for 
 w hat three days in the country would do lor him. 
 particularly with that spirit of candid inquiry he 
 could now bring to his task, and the genuine fair- 
 ness with which lie desired to judge the people. 
 
 ••The two years' resident in Athens must 
 doubtless often have dined with his minister; and 
 BQ Atlee sent his card to the Legation. 
 
 Mr. Brammell, our "present minister at Ath- 
 ens," as the Times continued to designate him, 
 as though to imply that the appointment might 
 not be permanent, was an excellent man, of that 
 stamp of which diplomacy has more — who con- 
 sider that the court to which thev are accredited 
 concentrates for the time the political interests 
 of the globe. That any one in Europe thought, 
 read, spoke, or listened to nny thing but what 
 was then happening in Greece, Mr. Brammell 
 could not believe. That France or Prussia, 
 Spain or Italy, could divide attention with this 
 small kingdom — that the great political minds 
 of the Continent were not more eager to know 
 what Comoundouros thought and Bulgaria re- 
 quired than all about Bismarck and Gortschakoll' 
 — he could not be brought to conceive ; and in 
 consequence of these convictions he was an ad- 
 mirable minister, and fully represented all the 
 interests of his country. 
 
 A- that admirable public instructor, the Levant. 
 II< raid, had frequently mentioned Atlee's name, 
 now as the guest of Kulbash Pasha, now as hav- 
 ing attended some public ceremony with other 
 persons of importance, and once as "'our distin- 
 guished countryman, whose wise suggestions and 
 acute observations have been duly accepted by 
 the imperial cabinet," Brammell at once knew 
 that this distinguished countryman should be en- 
 tertained at dinner, and he sent him an invitation. 
 That habit — so popular of late years — to send 
 Out some man from England to do something at 
 a foreign court that the British embassador or 
 minister there either has not done or can not 
 do, possibly ought never to do, had invested At- 
 lee in Brammell's eyes with the character of one 
 of those semi-accredited inscrutable people whose 
 function it would seem to be to make us out the 
 most meddlesome people in Europe. 
 
 ( )f course Brammell was not pleased to see him 
 at Athens, and he ran over all the possible con- 
 tingencies he might have come for. it might be 
 the old Greek loan which was to be raked up 
 again as a new grievance. It might be the pen- 
 sions that they woidd not pay, or the brigands 
 that they would not catch — pretty much for the 
 same reasons— that they could not. It might be 
 that they wanted to hear what T-ousichetl'. the 
 new Bobs ian minister, was doing, and whether 
 the farce of the "Grand Idea" was advertised 
 for repetition. It might be Crete was on the tn- 
 jiis, or it might be the question of the Greek en- 
 voy to the Porte that the Sultan refused to re- 
 ceive, and which promised to turn out a very 
 pretty quarrel if only adroitly treated. 
 
 The more Brammell thought of it. the more 
 
 he felt assured this most lie the reason of Alice'.-. 
 visit, and the more indignant he grew that extra- 
 
 official means should be employed to investigate 
 
 what he had written seventeen dispatches to ex- 
 plain — seventeen dispatches, with nine "inclos- 
 ures," and a "private and confidential," about 
 to appear in a blue-book. 
 
 To make the dinner as confidential as might 
 be, the only guests besides Atlee were a couple 
 of yachting Englishmen, a German Professor of 
 Archaeology, and the American minister, who, 
 of course speaking no language but his own, 
 
 could always be escaped from by a digression into 
 French, German, or Italian. 
 
 Atlee felt, as he entered the drawing-room, 
 that the company was what he irreverently called 
 
 afterward a scratch team, and with an almost 
 equal quickness he saw that lie himself was the 
 "personage" of the entertainment, the "man of 
 mark" of the party. 
 
 The same tact which enabled him to perceive 
 all this made him especially guarded in all he 
 said, so that his host's efforts to unveil his inten- 
 tions and learn what lie had come for were com- 
 plete failures. "Greece was a charming coun- 
 try. — Greece was the parent of any civilization 
 we boasted. — She gave us those ideas of archi- 
 tecture with which we raised that glorious temple 
 at Kensington, and that taste for sculpture which 
 we exhibited near Apsley House. — Aristophanes 
 gave us our comic drama, and only the defaults 
 of ourlanguage made it difficult to show why the 
 member for Cork did not more often recall De- 
 mosthenes." 
 
 As for insolvency, it was a very gentleman-like 
 failing; while brigandage was only what She'd 
 used to euphemize as "the wild justice" of noble 
 spirits, too impatient for the sluggard steps of 
 slow redress, and too proud not to be self-re- 
 liant. 
 
 Thus excusing and extenuating wherein he 
 could not flatter, Atlee talked on the entire even- 
 ing, till he sent the two Englishmen home heart- 
 ily sick of a bombastic eulogy on the land where 
 a pilot had run their cutter on a rock, and a rev- 
 enue officer had seized all their tobacco. The 
 German had retired early, and the Yankee hast- 
 ened to his lodgings to "jot down" all the fine 
 things he could commit to his next dispatch 
 home, and overwhelm Mr. Seward with an array 
 of historic celebrities such as had never been seen 
 at Washington. 
 
 "They're gone at last," said the minister. 
 "Let us have our cigar on the terrace." 
 
 The unbounded frankness, the unlimited trust- 
 fulness, that now ensued between these two nun 
 was charming. Brammel] represented one hard 
 worked and sorely tried in his country's service; 
 the perfect slave of office, spending nights long at 
 his desk, but not appreciated, not valued, at I mi no. 
 It was delightful, therefore, to him to find a man 
 like Atlee to whom he could tell this could tell 
 for what an ungrateful country he toiled, what 
 
 ignorance he sought to enlighten, what actual 
 
 stupidity he had to counteract. Me spoke of the 
 OfHc< — from his tone of horror it might have 
 
 been the Holy Office— with a sort of tremulous 
 
 terror and aversion : tic absurd instructions they 
 sent him. the impossible things he was to do, the 
 
 inconceivable lines of policy be was to insist on : 
 
 how but for him the King would abdicate, and a 
 
158 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 Russian protectorate be proclaimed ; how the ! whole intrigue. I wrote home how Tsousicheff 
 revolt at Athens would be proclaimed in Tltessa- [ was nursing this new quarrel. I told our peo- 
 ly; how Skulkekoff, the Russian general, was j pie facts of the Muscovite policy that they never 
 waiting to move into the provinces "at the first j got a hint of from their embassador at St. Peters- 
 check my policy shall receive here," cried he. burg." 
 
 ''I shall show you on this map; and here are i "It was rare luck that we had you here : good- 
 the names, armament, and tonnage, of a hundred j night, good-night," said Atlee, as he buttoned his 
 and ninety-four gun-boats now ready at Nicholief coat. 
 
 to move down on Constantinople." 
 
 Was it not strange, was it not worse than 
 strange, after such a show of unbounded confi- 
 dence as this, Atlee would reveal nothing? 
 Whatever his grievances against the people he 
 served — and who is without them? — he would 
 say nothing, he had no complaint to make. 
 Things he admitted were bad, but they might be 
 worse. The monarchy existed still, and the 
 House of Lords was, for a while at least, tolerated. 
 Ireland was disturbed, but not in open rebellion ; 
 and if we had no army to speak of, we still had 
 a navy, and even the present Admiralty only lost 
 about five ships a year! 
 
 Till long after midnight did they fence with 
 each other, with buttons on their foils — very 
 harmlessly, no doubt, but very uselessly too : 
 Braminell could make nothing of a man who nei- 
 ther wanted to hear about finance nor taxation, 
 court scandal, schools, nor public robbery ; and 
 though he could not in so many words ask, What 
 have you come for? why are you here? he said 
 this in full fifty different ways for three hours 
 and more. 
 
 "You make some stay among us, I trust?" 
 said the minister, as his guest rose to take leave. 
 "You mean to see something of this interesting 
 country before you leave?" 
 
 " I fear not ; when the repairs to the steamer 
 enable her to put to sea, they are to let me know 
 by telegraph, and I shall join her." 
 
 " Are you so pressed for time that you can not 
 spare us a week or two?" 
 
 "Totally impossible! Parliament will sit in 
 January next, and I must hasten home." 
 
 This was to imply that he was in the House, 
 or that he expected to be, or that he ought to be, 
 and, even if he were not, that his presence in En- 
 gland was all-essential to somebody who was in 
 Parliament, and for whom his information, his 
 explanation, his accusation, or any thing else, 
 was all needed, and so Brammell read it and 
 bowed accordingly. 
 
 " By-the-way," said the minister, as the other 
 was leaving the room, and with that sudden 
 abruptness of a wayward thought, " we have been 
 talking of all sorts of things and people, but not 
 a word about what we are so full of here. How 
 is this difficulty about the new Greek envoy to 
 the Porte to end ? You know, of course, the Sul- 
 tan refuses to receive him?" 
 
 "The Pasha told me something of it, but I 
 confess to have paid little attention. I treated 
 the matter as insignificant." 
 
 "Insignificant! You can not mean that an 
 affront so openly administered as this, the great- 
 est national offense that could be offered, is in- 
 significant?" and then, with a volubility that 
 smacked very little of want of preparation, he ran 
 over how the idea of sending a particular man, 
 long compromised by his complicity in the Cre- 
 tan revolt, to Constantinople, came from Russia, 
 and that the opposition of the Porte to accept him 
 was also Russian. "I got to the bottom of the | 
 
 "More than that, I said, ' If the cabinet here 
 persist in sending Kostalergi — ' " 
 
 "Whom did you say? What name was it 
 you said?" 
 
 " Kostalergi — the Prince. As much a prince 
 as you are. First of all, they have no better; 
 and secondly, this is the most consummate ad- 
 venturer in the East." 
 
 "I should like to know him. Is he here — at 
 Athens?" 
 
 "Of course he is. He is waiting till he hears 
 the Sultan will receive him." 
 
 "I should like to know him," said Atlee, more 
 seriously. 
 
 " Nothing easier. He comes here every day. 
 Will you meet him at dinner to-morrow ?" 
 
 " Delighted ! but then I should like a little 
 conversation with him in the morning. Perhaps 
 you would kindly make me known to him?" 
 
 "With sincere pleasure. I'll write and ask 
 him to dine — and I'll say that you will wait on 
 him. I'll say, ' My distinguished friend Mr. At- 
 lee, of whom you have heard, will wait on you 
 about eleven or twelve.' Will that do?"' , 
 
 " Perfectly. So then I may make my visit on 
 the presumption of being expected ?" 
 
 " Certainly. Not that Kostalergi wants much 
 preparation. He plays baccara all night, but he 
 is at his desk at six." 
 
 "Is he rich?" 
 
 " Hasn't a sixpence — but plays all the same. 
 And, what people are more surprised at, pays 
 when he loses. If I had not already passed an 
 evening in your company, I should be bold enough 
 to hint to you the need of caution — great caution 
 — in talking with him." 
 
 " I know — I am aware," said Atlee, with a 
 meaning smile. 
 
 "You will not be misled by his cunning, Mr. 
 Atlee, but beware of his candor." 
 
 "I will be on my guard. Many thanks for 
 the caution. Good-night! — once more, good- 
 night!" 
 
 CHAPTER LXIV. 
 
 GREEK MEETS GREEK. 
 
 So excited did Atlee feel about meeting the 
 father of Nina Kostalergi — of whose strange do- 
 ings and adventurous life he had heard much — 
 that he scarcely slept the entire night. It puz- 
 zled him greatly to determine in what character 
 he should present himself to this crafty Greek. 
 Political amateurship was now so popular in En- 
 gland that he might easily enough pass off for 
 one of those " Bulls" desirous to make himself 
 up on the Greek question. This was a part that 
 offered no difficulty. "Give me five minutes of 
 any man — a little longer with a woman — and I'll 
 know where his sympathies incline to." This 
 was a constant boast of his, and not altogether a 
 vain one. He might be an archaeological trav- 
 eler, eager about new-discovered relics and curi- 
 
LORD KlL<iU15l!IN. 
 
 159 
 
 ons about rained temples. He might be a yacht- 
 ing man, who only cared tor Salamis ;i< good an- 
 chorage, in>r thought of the Acropolis except as 
 a point of departure : or he might Ik- one of those 
 myriads who travel without knowing when- or 
 earing why; airing their amm now at Thebes, 
 
 now at Trolhatien: a weariful, dispirited rare, who 
 rarely look so thoroughly alive as when choosing 
 a cigar or changing their money. There was no 
 reason why the "distinguished Mr. At lee" might 
 not be one of these — he was accredited, too, by 
 his minister, and his "solidarity," as the French 
 call it. was beyond question. 
 
 While yet revolving these points, a cavass — 
 With much gold in his jacket, and a voluminous 
 petticoat of white calico— came to inform him 
 that his Excellency the Prince hoped to see him 
 at breakfast at eleven o'clock; and it now only 
 wanted a tew minutes of that hour. Atlee de- 
 tained the messenger to show him the road, and 
 at last set out. 
 
 Traversing one dreary, ill-built street after an- 
 other, they arrived at last at what seemed a little 
 lane, the entrance to which carriages were denied 
 by a line of stone posts, at the extremity of which 
 a small green gate appeared in a wall. Pushing 
 this wide open, the eavass stood respectfully 
 while Atlee passed in. and found himself in what, 
 for Greece, was a garden. There were two fine 
 palm-trees, and a small scrub of oleanders and 
 dwarf cedars that grew around a little fish-pond, 
 where a small Triton in the middle, with distend- 
 ed, ehceks, should have poured forth a refreshing 
 jet of water, but his lips were dry, and his conch- 
 shell empty, and the muddy tank at his feet a 
 mere surface of broad water-lilies convulsively 
 shaken by bull-frogs. A short shady path led to 
 the house — a two-storied edifice, with the external 
 stair of wood, that seemed to crawl round it on 
 every side. 
 
 In a good-sized room of the ground-floor At- 
 lee found the Prince awaiting him. He was 
 confined to a sofa by a slight sprain, lie called it, 
 and apologized for his not being able to rise. 
 
 The Prince, though advanced in years, was still 
 handsome ; his features had all the splendid reg- 
 ularity of their Greek origin; but in the enor- 
 mous orbits, of which the tint was nearly black, 
 and the indented temples, traversed by veins of 
 immense size, and the firm compression of his 
 lips, might be read the signs of a man who car- 
 ried the gambling spirit into every incident of life, 
 one ready "to back his luck." and show a bold 
 front to fortune when fate proved adverse. 
 
 The Greek's manner was perfect. There was 
 all the ease of a man used to society, with a BOrt 
 of half- sly courtesy, as he said, "This is kind- 
 ness, Mr. Atlee — this is real kindness. 1 scarce- 
 ly thought an Englishman would have the cour- 
 age to call upon any thing so unpopular as I 
 am." 
 
 " I have come to see you and the Parthenon, 
 Prince, and I have begun with you.'' 
 
 " And you will tell them, when you get home, 
 that I am not the terrible revolutionist they think 
 me: that I am neither Danton nor Felix Pyat. 
 but a very mild and rather tiresome old man. 
 whose extreme \iolence goes no further than be- 
 lieving that people ought to hi- masters in their 
 own bouse, and that when any one disputes the 
 right, the best thing is to throw him out of the 
 window." 
 
 '"If he will not go by the door," remarked 
 Atlee. 
 
 "No, I would not give him the chance of the 
 
 door. Otherwise yon make no distinction be 
 
 tween your friends and your enemies. [| i* |,y 
 
 the mild methods— what you call 'milk-and-wa- 
 ter methods' — men spoil all their efforts lor free- 
 dom. You always want to cut oil' BOmebody's 
 bead and spill no blood. There's the mistake 
 of those Irish rebels: they tell me they have 
 courage, but I find it hard to believe them." 
 
 "Do believe them, then, and know for certain 
 that there is not a braver people in Europe." 
 
 "How do you keep them down, then.-'' 
 
 "You must not ask me that, for 1 am one of 
 them." 
 
 "You Irish?" 
 
 "Yes, Irish — very Irish." 
 
 " Ah ! I see. Irish in an English sense? Just 
 as there are Greeks here who believe in Enlbash 
 Pasha, and would say, Stay at home and till your 
 currant fields and mind your coasting trade. 
 Don't try to be civilized, for civilization goes bad- 
 ly with brigandage, and scarcely suits trickery. 
 And you are aware, Mr. Atlee. that trickery and 
 brigandage are more to Greece than olives or 
 dried figs-." 
 
 There was that of mockery in the way lie said 
 this, and the little smile that played about his 
 mouth when he finished, that left Atlee in con- 
 siderable doubt how to read him. 
 
 "I study your newspapers, Mr. Atlee." re- 
 sumed he. "I never omit to read your Times, 
 and I see how my old acquaintance Lord Danes- 
 bury has been making Turkey out of Ireland. It 
 is so hard to persuade an old embassador that you 
 can not do every thing by corruption!'' 
 
 " I scarcely think you do him justice." 
 
 " Poor Danesbury !" ejaculated lie. sorrowfully. 
 
 " You opine that his policy is a mistake ?" 
 
 " Poor Danesbury!" said he again. 
 
 "He is one of our ablest men, notwithstand- 
 ing. At this moment we have not his superior 
 in any thing." 
 
 "I was going to say, Poor Danesbury, but I 
 now say, Poor England." 
 
 Atlee bit his lip with anger at the sarcasm, but 
 went on : " I infer you are not aw are of the exact 
 share subordinates have had in what you call Lord 
 Danesbury \s Irish blunders — " 
 
 " Pardon my interrupting you — but a real- 
 ly able man has no subordinates. His inferior 
 agents are so thoroughly absorbed bj hi* own in- 
 dividuality that they have DO wills — no instincts 
 — and therefore they can do no indiscretions. 
 They are the simple emanations of himself in ac- 
 tion." 
 
 " In Turkey, perhaps," said Atlee, with a smile. 
 
 "If in Turkey, why not in England, or, at 
 least, in Ireland ? If you are well Berved — and, 
 
 mind, you mU8t be well Berved, or you are pOW- 
 erless — you can always in political lite see the ad- 
 versary's hand. That he sees yours is, of course, 
 true: the great question, then, is. how much you 
 mean to mi-lead him by the showing it ? I give 
 you an instance: Lord Dane-hury's cleverest 
 stroke in policy here, the one hit probably he 
 made in the Kast, was to have a private corre- 
 spondence with the Ehedire made known to the 
 
 Russian Embassy, and induce Gortschakoffto be- 
 lieve that he could not trust the Pasha! All the 
 Russian preparations to move down on the prov- 
 
1G0 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 inces were countermanded. The stores of grain 
 that were being made on the Pruth were arrest- 
 ed, and three, nearly four, weeks elapsed before 
 the mistake was discovered, and in that interval 
 England had reinforced the squadron at Malta, 
 and taken steps to encourage Turkey — always to 
 be done by money, or promise of money." 
 
 " It was a cou/> of great adroitness," said Atlee. 
 
 " It was more," cried the Greek, with elation. 
 "It was a move of such subtlety as smacks of 
 something higher than the Saxon. The men 
 who do these things have the instinct of their 
 craft. It is theirs to understand that chemistry 
 of human motives by which a certain combination 
 results in effects totally remote from the agents 
 that produce it. Can you follow me ?" 
 
 "I believe I can." 
 
 " I would rather say, Is my attempt at an ex- 
 planation sufficiently clear to be intelligible ?" 
 
 Atlee looked fixedly at him — and he could do so 
 unobserved, for the other was now occupied in pre- 
 paring his pipe — without minding the question. 
 Therefore Atlee set himself to study the features 
 before him. It was evident enough, from the in- 
 tensity of his gaze and a certain trembling of his 
 upper lip, that the scrutiny cost him no common 
 effort. It was, in fact, the effort to divine what 
 if he mistook to read aright would be an irrepa- 
 rable blunder. 
 
 With the long-drawn inspiration a man makes 
 before he adventures a daring feat, he said : " It 
 is time I should be candid with you, Prince. It 
 is time I should tell you that I am in Greece only 
 to see you." 
 
 " To see me ?" said the other, and a very faint 
 flush passed across his face. 
 
 "To see you," said Atlee, slowly, while he drew 
 out a pocket-book and took from it a letter. 
 ' ' This, " said he, handing it, " is to your address. " 
 The words on the cover were M. Speridionides. 
 
 " I am Speridion Kostalergi, and by birth a 
 Prince of Delos," said the Greek, waving back 
 the letter. 
 
 "I am well aware of that, and it is only in 
 perfect confidence that I venture to recall a past 
 that your Excellency will see I respect ;" and At- 
 lee spoke with an air of deference. 
 
 " The antecedents of the men who serve this 
 country are not to be measured by the artificial 
 habits of a people who regulate condition by mon- 
 ey. Your statesmen have no need to be journal- 
 ists, teachers, tutors : Frenchmen and Italians 
 are all these, and on the Lower Danube and in 
 Greece we are these and something more. — Nor 
 are we less politicians that we are more men of the 
 world. — The little of statecraft that French Em- 
 peror ever knew he picked up in his days of ex- 
 ile." All this he blurted out in short and pas- 
 sionate bursts, like an angry man who was trying 
 to be logical in his anger, and to make an effort 
 of reason subdue his wrath. 
 
 " If I had not understood these things as you 
 yourself understand them, I should not have been 
 so indiscreet as to offer you that letter ;" and once 
 more he proffered it. 
 
 This time the Greek took it, tore open the en- 
 velope, and read it through. 
 
 "It is from Lord Danesbury," said he at 
 length. "When we parted last I was, in a cer- 
 tain sense, my lord's subordinate — that is, there 
 were things none of his staff of secretaries or at- 
 tache's or dragomen could do, and I could do them. 
 
 Times are changed, and if we are to meet again, 
 it will be as colleagues. It is true, Mr. Atlee, the 
 embassador of England and the envoy of Greece 
 are not exactly of the same rank. I do not per- 
 mit myself many illusions, and this is not one of 
 them; but remember, if Great Britain be a first- 
 rate power, Greece is a volcano. It is for us to 
 say when there shall be an eruption." 
 
 It was evident, from the rambling tenor of this 
 speech, he was speaking rather to conceal his 
 thoughts, and give himself time for reflection, 
 than to enunciate any definite opinion ; and so 
 Atlee, with native acuteness, read him, as he sim- 
 ply bowed a cold assent. 
 
 "Why should I give him back his letters?" 
 burst out the Greek, warmly. "What does he 
 offer me in exchange for them ? Money ! mere 
 money ! By what presumption does he assume 
 that I must be in such want of money that the 
 only question should be the sum ? May not the 
 time come when I shall be questioned in our 
 Chamber as to certain matters of policy, and my 
 only vindication be the documents of this same 
 English embassador, written in his own hand and 
 signed with his name? Will you tell me that 
 the triumphant assertion of a man's honor is 
 not more to him than bank-notes?" 
 
 Though the heroic spirit of this speech went 
 but a short way to deceive Atlee, who only read it 
 as a plea for a higher price, it was his policy to 
 seem to believe every word of it, and he looked a 
 perfect picture of quiet conviction. 
 
 "You little suspect what these letters are," 
 said the Greek. 
 
 " I believe I know : I rather think I have a cat- 
 alogue of them and their contents, "mildly hinted 
 the other. 
 
 " Ah ! indeed ; and are you prepared to vouch 
 for the accuracy and completeness of your list?" 
 
 " You must be a warn it is only my lord himself 
 can answer that question. " 
 
 " Is there — in your enumeration — is there the 
 letter about Crete? and the false news that de- 
 ceived the Baron de Baude? Is there the note 
 of my instructions to the Khedive? Is there — 
 I am sure there is not — any mention of the ne- 
 gotiation with Stephanotis Bey?" 
 
 "I have seen Stephanotis myself; I have just 
 come from him," said Atlee, grasping at the es- 
 cape the name ottered. 
 
 " Ah, you know the old Palikao?" 
 
 "Intimately : we are, I hope, close friends ; he 
 was at Kulbash Pasha's while I was there, and 
 we had much talk together." 
 
 "And from him it was you learned that Spe- 
 ridionides was Speridion kostalergi?" said the 
 Greek, slowly. 
 
 " Surely this is not meant as a question, or, at 
 least, a question to be answered?" said Atlee, 
 smiling. 
 
 "No, no, of course not," replied the other, po- 
 litely. " We are chatting together, if not like 
 old friends, like men who have every element to 
 become dear friends. We see life pretty much 
 from the same point of view, Mr. Atlee — is it not 
 so?" 
 
 "It would be a great flattery to me to think 
 it." And Joe's eyes sparkled as he spoke. 
 
 " One has to make his choice somewhat early 
 in the world whether he will hunt or be hunted: 
 I believe that is about the case." 
 
 "I suspect so." 
 
l.OKI) KII.OOliBIX. 
 
 16 
 
 " I did not lake long to decide ; / took my 
 
 place with tin- wolves !" Nothing could be more 
 quietly uttered than these words; but there was 
 a savage ferocity in his look as ho said them 
 that held Atlee almost Bpell bound. '• And yon, 
 Mr. Atlee? and yon? 1 need scarcely ask 
 where your choice toll I" 
 
 It was so palpable that the words meant a com- 
 pliment. Atloo had only to smile a polite accept- 
 ance of them. 
 
 "These letters," said the Greek, resuming, 
 
 and liko one who had not mentally lapsed from 
 the theme — '"these letters are all that my lord 
 dooms them. They are the very stuff that, in 
 your country of publicity ami free discussion, 
 would make or mar the very best reputations 
 among yon. And." added he, after a pause, 
 " tli. to are none of them destroyed— none !" 
 
 •• lie is aware of that." 
 
 •"No. ho is not aware of it to the extent I 
 speak of. for many of the documents that he be- 
 lieved he saw burned in his own presence, on bis 
 own hearth, are here, here in the room we sit in ! 
 So that I am in the proud position of being able 
 to vindicate his policy in many oases where his 
 memory might prove weak or fallacious." 
 
 ••Although I know Lord Danesbury's value 
 for these papers does not bear out your own, I 
 will not Buffer myself to discuss the point. I re- 
 turn at once to what I have come for. Shall I 
 make you an offer in money for them, Monsieur 
 Kostalergi ?" 
 
 " What is the amount you propose?" 
 
 '' I was to negotiate for a thousand pounds 
 first. I was to give two thousand at the last re- 
 -ort. I will begin at the last resort and pay you 
 two." 
 
 "Why not piastres, Mr. Atlee? I'm sure your 
 instructions must have said piastres." 
 
 Quite unmoved by the sarcasm. Atlee took out 
 his pocket-book and read from a memorandum : 
 '•Should M. Kostalergi refuse your offer or think 
 it insufficient, on no account lot the negotiation 
 take any turn of acrimony or recrimination. He 
 has rendered me great services in past times, and 
 it will he for himself to determine whether he 
 should do or say what should in anyway bar our 
 future relations together." 
 
 •• This is not a menace?" said the Greek, smil- 
 ing superciliously. 
 
 " No. it is simply an instruction," said the 
 other, after a slight hesitation. 
 
 "The men who make a trade of diplomacy," 
 said the Greek, haughtily, "reserve it for their 
 dealings with cabinets. In home or familiar in- 
 tercourse they aro straightforward and simple. 
 Without these papers your noble master can not 
 return to Turkey as embassador. Do not inter- 
 rupt me. He can not come back as embassador 
 to the Porte! It i- for him to say how he esti- 
 mates the post. An ambitious man with ample 
 reason for his ambition, an able man with a thor- 
 ough conviction of his ability, a patriotic man 
 who understood and saw the services he could 
 render to bis country, would not bargain at the 
 price the place should cost him. nor say ten thou- 
 sand pounds too much to pay for it." 
 
 "Ten thousand pounds! exolaimed Atlee, 
 but in real and unfeigned astonishment. 
 
 "I have said ten thousand, and I v. ill not say 
 nine — nor nine thousand tiine hundred." 
 
 Atlee slowlv arose and took his hat. " I have 
 L 
 
 too much respect for yourself and for your time. 
 M. Kostalergi, to impose any longer on your lei- 
 sure. I have no need to say that your proposal 
 is totally unacceptable." 
 
 •• Vim have not hoard it all, Sir. The money 
 is but a pail of what 1 iusi>t on. I shall demand, 
 besides, that the British embassador at Constan- 
 tinople shall formally support my claim to be ro- 
 ceivedas envoy from Greece, and that the whole 
 might of England bo plod-oil to the ratification 
 of my appointment" 
 
 A very oold but not uncourioous smile was all 
 
 Atloo's acknowledgment of this speech. 
 
 "There are small details which regard my 
 title and the rank that I lay claim to. With 
 these I do not trouble you. I will merely Baj I 
 reserve them if we should discuss this in fu- 
 ture." 
 
 "Of that there is little prospect, Indeed, I see 
 none whatever. I may say this much, however, 
 Prince, that I shall most willingly undertake to 
 place your claims to be received as minister for 
 Greece at the Porte under Lord Danesbury's no- 
 tice, and, I have every hope, for favorable consid- 
 eration. We are not likely to meet again : may 
 I assume that we part friends?" 
 
 "You only anticipate my own sincere desire." 
 
 As they passed slowly through the garden, At- 
 lee stopped and said : " Had I been able to tell 
 my lord, ' The Prince is just named special envoy 
 at Constantinople. The Turks are offended at 
 something he has done in Crete or Thessaly. 
 Without certain pressure on the Divan they will 
 not receive him. Will your lordship empower 
 me to say that you will undertake this. and. 
 moreover, enable me to assure him that all the 
 cost and expenditure of his outfit shall be met 
 in a suitable form ?' If, in fact, you give me your 
 permission to submit such a basis as this, I should 
 leave Athens far happier than I feel now." 
 
 "The Chamber has already voted the outfit. 
 It is very modest, but it is enough. Our nation- 
 al resources are at a low ebb. You might, in- 
 deed — that is, if you still wished to plead my 
 cause — you might tell my lord that I had des- 
 tined this sum as the fortune of my daughter. I 
 have a daughter, Mr. Atlee, and at present so- 
 journing in your own country. And though at 
 one time I was minded to recall her, and take 
 her with me to Turkey, I have grown to doubt 
 whether it would be a wise policy. Our Greek 
 contingencies are too many and too sudden to lot 
 us project very far in life." 
 
 "Strange enough," said Atlee, thoughtfully, 
 "you have just — as it were by more hazard — 
 struck the one chord in the English nature that 
 will always respond to the appeal of a home affec- 
 tion. Wore I to say, 'Do you know why Kos- 
 talergi makes so hard a bargain ? It is to endow 
 
 a daughter. Jt is the sole provision he stipulates 
 to make her — Greek statesmen can amasffno for- 
 tunes — this hazard will secure the girl's future:' 
 On my life. I can not think of one argument that 
 would have equal weight." 
 
 Kostalergi smiled faintly, but did not speak. 
 
 ■• Lord Danesbury never married, but I know 
 
 with what interest and affection ho follows the 
 
 fortunes of men who live to secure the happiness 
 
 of their children. It i- the our plea he could not 
 
 to he Mire, he might say. ' Kostalergi told 
 you tin-, and perhaps at the time he himself be- 
 lieved it ; but how can a man who likes the world 
 
162 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 and its very costliest pleasures guard himself 
 against his own habits? Who is to pledge his 
 honor that the girl will ever be the owner of this 
 sum ?' " 
 
 " I shall place that beyond a cavil or a ques- 
 tion ; he shall be himself her guardian. The 
 money shall not leave his hands till she marries. 
 You have your own laws, by which a man can 
 charge his estate with the payment of a certain 
 amount. My lord, if he assents to this, will 
 know how it may be done. I repeat, I do not 
 desire to touch a drachma of the sum." 
 
 "You interest me immensely. I can not tell 
 you how intensely I feel interested in all this. In 
 tact, I shall own to you frankly that you have at 
 last employed an argument I do not know how 
 — even if I wished — to answer. Am I at liber- 
 ty to state this pretty much as you have told it ?" 
 
 "Every word of it. " 
 
 " Will you go further — will you give me a little 
 line, a memorandum in your own hand, to show 
 that I do not misstate nor mistake you — that I 
 have your meaning correctly, and without even a 
 chance of error ?" 
 
 " I will write it formally and deliberately." 
 
 The bell of the outer door rang at the moment. 
 It was a telegraphic message to Atlee to say that 
 the steamer had perfected her repairs and would 
 sail that evening. 
 
 " You mean to sail with her?" asked the Greek. 
 "Well, within an hour you shall have my pack- 
 et. Good-by. I have no doubt we shall hear of 
 each other again." 
 
 " I think I could venture to bet on it," were 
 Atlee's last words as he turned away. 
 
 CHAPTER LXV. 
 "in town." 
 
 Lord Danesbuet had arrived at Bruton 
 Street to confer with certain members of the 
 Cabinet who remained in town after the session 
 chiefly to consult with him. He was accompa- 
 nied "by his niece, Lady Maude, and by Wal- 
 pole, the latter continuing to reside under his 
 roof rather from old habit than from any strong 
 wish on either side. 
 
 Walpole had obtained a short extension of his 
 leave, and employed the time in trying to make 
 up his mind about a certain letter to Nina Kos- 
 talergi, which he had written nearly fifty times 
 in different versions and destroyed. Neither his 
 lordship nor his niece ever saw "him. They knew 
 he had a room or two somewhere, a servant was 
 occasionally encountered on the way to him with 
 a breakfast - tray and an urn ; his letters were 
 seen on the hall table ; but, except these, he gave 
 no signs of life — never appeared at luncheon or 
 at dinner— and as much dropped out of all mem- 
 ory or interest as though he had ceased to be. 
 
 It was one evening, yet early — scarcely eleven 
 o'clock — as Lord Danesbury'slittle party of four 
 Cabinet chiefs had just departed, that he sat at 
 the drawing-room fire with Lady Maude, chat- 
 ting over the events of the evening's conversa- 
 tion, and discussing, as men will do at times, 
 the characters of their guests. 
 
 "It has been nearly as tiresome as a Cabinet 
 Council, Maude !" said he, with a sigh, " and not 
 unlike it in one thing — it was almost always the 
 
 men who knew least of any matter who discuss- 
 ed it most exhaustively." 
 
 " I conclude you know what you are going out 
 to do, my lord, and do not care to hear the des- 
 ultory notions of people who know nothing." 
 
 "Just so. What could a First Lord tell me 
 about those Russian intrigues in Albania ? or is it 
 likely that a Home Secretary is aware of what 
 is preparing in Montenegro ? They get hold of 
 some crotchet in the Revue de Deux Mortdes, 
 and, assuming it all to be true, they ask, defiant- 
 ly, ' How are you going to deal with that ? Why 
 did you not foresee the other ?' and such-like. 
 How little they know, as that fellow Atlee says, 
 that a man evolves his Turkey out of the neces- 
 sities of his pocket, and captures his Constanti- 
 nople to pay for a dinner at the ' Freres !' What 
 fleets of Russian gun-boats have I seen launched 
 to procure a few bottles of Champagne ! I re- 
 member a chasse of Kersch, with the cafe, cost- 
 ing a whole battery of Krupp's breech-loaders !" 
 
 " Are our own journals more correct ?" 
 
 " They are more cautious, Maude — far more 
 cautious. Nine days' wonders with us would be 
 too costly. Nothing must be risked that can af- 
 fect the funds. The share-list is too solemn a 
 thing for joking." 
 
 "The Premier was very silent to-night," said 
 she, after a pause. 
 
 " He generally is in company : he looks like a 
 man bored at being obliged to listen to people 
 saying the things that he knows as well, and 
 could tell better than they do." 
 
 " How completely he appears to have forgiven 
 or forgotten the Irish Jiasco /" 
 
 " Of course he has. An extra blunder in the 
 conduct of Irish affairs is only like an additional 
 mask in a fancy ball — the whole thing is motley ; 
 and asking for consistency would be like request- 
 ing the company to behave like archdeacons. " 
 
 "And so the mischief has blown over?" 
 
 " In a measure it has. The Opposition quar- 
 reled among themselves ; and such as were not 
 
LORD K1LG0BB1N. 
 
 163 
 
 ready to take office if we were beaten declined 
 to press the motion. The irresponsiblea wenl 
 on, a- they always do, to their own destruction. 
 They became violent, and, of course, our people 
 appealed against tlie violence, and with such 
 temperate language and good-breeding that we 
 carried the House with us." 
 
 "I see there was quite a sensation about the 
 wonl • villain.' " 
 
 "No; miscreant. It was miscreant — a word 
 very popular in O'OonnelTs day, but rather ob- 
 solete now. When t lie Speaker called on the 
 member for an apology we had won the day ! 
 These rash utterances in debate are the explo- 
 sive balls that no one must use in battle; and if 
 we only discover one in a fellow's pouch we dis- 
 credit the whole army." 
 
 ' ' I forget : did they press for a division ?" 
 
 "No; we stopped them. We agreed to give 
 them a ' special committee to inquire.' Of all 
 devices for secrecy invented, I know of none like 
 i ' special committee of inquiry.' Whatever peo- 
 ple have known beforehand their faith will now 
 be shaken in, and every possible or accidental 
 contingency assume a shape, a size, and a stability 
 beyond all belief. They have got their com- 
 mittee, and I wish them luck of it! The only 
 men who could tell them any thing will take 
 care not to criminate themselves, and the report 
 will be a plaintive cry over a country where so 
 few people can be persuaded to tell the troth, 
 and nobody should seem any worse in conse- 
 quence." 
 
 "Cecil certainly did it," said she, with a cer- 
 tain bitterness. 
 
 " I suppose he did. These young players are 
 always thinking of scoring eight or ten on a sin- 
 gle hazard : one should never back them !" 
 
 •• Mr. Atlee said there was some female influ- 
 ence at work. lie would not tell me what nor 
 whom. Possibly he did not know." 
 
 " I rather suspect he did know. They were 
 people, if I mistake not, belonging to that Irish 
 castle — Kil — Kil-somebody, or Kil-something." 
 
 '"Was Walpole flirting there? was he going 
 to marry one of them?" 
 
 '" Flirting, I take it, must have been the ex- 
 tent of the folly. Cecil often said he could not 
 many Irish. I have known men do it! You 
 are aware, Maude" — and here he looked with un- 
 common gravity — " the penal laws have been all 
 repealed?" 
 
 "I was speaking of society, my lord, not the 
 statutes," said she, resentfully, and half suspi- 
 cious of a sly jest. 
 
 " Had she money?" asked he, curtly. 
 
 "I can not tell; I know nothing of these 
 people whatever! I remember something — it 
 was a newspaper story — of a girl that saved Ce- 
 cil's life by throwing herself before him : a very 
 pretty incident it was ; but these things make no 
 figure in a settlement ; and a woman may be 
 as bold as Joan of Arc, and not have sixpence. 
 Atlee says you can always settle the courage on 
 t lie younger children." 
 
 "Atlee's an arrant scamp." said my lord, 
 laughing. "He should have written some days 
 since." 
 
 " I suppose he is too late for the borough ; 
 the Cradford election comes on next week ?" 
 Though there could not be any thing more lan- 
 guidly indifferent than her voice in this question, 
 
 a faint pinkish tinge flitted across her cheek, 
 and left it colorless as before. 
 
 " Yes, be lias bis address out, and their i> : i 
 sort of committee — certain licensed \ictualer 
 
 people— to whom he has been promising Bom< 
 especial Sabbath-breaking that they yearn after. 
 
 1 have not read it." 
 
 '• / have; and it is cleverly written, and there 
 is little more radical in it than we heard this yen 
 day at dinner. He tells the electors, ' You an- 
 no more bound to the support of an army or a 
 navy, if you do not wish to fight, than to maintain 
 the College of Surgeons and Physicians, if you 
 object to take physic. ' lie says: ' To tell we that 
 1, with eight shillings a week, have an equal inter- 
 est in resisting invasion as your Lord Dido, with 
 eighty thousand per annum, is simply nonsense. 
 If you, 'cries he to one of his supporters, 'were 
 to be offered your life by a highwayman on sur- 
 rendering some few pence or half-pence you car- 
 ried in your pocket, you do not mean to dic- 
 tate what my Lord Marquis might do, who has 
 got a gold watch and a pocketful of notes in his. 
 And so I say once more, let the rich pay for the 
 defense of what they value. You and I have 
 nothing worth fighting for, and we will not fight." 
 Then as to religion — " 
 
 "Oh, spare me his theology! I can almost 
 imagine it, Maude. I had no conception he was 
 such a radical." 
 
 "He is not really, my lord; but he tells me 
 that we must all go through this stage. It is, 
 as he says, like a course of those waters whose 
 benefit is exactly in proportion to the way they 
 disagree with you at first. He even said, one 
 evening before he went away, 'Take my word 
 for it. Lady Maude, we shall be burning these 
 apostles of ballot and universal suffrage in effigy 
 one day ; but I intend to go beyond every one 
 else in the mean while, else the rebound back 
 will lose half its excellence.'" 
 
 "What is this?" cried he, as the servant en- 
 tered with a telegram. " This is from Athens, 
 Maude, and in cipher, too. How are we to 
 make it out?" 
 
 "Cecil has the key, my lord. It is the dip- 
 lomatic cipher." 
 
 "Do you think you could find it in his room, 
 Maude ? It is possible this might be imminent." 
 
 "I shall see if he is at home," said she, rising 
 to ring the bell. The servant sent to inquire 
 returned, saying that Mr. Walpole had dined 
 abroad, and not returned since dinner. 
 
 "I'm sure you could find the book, Maude, 
 and it is a small, square-shaped volume, bound 
 in dark Russia leather, with F. O. on the cover." 
 
 "I know the look of it well enough ; but I do 
 | not fancy ransacking Cecil's chamber." 
 
 " I do not know that I should like to await 
 his return to read my dispatch. 1 can just make 
 out that it comes from Atlee." 
 
 "I suppose I had better go, then," said she, 
 reluctantly, as she rose and left the room. 
 ! Ordering the butler to precede and show her 
 the way, Lady .Maude ascended to a story abovo 
 that she usually inhabited, and found herself in 
 a very Bpacioas chamber, with an alcove, into 
 which a bed fitted, the remaining space being 
 arranged like an ordinary sitting-room. There 
 were numerous chairs and sofas of comfortable 
 form, a well-cushioned ottoman, smelling, in- 
 deed, villainously of tobacco, and a neat writing- 
 
164 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 table, with a most luxurious arrangement of 
 shaded wax-lights above it. 
 
 A singularly well executed photograph of a 
 young and very lovely woman, with masses of 
 loose hair flowing over her neck and shoulders, 
 stood on a little gilt easel on the desk, and it was, 
 strange enough, with a sense of actual relief, 
 .Maude read the word Titian on the frame. It 
 was a copy of the great master's picture in the ' 
 Dresden Gallery, and of which there is a replica j 
 in the Barberini Palace at Rome ; but still the I 
 portrait had another memory for Lady Maude, | 
 who quickly recalled the girl she had once seen 
 in a crowded assembly, passing through a mur- | 
 inur of admiration that no conventionality could 
 repress, and whose marvelous beauty seemed to 
 glow with the homage it inspired. 
 
 Scraps of poetry, copies of verses, changed and 
 blotted couplets, were scrawled on loose sheets of 
 paper on the desk ; but Maude minded none of 
 these, as she pushed them away to rest her arm 
 on the table, while she sat gazing on the picture. 
 
 The face had so completely absorbed her at- 
 tention — so, to say, fascinated her — that when 
 the servant, who had found the volume he was 
 in search of, presented it to her, she merely said, 
 "Take it to my lord," and sat still, with her 
 head resting on her hands, and her eyes fixed on 
 the portrait. 
 
 "There may be some resemblance, there may 
 be, at least, what might remind people of ' the 
 Laura' — so was it called ; but who will pretend 
 that she carried her head with that swing of lofty 
 pride, or that her look could rival the blended 
 majesty and womanhood we see here ! I do not 
 — I can not believe it !" 
 
 " What is it, Maude, that you will not or can 
 not believe ?" said a low voice ; and she saw Wal- 
 pole standing beside her. 
 
 "Let me first excuse myself for being here," 
 said she, blushing. "I came in search of that 
 little cipher-book to interpret a dispatch that has 
 just come. When Fenton found it I was so en- 
 grossed by this pretty face that I have done noth- 
 ing but gaze at it." 
 
 "And what was it that seemed so incredible 
 as I came in ?" 
 
 "Simply this, then, that any one should be so 
 beautiful." 
 
 "Titian seems to have solved that point; at 
 least, Vasari tells us this was a portrait of a lady 
 of the Guicciardini family." 
 
 "I know — I know that," said she, impatient- 
 ly; "and we do see faces in which Titian or 
 Velasquez has stamped nobility and birth as 
 palpably as they have painted loveliness and ex- 
 pression. And such were these women, daugh- 
 ters in a long line of the proud Patricians who 
 once ruled Rome." 
 
 "And yet," said he, slowly, "that portrait 
 has its living counterpart." 
 
 "lam aware of whom you speak : the awk- 
 ward angular girl we all saw at Rome, and that 
 you young gentlemen called the Tizziana." 
 
 " She is certainly no longer awkward nor an- 
 gular now, if she were once so, which I do not 
 remember. She is a model of grace and sym- 
 metry, and as much more beautiful than "that 
 picture as color, expression, and movement are 
 better than a lifeless image." 
 
 " There is the fervor of a lover in your words, 
 Cecil." said she, smiling faintly. 
 
 "It is not often I am so forgetful," muttered 
 he; "but so it is; our cousinship has done it 
 all, Maude. One revels in expansiveness with 
 his own, and I can speak to you as I can not to 
 another." 
 
 " It is a great flattery to me." 
 
 " In fact, I feel that at last I have a sister — 
 a dear and loving spirit who will give to true 
 friendship those delightful traits of pity and ten- 
 derness, and even forgiveness, of which only the 
 woman's nature can know the needs." 
 
 Lady Maude rose slowly, without a word. 
 Nothing of heightened color or movement of 
 her features indicated anger or indignation, and 
 though Walpole stood with an affected submis- 
 siveness before her, he marked her closely. 
 
 " I am sure, Maude," continued he, "you must 
 often have wished to have a brother. " 
 
 "Never so much as at this moment!" said 
 she, calmly — and now she had reached the door. 
 "If I had had a brother, Cecil Walpole, it is 
 possible I might have been spared this insult!" 
 
 The next moment the door closed, and Wal- 
 pole was alone. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVI. 
 atlee's message. 
 
 "I am right, Maude," said Lord Danesbury, 
 as his niece re-entered the drawing-room. " This 
 is from Atlee, who is at Athens ; but why there 
 I can not make out as yet. There are, accord- 
 ing to the book, two explanations here: 491 
 means a white dromedary, or the chief clerk, 
 and B + 49 = 1 2 stands for our Envoy in Greece, 
 or a snuffer-dish." 
 
 ''Don't you think, my lord, it would be better 
 for you to send this up to Cecil? He has just come 
 in. He hashad much experience of these things." 
 
 "You are quite right, Maude ; let Fenton take 
 it up and beg for a speedy transcript of it. I 
 should like to see it at once." 
 
 While his lordship waited for his dispatch he 
 grumbled away about every thing that occurred 
 to him, and even, at last, about the presence of 
 the very man, Walpole, who was at that same 
 moment engaged in serving him. 
 
 "Stupid fellow," muttered he, "why does he 
 ask for extension of his leave ? Staying in town 
 here is only another name for spending money. 
 He'll have to go out at last ; better do it at once !" 
 
 "He may have his own reasons, my lord, for 
 delay," said Maude, rather to suggest further dis- 
 cussion of the point. 
 
 " He may think he has, I've no doubt. These 
 small creatures have always scores of irons in 
 the fire. So it was when I agreed to go to Ire- 
 land. There were innumerable fine things and 
 clever things he was to do. There were schemes 
 by which ' the Cardinal' was to be cajoled, and 
 the whole Bar bamboozled. Every one was to 
 have office dangled before his eyes, and to be 
 treated so confidentially and affectionately under 
 disappointment that even when a man got noth- 
 ing lie would feel he had secured the regard of 
 the Prime Minister! If I took him out to Tur- 
 key to-morrow, he'd never be easy till he had a 
 plan 'to square' the Grand Vizier, and entrap 
 Gortschakoff or Miliutin. These men don't 
 know that a clever fellow no more goes in search 
 of rogueries than a fox-hunter looks out for stiff 
 
LORD KlLllOHHIX. 
 
 165 
 
 fences. You 'take them' when they lie before 
 you, that's all." This little burst of indignation 
 seemed to have the effect on him of a little 
 wholesome exercise, for he appeared to feel him- 
 self better and easier after it. 
 
 "Dear me! dear me!" muttered lie, "how 
 pleasant one's lite might he it' it were not for the 
 
 in his hand, and advanced to where Lord 1 ' 
 bury was Bitting. 
 
 "I believe, my lord, I have made out this 
 message in Bucb a shape as will enable you to di- 
 vine what it means. It runs thus : ' Athens. 6th, 
 
 li' o'clock. Have seen S , and conferred at 
 
 length with him. fits estimate <>/' value,' or l hii 
 
 
 
 
 clever fellows! I mean, of COOne," added he, 
 after a second or two, "the clever fellows who 
 want to impress as with their cleverness. ' 
 
 Maude would not be entrapped or enticed into 
 what might lead to a discussion. Sin; never ut- 
 tered a word, and he was silent 
 
 It was in the perfect stillness that followed 
 that Walpole entered the room with the telegram 
 
 price' — for the signs will mean either — 'to my 
 thinking, enormous. Hit reasoning* certainly 
 stron;/, and not easy to rebut.' That may be pos 
 Bibly rendered, demands that might probably be 
 reduced. ' I leavi to-day, and thatt he in En- 
 gland by middle of >e vt wt • h. A i u I , ' " 
 
 Walpole looked keenly at the other's nice as 
 h'- read the paper, to mark what signa of interest 
 
166 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 or eagerness the tidings might evoke. There 
 was, however, nothing to be read in those cold 
 and quiet features. 
 
 "I am glad he is coming back," said he at 
 length. "Let us see: he can reach Marseilles 
 by Monday, or even Sunday night. I don't see 
 why he should not be here Wednesday, or Thurs- 
 day at farthest. By-the-way, Cecil, tell me some- 
 thing about our friend — who is he ?" 
 
 " Don't know, my lord." 
 
 "Don't know! How came you acquainted 
 with him ?" 
 
 " Met him at a country house where I hap- 
 pened to break my arm, and took advantage of 
 this young fellow's skill in surgery to engage his 
 services to carry me to town. There's the whole 
 of it." 
 
 "Is he a surgeon?" 
 
 " No, my lord, any more than he is fifty other 
 things of which he has a smattering. " 
 
 " Has he any means^any private fortune ?" 
 
 "I suspect not." 
 
 "Who and what are his family? Are there 
 Atlees in Ireland ?" 
 
 " There may be, my lord. There was an At- 
 lee, a college porter, in Dublin ; but I heard our 
 friend say that they were only distantly related." 
 
 He could not help watching Lady Maude as 
 he said this, and was rejoiced to see a sudden 
 twitch of her lower lip, as if in pain. 
 
 "You evidently sent him over to me, then, on 
 a very meagre knowledge of the man," said his 
 lordship, rebukingly. 
 
 "I believe, my lord, I said at the time that I 
 had by me a clever fellow, who wrote a good 
 hand, could copy correctly, and was sufficient of 
 a gentleman in his manners to make intercourse 
 with him easy, and not disagreeable." 
 
 ' ' A very guarded recommendation, "said Lady 
 Maude, with a smile. 
 
 "Was it not, Maude?" continued he, his eyes 
 flashing with triumphant insolence. 
 
 " / found he could do more than copy a dis- 
 patch — I found he could write one. He replied 
 to an article in the Edinburgh on Turkey, and I 
 saw him write it as I did not know there was 
 another man but myself in England could have 
 done. " 
 
 "Perhaps your lordship had talked over the 
 subject in his presence, or with him ?" 
 
 " And if I had, Sir ? and if all his knowledge 
 on a complex question was such as he could car- 
 ry away from a random conversation, what a 
 gifted dog he must be to sift the wheat from the 
 chaff — to strip a question of what were mere ac- 
 cidental elements, and to test a difficulty by its 
 real qualities. Atlee is a clever fellow, an able 
 fellow, I assure you. That very telegram be- 
 fore us is a proof how he can deal with a matter 
 on which instruction would be impossible." 
 
 "Indeed, my lord!" said Walpole, with well- 
 assumed innocence. 
 
 "I am right glad to know he is coming home. 
 He must demolish that writer in the Revue de 
 Deux Mondes at once — some unprincipled French 
 lilackguard, who has been put up to attack me 
 by Thouvenel!" 
 
 Would it have appeased his lordship*s wrath 
 to know that the writer of this defamatory article 
 was no other than Joe Atlee himself, and that the 
 reply which was to "demolish it" was more than 
 half written in his desk at that moment ? , 
 
 "I shall ask," continued my lord — "I shall 
 ask him, besides, to write a paper on Ireland, 
 and that fiasco of yours, Cecil." 
 
 "Much obliged, my lord !" 
 
 "Don't be angry or indignant! A fellow 
 with a neat, light hand like Atlee can, even un- 
 der the guise of allegation, do more to clear you 
 than scores of vulgar apologists. He can, at 
 least, show that what our distinguished head of 
 the Cabinet calls ' the flesh-and-blood argument' 
 has its full weight with us in our government 
 of Ireland, and that our bitterest enemies can 
 not say, ' We have no sympathies with the na- 
 tion we rule over. ' " 
 
 "I suspect, my lord, that what you have so 
 graciously called ' my fiasco is well-nigh forgot- 
 ten by this time, and wiser policy would say. 
 'Do not revive it!'" 
 
 "There's a great policy in saying in 'an arti- 
 cle' all that could be said in 'a debate,' and 
 showing after all how little it comes to. Even 
 the feeble grievance-mongers grow ashamed at 
 retailing the review and the newspapers ; but, 
 what is better still, if the article be smartly 
 written, they are sure to mistake the peculiari- 
 ties of style for points in the argument. I have 
 seen some splendid blunders of that kind when 
 I sat in the Lower House! 1 wish Atlee was in 
 Parliament." 
 
 "I am not aware that he can speak, my lord." 
 
 " Neither am I ; but I should risk a small 
 bet on it. He is a ready fellow, and the ready 
 fellows are many-sided, eh, Maude?" 
 
 Now, though his lordship only asked for his 
 niece's concurrence in his own sage remark, Wal- 
 pole affected to understand it as a direct appeal 
 to her opinion of Atlee, and said, "Is that your 
 judgment of this gentleman, Maude?" 
 
 "I have no prescription to measure the abili- 
 ties of such men as Mr. Atlee." 
 
 " You find him pleasant, witty, and agreea- 
 ble, I hope ?" said he, with a touch of sarcasm. 
 
 "Yes, I think so." 
 
 " With an admirable memoiy and great read- 
 iness for an a jiropos?" 
 
 " Perhaps he has." 
 
 "Asa retailer of an incident they tell me he 
 has no rival." 
 
 "I can not say." 
 
 "Of course not. I take it the fellow has tact 
 enough not to tell stories here." 
 
 " What is all that you are saying there ?" cried 
 his lordship, to whom these few sentences were 
 "an aside." 
 
 " Cecil is praising Mr. Atlee, my lord," said 
 Maude, bluntly. 
 
 "I did not know I had been, my lord," said 
 he. " He belongs to a class of men who inter- 
 est me very little." 
 
 " What" class may that be?" 
 
 " The adventurers, my lord. The fellows who 
 make the campaign of life on the faith that they 
 shall find their rations in some other man's 
 knapsack." 
 
 "Ha! indeed. Is that our friend's line?" 
 
 " Most undoubtedly, my lord. I am ashamed 
 to say that it was entirely my own fault if you 
 are saddled with the fellow at all." 
 
 " I do not see the infliction — " 
 
 " I mean, my lord, that, in a measure. I put 
 him on you without very well knowing what it 
 was that I did." 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 L67 
 
 "Have you heard — do you know any thing 
 of the man that Bhould inspire caution or difi 
 trust ?" 
 
 " Well, these are strong words," muttered he, 
 hesitatingly. 
 
 But I.ady Maude broke in with a passionate 
 tone: " Don't you see. my lord, that he does not 
 know any thing to this person's disadvantage — 
 that it is only my cousin's diplomatic reserve — , 
 that commendable caution of his order — suggests 
 his careful conduct ? Cecil knows no more of 
 Atlee than we do." 
 
 "Perhaps not so much," said Walpole, with 
 an impertinent simper. 
 
 "/ know," said his lordship, "that he is a| 
 monstrous clever fellow, lie can find you the 
 passage you want or the authority you are seek- J 
 ing for at a moment ; and when he writes he can 
 he rapid and concise too."' 
 
 "He has many rare gifts, my lord," said Wal- 
 pole, with the sly air of one who had said a cov- i 
 ert impertinence. " I am very curious to know 
 what you mean to do with him." 
 
 " .Mean to do with him? Why, what should 
 I mean to do with him ?" 
 
 " The very point I wish to learn. A protege, j 
 my lord, is a parasitic plant, and you can not de- 
 prive it of its double instincts — to cling and to I 
 climb." 
 
 '• How witty my cousin has become since his i 
 sojourn in Ireland !" said Maude. 
 
 Walpole Hushed deeply, and for a moment he 
 seemed about to reply angrily ; but, with an ef- i 
 fort, he controlled himself, and, turning toward | 
 the time-piece on the chimney, said : " How late ! j 
 I could not have believed it was past one ! I hope, 
 my hud. I have made your dispatch intelligible?" j 
 
 "Yes. yes; I think so. Besides, he will be [ 
 here in a day or two to explain." 
 
 " I shall, then, say good-night, my lord. Good 
 night, ( !ousin Maude." But Lady Maude had al 
 ready left the room unnoticed. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVII. 
 
 WALPOLE ALOXE. 
 
 Once more in his own room, Walpole re- 
 turned to the task of that letter to Nina Kos- 
 talergi, of which he had made nigh fifty drafts, 
 and not one with which he was satisfied. 
 
 It was not really very easy to do what he wish- 
 ed. He desired to seem a warm, rapturous, im- 
 pulsive lover, who had no thought in life — no 
 other hope or ambition — than the success of his 
 suit. He -ought to show that she had so enrapt- 
 ured and inthralled him that, until she consent- 
 ed to share his fortunes, he was a man utterly lost 
 to life and life's ambitions; and while insinua- 
 ting what a tremendous responsibility she would 
 take on herself if Bhe should venture, by a refusal 
 of him, to rob the world of those abilities that 
 the age could ill spare, he also dimly shadowed 
 the natural pride a woman ought to feel in know- 
 ing that she was asked to l>e the partner of such 
 a man: and that one for whom destiny in all 
 
 likelihood reserved the highest rewards of public 
 
 life was then, with the full consciousness of what 
 he was and what awaited him, ready to share 
 that proud eminence with her, as a prince might 
 have offered to share his throne. 
 
 In spile of himself, in spite of all he could do, 
 it was on this latter part of his letter his pen ran 
 
 most freely. lie could condense his raptures, 
 
 he could control in most praiseworthy fashion all 
 
 the extravagances of passion and the imaginative 
 joys of love: but, for the life of him, he could 
 abate nothing of the triumphant ecstasy that 
 must be the feeling of the woman who had 
 won him — the passionate delight of her who 
 should be his wife, and enter life the chosen 
 one of his affection. 
 
 It was wonderful how glibly he could insist on 
 this to himself, and, fancying for the moment 
 that he was one of the outer world commenting 
 on the match, say : " Yes, let people decry the 
 Walpole class how they might — they are elegant, 
 they are exclusive, they are fastidious, they are 
 all that you like to call the spoiled children of 
 Fortune in their wit, their brilliancy, and their 
 readiness, but they are the only men— the only 
 men in the world — who marry — we'll not say for 
 'love,' for the phrase is vulgar — but who marry 
 to please themselves ! This girl had not a shil- 
 ling. As to family, all is said when we say she 
 was a Greek ! Is there not something downright 
 chivalrous in marrying such a woman? Is it 
 the act of a worldly man ?" 
 
 He walked the room, uttering this question to 
 himself over and over. Not exactly that he 
 thought disparagingly of worldliness and mate- 
 rial advantages, but he had lashed himself into a 
 false enthusiasm as to qualities which he thought 
 had some special worshipers of their own, and 
 whose good opinion might possibly be turned to 
 profit somehow and somewhere, if he only knew 
 how and where. It was a monstrous fine thing 
 he was about to do ; that he felt. Where was 
 there another man in his position would take a 
 portionless girl and make her his wife ? Cadets 
 and cornets in light dragoon regiments did these 
 things; they liked their "bit of beauty;" and 
 there was a sort of mock - poetry about these 
 creatures that suited that sort of thing; but 
 for a man who wrote his letters from Brookes's, 
 and whose dinner invitations included all that was 
 great in town, to stoop to such an alliance was as 
 bold a defiance as one could throw at a world of 
 self-seeking and conventionality. 
 
 "That Emperor of the French did it," cried 
 he. " I can not recall to my mind another. He 
 did the very same thing I am going to do. To 
 be sure, he had the 'pull on me' in one point. 
 As he said himself, ' I am a parvenu.' Now, / 
 can not go that far! I must justify my act on 
 other grounds, as I hope I can do," cried he, 
 after a pause ; while, with head erect and swell- 
 ing chest, he went on : " I felt within me the 
 place I yet should occupy. I knew ay. knew 
 — the prize that awaited me, and I asked myself, 
 ' Do you see in any capital of Europe one woman 
 with whom you would like to share this fortune ? 
 Is there one sufficiently gifted and graceful to 
 make her elevation seem a natural and fitting 
 promotion, and herself appear the appropriate 
 OCCUpant of the station ?' 
 
 "She is wonderfully beautiful: there is no 
 doubt of it. Such beauty as they have never 
 
 seen here in their lives ! Fanciful extravagances 
 
 in dreSS and atrocious hair-dre-.-ine; can not dis- 
 figure her ; and by Jove! she lias tried both. And 
 one has onh to imagine that woman dressed and 
 1 coilfe'cd' as she might be. to conceive such a 
 
168 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 triumph as London has not witnessed for the cen- 
 tury! And I do long for such a triumph. If 
 my lord would only invite us here, were it but 
 for a week ! We should be asked to Goreham 
 and the Bexsmiths'. My lady never omits to 
 invite a great beauty. It's her way to protest 
 that she is still handsome, and not at all jealous. 
 How are we to get 'asked' to Bruton Street?" 
 asked he over and over, as though the sounds 
 must secure the answer. " Maude will never 
 permit it. The unlucky picture has settled that 
 point. Maude will not suffer her to cross the 
 threshold ! But for the portrait I could bespeak 
 my cousin's favor and indulgence for a somewhat 
 countrified young girl, dowdy and awkward. I 
 could plead for her good looks in that ad miseri- 
 cordiam fashion that disarms jealousy, and enlists 
 her generosity for a humble connection she need 
 never see more of! If I could only persuade 
 Maude that I had done an indiscretion, and that 
 I knew it, I should be sure of her friendship. 
 Once make her believe that I have gone clean 
 head over heels into a mesalliance, and our honey- 
 moon here is assured. I wish I had not torment- 
 ed her about Atlee. I wish with all my heart I 
 had kept my impertinences to myself, and gone 
 no further than certain dark hints about what I 
 could say if I were to be evil-minded. What 
 rare wisdom it is not to fire away one's last car- 
 tridge ! I suppose it is too late now. She'll not 
 forgive me that disparagement before my uncle 
 — that is, if there be any thing between herself 
 and Atlee, a point which a few minutes will settle 
 when I see them together. It would not be very 
 difficult to make Atlee regard me as his friend, 
 and as one ready to aid him in this same ambi- 
 tion. Of course he is prepared to see in me the 
 enemy of all his plans. What would he not give, 
 or say, or do to find me his aider and abettor ? 
 Shrewd tactician as the fellow is, he will know 
 all the value of having an accomplice within the 
 fortress ; and it would be exactly from a man like 
 myself he might be disposed to expect the most 
 resolute opposition." 
 
 He thought for a long time over this. He 
 turned it over and over in his mind, canvassing 
 all the various benefits any line of action might 
 promise, and starting every doubt or objection 
 he could imagine. Nor was the thought ex- 
 traneous to his calculations that in forwarding 
 Atlee's suit to Maude he was exacting the heavi- 
 est "vendetta" for her refusal of himself. 
 
 "There is not a woman in Europe," he ex- 
 claimed, "less fitted to encounter small means 
 and a small station — to live a life of petty econ- 
 omies, and be the daily associate of a snob! 
 
 "What the fellow may become at the end of 
 the race, what places he may win after years of 
 toil and jobbery, I neither know nor care ! She 
 will be an old woman by that time, and will have 
 had space enough in the interval to mourn over 
 her rejection of me. I shall be a minister, not 
 impossibly at some court of the Continent. At- 
 lee, to say the best, an Under-Secretary of State 
 for something, or a Poor Law or Education 
 Chief. There will be just enough of disparity in 
 our stations to fill her woman's heart with bitter- 
 ness — the bitterness of having backed the wrong 
 man ! 
 
 " The unavailing regrets that beset us for not 
 having taken the left-hand road in life instead of 
 the right are our chief mental resources after 
 
 forty, and they tell me that we men only know 
 half the poignancy of these miserable recollec- 
 tions. Women have a special adaptiveness for 
 this kind of torture — would seem actually to rev- 
 el in it." 
 
 He turned once more to his desk and to the 
 letter. Somehow he could make nothing of it. 
 All the dangers that he desired to avoid so cramp- 
 ed his ingenuity that he could say little beyond 
 platitudes ; and he thought with terror of her 
 who was to read them. The scornful contempt 
 with which she would treat such a letter was all 
 before him, and he snatched up the paper and 
 tore it in pieces. 
 
 " It must not be done by writing," cried he at 
 last. "Who is to guess for which of the fifty 
 moods of such a woman a man's letter is to be 
 composed ? What you could say now you dared 
 not have written half an hour ago. What would 
 have gone far to gain her love yesterday, to-day 
 will show you the door ! It is only by consum- 
 mate address and skill she can be approached at 
 all, and, without her look and bearing, the inflec- 
 tions of her voice, her gestures, her 'pose,' to 
 guide you, it would be utter rashness to risk her 
 humor." 
 
 He suddenly bethought himself at this mo- 
 ment that he had many things to do in Ireland 
 ere he left England. He had tradesmen's bills 
 to settle, and " traps" to be got rid of. " Traps" 
 included furniture and books, and horses and 
 horse-gear — details which at first he had hoped 
 his friend Lockwood would have taken off his 
 hands ; but Lockwood had only written him 
 word that a Jew broker from Liverpool would 
 give him forty pounds for his house effects, and 
 as for the "screws," there was nothing but an 
 auction. 
 
 Most of us have known at some period or oth- 
 er of our lives what it is to suffer from the pain- 
 ful disparagement our chattels undergo when 
 they become objects of sale ; but no adverse crit- 
 icism of your bed or your book-case, your otto- 
 man or your arm-chair, can approach the sense 
 of pain inflicted by the impertinent comments on 
 your horse. Every imputed blemish is a distinct 
 personality, and you reject the insinuated spavin 
 or the suggested splint as imputations on your 
 honor as a gentleman. In fact, you are pushed 
 into the pleasant dilemma of either being igno- 
 rant as to the defects of your beast, or willfully 
 bent on an act of palpable dishonesty. When 
 we remember that every confession a man makes 
 of his unacquaintance with matters "horsey" is, 
 in English acceptance, a count in the indictment 
 against his claim to be thought a gentleman, it 
 is not surprising that there will be men more 
 ready to hazard their characters than their con- 
 noisseurship. 
 
 "I'll go over myself to Ireland," said he at 
 last ; " and a week will do every thing." 
 
 CHAPTER LXVIII. 
 
 THOUGHTS ON MARRIAGE. 
 
 Lock-wood was seated at his fireside in hi- 
 quarters, the Upper Castle Yard, when Walpole 
 burst in upon him unexpectedly. 
 
 "What! you here?" cried the major. 
 " Have you the courage to face Ireland again ?" 
 
LORD KTLGOBBIN. 
 
 II 
 
 '• I see nothing thai ^ 1 n m Kl prevent my com- 
 ing here. Ireland certainly can not pretend to 
 lay a grievance to my charge." 
 
 •■ Maybe not Idon'i understand these things. 
 
 1 only know what people say ill the clubs and 
 
 laugh over at dinner-tables." 
 
 "1 ran not affect to be very sensitive as to 
 these Celtic criticisms, and I shall not a>k you 
 to recall them." 
 
 '■They say that Danesbury got kicked out nil 
 lor your blunders!" 
 
 "Do they?" said Walpole, innocently. 
 
 "Yes; and they declare that if old Dnney 
 wasn't the must loyal fellow breathing, he'd have 
 thrown you over, ami owned that tin- whole mess 
 was of your own brewing, and that he had noth- 
 ing to do with it." 
 
 •• Do they, indeed, say that?" 
 
 •■That's not half of it, for they have a story 
 about a woman — some woman you met down at 
 Kilgobbin — who made you sing rebel songs and 
 take a Fenian pledge, and give your word of 
 honor that Donogan should be let escape." 
 
 " Is that all ?" 
 
 "Isn't it enough ? A man must be a glutton 
 for tomfoolery if he could not be satistied with 
 that." 
 
 "Perhaps you never heard that the chief of 
 abinet took a very different view of my 
 Irish policy." 
 
 "Irish policy?" cried the other, with lifted 
 eyebrows. 
 
 "I said Irish policy, and repeat the words. 
 Whatever line of political action tends to bring 
 legislation into more perfect harmony with the 
 instincts and impulses of a very peculiar people, 
 it is no presumption to call a policy." 
 
 '•With all my heart. Do you mean to deal 
 wi:h that old Liverpool rascal for the furniture?" 
 
 •• Hi- offer is almost an insult." 
 
 '• Well, you'll be gratified to know he retracts 
 it. He says now he'll only give £35 ! And as 
 for the screws, Bobbidge, of the Carbineers, will 
 take them both for £50." 
 
 " Why, Lightfoot alone is worth the money !" 
 
 •■ .Minus the sand-crack." 
 
 " I deny the sand-crack. She was pricked in 
 the shoeing." 
 
 "< >f course! I never knew a broken knee that 
 wasn't got by striking the manger, nor a sand- 
 crack that didn't come of an awkward smith.'' 
 
 "What a blessing it would be if all the bad 
 reputations in society could be palliated as pleas- 
 antly!" 
 
 "Shall I tell Bobbidge you take his offer? 
 He wants an answer at once." 
 
 "My dear major, don't you know that the fel- 
 low who says that .-imply means to say: ' Don't 
 be to., sure that I -hall not change my mind! 
 Look out that you take the ball at the hop !' " 
 
 •• Lucky if it hops at all.'' 
 
 "Is that your experience of life?" said Wal- 
 pole, inquiringly. 
 
 •• It is one of them. Will you take £50 for 
 
 " Yes ; and as much more for the break ami 
 the dog-cart. I want every rap I can BCrape 
 
 together, Harry. I'm going out to Guatemala." 
 
 " I heard that." 
 
 " Infernal place; at least, I believe, in climate 
 — reptiles — fevers — assassination — it stands 
 without a rival." 
 
 "So they tell me." 
 
 "It was the only thing vacant: and they 
 rather affected a difficulty about giving it." 
 
 "So they do when they send a man to the 
 
 Gold Coast; ami they tell the newspapers t" 
 
 say what a lucky dog lie is." 
 
 "lean stand all that. What really kill- me 
 is giving a man the C.B. when he is just booked 
 for some home of yellow lever." 
 
 •'They do that too." gravely observed the 
 
 Other, who was beginning to feel the pace Of the 
 conversation rather too fast for him. "Don't 
 you smoke?" 
 
 "I'm rather reducing myself to half batta in 
 tobacco. I've thoughts of marrying." 
 
 " Don't do that." 
 
 "Why? It's not wrong." 
 
 "No. perhaps not; but it's stupid." 
 
 "Come now, old fellow, life out there in the 
 tropics is not so jolly all alone. Alligators are 
 interesting creatures, and cheetahs are pretty 
 pets ; but a man wants a little companion-hip of 
 a more tender kind : and a nice girl who would 
 ! link her fortunes with one's own, and help one 
 through the sultry hours, is no bad thing." 
 
 "The nice girl wouldn't go there." 
 
 "I'm not so sure of that. With your great 
 knowledge of life, you must know that there has 
 been a glut in ' the nice-girl' market these years 
 back. Prime lots are sold for a song occasion- 
 i ally, and first-rate samples sent as far as Calcut- 
 ta. The truth is, the fellow who looks like a 
 real buyer may have the pick of the fair, as they 
 call it here." 
 
 "So he ought," growled out the major. 
 
 "The speech is not a gallant one. You are 
 scarcely complimentary to the ladies. Lock wood." 
 
 "It was you who talked of a woman like a 
 cow or a sack of corn, not I." 
 
 "I employed an illustration to answer one of 
 your own arguments." 
 
 "Who is she to be?" bluntly asked the ma- 
 jor. 
 
 " 1 11 tell you whom I mean to ask, for I have 
 not put the question yet." 
 
 A long, fine whistle expressed the other's as- 
 tonishment. "And are you sure she'll sax- 
 yes ?" 
 
 "I have no other assurance than the convic- 
 ', tion that a woman might do worse." 
 
 "Humph! perhaps she might. I'm not quite 
 certain ; but who is she to be ?" 
 
 "Do you remember a visit we made together 
 to a certain Kilgobbin Castle?" 
 
 "To be sure I do. A rum old ruin it was." 
 
 " Do you remember two young ladies we mel 
 there?" 
 
 " Perfectly. Are you going to marry both of 
 them?" 
 
 "My intention is to propose to one. and I 
 imagine I need not tell you which?" 
 
 "Naturally, the Irish girl. She saved your 
 life—" 
 
 " Pray let me undeceive you in a double er- 
 ror. It is not the Iri-h girl ; nor did she save 
 my life." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but she risked her ow n to gave 
 yours. You said so yourself at the time." 
 
 "We'll not discuss the point now. I hope I 
 feel duly grateful for the young lady's heroism, 
 though it is not exactly my intention to record 
 my gratitude in a Bpeciol lieen.-e." 
 
170 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 " A very equivocal sort of repayment," grum- 
 bled out Lockwood. 
 
 "You are epigrammatic this evening, major." 
 
 " So, then, it's the Greek you mean to mar- 
 ry ?" 
 
 "It is the Greek I mean to ask." 
 
 " All right. I hope she'll take you. I think, 
 on the whole, you suit each other. If I were at 
 all disposed to that sort of bondage, I don't know 
 a girl I'd rather risk the road with than the Irish 
 cousin, Miss Kearney." 
 
 "She is very pretty, exceedingly obliging, and 
 has most winning manners." 
 
 " She is good-tempered, and she is natural — 
 the two best things a woman can be." 
 
 " Why not come down along with me and try 
 your luck ?" 
 
 "When do you go ?" 
 
 "By the 10.30 train to-morrow. I shall ar- 
 rive at Moate by four o'clock, and reach the Cas- 
 tle to dinner." 
 
 "They expect you ?" 
 
 " Only so far that I have telegraphed a line to 
 say I'm going down to bid ' good-by' before I 
 sail for Guatemala. I don't suspect they know 
 where that is, but it's enough when they under- 
 stand it is far away." 
 
 "I'll go with you." 
 
 "Will you really?" 
 
 "I will. I'll not say on such an errand as 
 your own, because that requires a second thought 
 or two ; but I'll reconnoitre, Master Cecil — I'll 
 reconnoitre." 
 
 " I suppose you know there is no money." 
 
 "I should think money most unlikely in such 
 a quarter, and it's better she should have none 
 than a small fortune. I'm an old whist-player, 
 and when I play dummy there's nothing I hate 
 more than to see two or three small trumps in 
 my partner's hand." 
 
 " I imagine you'll not be distressed in that 
 way here." 
 
 "I've got enough to come through with — that 
 is, the thing can be done if there be no extrava- 
 gances." 
 
 "Does one want for more?" cried Walpole, 
 theatrically. 
 
 " I don't know that. If it were only ask and 
 have, I should like to be tempted." 
 
 "I have no such ambition. I firmly believe 
 that the moderate limits a man sets to his daily 
 wants constitute the real liberty of his intellect 
 and his intellectual nature." 
 
 "Perhaps I've no intellectual nature, then," 
 growled out Lockwood, " for I know how I 
 should like to spend fifteen thousand a year. I 
 suppose I shall have to live on as many hun- 
 dreds." 
 
 "It can be done." 
 
 " Perhaps it may. Have another weed ?" 
 
 " No. I told you already I have begun a to- 
 bacco reformation." 
 
 "Does she object to the pipe?" 
 
 "I can not tell you. The fact is, Lockwood, 
 my future and its fortunes are just as uncertain 
 as your own. This day week will probably have 
 decided the destiny of each of us." 
 
 "To our success, then!" cried the major, fill- 
 ing hoth their glasses. 
 
 " To our success !" said Walpole, as he drain- 
 ed his, and placed it upside down on the ta- 
 ble. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIX. 
 
 A T 
 
 LGOBBIN CASTLE. 
 
 The "Blue Goat" at Moate was destined once 
 more to receive the same travelers whom we pre- 
 sented to our readers at a very early stage of this 
 history. 
 
 " Not much change here," cried Lockwood, as 
 he strode into the little sitting-room and sat down. 
 "I miss the old fellow's picture, that's all." 
 
 "Ah, by-the-way," said Walpole to the land- 
 lord, "you had my lord Kilgobbin's portrait up 
 there the last time I came through here. " 
 
 "Yes indeed, Sir," said the man, smooth- 
 ing down his hair and looking apologetically. 
 "But the Goats and my lord, who was the 
 Buck Goat, got into a little disagreement, and 
 they sent away his picture, and his lordship 
 retired from the club, and — and — that was the 
 way of it. " 
 
 " A heavy blow to your town, I take it," said 
 the major, as he poured out his beer. 
 
 "Well, indeed, your honor, I won't say it 
 was. You see, Sir, times is changed in Ireland. 
 We don't care as much as we used about the 
 'neighboring gentry,' as they called them once; 
 and as for the lord there, he doesn't spend a 
 hundred a year in Moate." 
 
 "How is that?" 
 
 " They get what they want by rail from Dub- 
 lin, your honor, and he might as well not be here 
 at all." 
 
 "Can we have a car to carry us over to the 
 Castle ?" asked Walpole, who did not care to hear 
 more of local grievances. 
 
 " Sure, isn't my lord's car waiting for you 
 j since two o'clock!" said the host, spitefully, for 
 he was not conciliated by a courtesy that was to 
 lose him a fifteen-shilling fare. ' ' Not that there's 
 much of a horse between the shafts, or that old 
 Daly himself is an elegant coachman," continued 
 the host; "but they're ready in the yard when 
 you want them." 
 
 The travelers had no reason to delay them in 
 their present quarters, and, taking their places on 
 the car, set out for the Castle. 
 
 "I scarcely thought when I last drove this 
 road," said Walpole, "that the next time I was 
 to come should be on such an errand as my pres- 
 ent one." 
 
 " Humph !" ejaculated the other. " Our no- 
 ble relative that is to be does not shine in equi- 
 page. That beast is dead lame." 
 
 " If we had our deserts, Lockwood, we should 
 be drawn by a team of doves, with the god Cu- 
 pid on the box. " 
 
 "I'd rather have two posters and a yellow 
 post-chaise." 
 
 A drizzling rain that now began to fall inter- 
 rupted all conversation, and each sunk back into 
 his own thoughts for the rest of the way. 
 
 Lord Kilgobbin, with his daughter at his side, 
 watched the car from the terrace of the Castle as 
 it slowly wound its way along the bog road. 
 
 " As well as I can see, Kate, there is a man on 
 each side of the car," said Kearney, as he hand- 
 j ed his field-glass to his daughter. 
 
 " Yes, papa, I see there are two travelers." 
 
 "And I don't well know why there should be 
 ' even one ! There was no such great friendship 
 between us that he need come all this way to bid 
 I us good-by." 
 
LOUD KIUiOBBIN. 
 
 171 
 
 " Considering the mishap that befell him here, 
 it is a mark of good feeling to desire to sec us nil 
 once marc — don'l you think so?" 
 
 " Maybe so." muttered be, drearily. " At 
 all events, it's not a pleasant house bes coming 
 to. Voting O'Shea there up stairs, just out of a 
 fever; and old .Miss Betty, that may arrive any 
 moment." 
 
 " There's no question of that. She says it 
 would be ten days or a fortnight before she is 
 equal to the journey." 
 
 •' Heaven grant it .'—hem — I mean that she'll 
 be strong enough for it by that time. At all 
 events, if it is the same as to our fine friend Mr. 
 Walpole, 1 wish he'd have taken his leave of us 
 in a letter." 
 
 " It is something new, papa, to see you so in- 
 hospitable." 
 
 "But I am not inhospitable, Kitty. Show 
 me the good fellow that woidd like to pass an 
 evening with me and think me good company, 
 and he shall have the best saddle of mutton and 
 the raciest bottle of claret in the house. But it's 
 only mock-hospitality to be entertaining the man | 
 that only comes out of courtesy, and just stays as 
 long as good manners oblige him." 
 
 " I do not know that I should undervalue po- 
 liteness, especially when it takes the shape of 
 recognition." 
 
 " Well, be it so," sighed he, almost drearily. 
 "If the young gentleman is so warmly attached 
 to us all that he can not tear himself away till he 
 has embraced us, I suppose there's no help for it. 
 Where is Nina?" 
 
 " She was reading to Gorman when I saw her. 
 She had just relieved Dick, who has gone out 
 for a walk." 
 
 "A jolly house for a visitor to come to!" 
 cried he, sarcastically. 
 
 " We are not very gay or lively, it is true, 
 papa ; but it is not unlikely that the spirit in 
 which our guest comes here will not need much 
 jollity." 
 
 " I don't take it as a kindness for a man to 
 bring me his depression and his low spirits. I've 
 always more of my own than I know what to do 
 with. Two sorrows never made a joy, Kitty." 
 
 "There! they are lighting the lamps," cried 
 she. suddenly. "I don't think they can be more 
 than three miles away." 
 
 "Have you rooms ready, if there be two 
 coming?" 
 
 "Yes, papa, Mr. Walpole will have his old 
 quarters; and the stag room is in readiness, if 
 there be another guest. " 
 
 " I'd like to have a house as big as the royal 
 barracks, and every room of it occupied!" cried 
 Kearney, with a mellow ring in his voice. 
 "They talk of society and pleasant company; 
 hut for real enjoyment there's nothing to com- 
 pare with what a man has under his own roof! 
 No claret ever taste- so good as the decanter he 
 circulates himself. I was low enough half an 
 hour ago, and now the mere thought of a couple 
 of fellows to dine with me cheers me up and 
 warms my heart ! I'll ^ivc them the green seal, 
 Kitty: and I don't know that there's another 
 house in the county could put a bottle of '46 
 claret before them." 
 
 "So you shall, papa. I'll go to the cellar 
 myself and fetch it." 
 
 Kearney hastened to make the moderate toilet 
 
 he called dressing for dinner, and was only tin 
 ished when his old servant, informed him that 
 two gentlemen hail arrived and gone up to their 
 rooms. 
 
 "I wish it was two do/.en had come." said 
 Kearney, as he descended to the drawing-room. 
 "It is Major Lockwood, papa," cried Kate, 
 entering and drawing him into a window recess ; 
 "the Major Lockwood that was here before has 
 come with Mr. Walpole. I met him in the hall 
 1 while I had the basket with the wine in my hand, 
 and he was so cordial and glad to see mc you 
 can not think." 
 
 " He knew that green wax, Kitty. He tasted 
 that ' bin' when be was here last." 
 
 "Perhaps so; but he certainly seemed over- 
 joyed at something." 
 
 "Let me see," muttered be : "wasn't he the 
 big fellow with the long mustaches?" 
 
 " A tall, very good-looking man ; dark as a 
 Spaniard, and not unlike one." 
 
 "To be sure, to be sure. I remember him 
 well. He was a capital shot with the pistol, and 
 he liked his wine. By-the-way, Nina did not 
 take to him." 
 
 "How do you remember that, papa?" said 
 she, archly. 
 
 "If I don't mistake, she told me so, or she 
 called him a brute, or a savage, or some one of 
 those things a man is sure to be when a woman 
 discovers he will not be her slave. " 
 
 Nina entering at the moment cut short all re- 
 joinder, and Kearney came forward to meet her 
 with his hand out. 
 
 " Shake out your lower courses, and let rat- 
 look at you," cried he. as he walked round her 
 admiringly. "Upon my oath, it's more beauti- 
 ful than ever you are ! I can guess what a fate 
 is reserved for those dandies from Dublin." 
 
 "Do you like my dress, Sir? Is it becom- 
 ing?" asked she. 
 
 " Becoming it is ; but I'm not sure whether I 
 like it." 
 
 " And how is that, Sir?" 
 " I don't see how, with all that floating gauze 
 and swelling lace, a man is to get an arm round 
 you at all — " 
 
 " I can not perceive the necessity, Sir;" and the 
 insolent toss of her head, more forcibly even than 
 her words, resented such a possibility. 
 
 CHAPTER LXX. 
 
 AT LEE'S RETURN, 
 
 WHEN Atlee arrived at Bruton Street the wel- 
 come that met him was almost cordial. Lord 
 Danesbury — not very demonstrative at any time 
 — received him with warmth, and Lady Maude 
 gave him her hand with a sort of significant cor- 
 diality that overwhelmed him with delight. The 
 climax of his enjoyment was, however, reached 
 when Lord Daneshury said to him, "We are 
 
 glad to see you at home again." 
 
 This speech sunk deep into his heart, and he 
 never wearied of repeating it over and over to 
 himself. When he reached hi- mom, where hi- 
 luggage had already preceded him. and found hi- 
 dressing articles laid out. and all the little care- 
 and attentions which well trained servants under- 
 stand awaiting him. he muttered, with a tremu- 
 
172 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 bus sort of ecstasy, " This is a very glorious way 
 to come home!" 
 
 The rich furniture of the room, the many ap- 
 pliances of luxury and ease around him, the 
 sense of rest and quiet, so delightful after a jour- 
 ney, all appealed to him as he threw himself 
 into a deeply cushioned chair. He cried aloud, 
 "Home ! home ! Is this indeed home ? What 
 a different thing from that mean life of privation 
 and penury I have always been associating with 
 this word — from that perpetual struggle with 
 debt — the miserable conflict that went on through 
 every day, till not an action, not a thought, re- 
 mained untinctured with money, and, if a mo- 
 mentary pleasure crossed the path, the cost of it 
 was certain to tarnish all the enjoyment ! Such 
 was the only home I have ever known, or, in- 
 deed, imagined." 
 
 It is said that the men who have emerged 
 from very humble conditions in life, and occupy 
 places of eminence or promise, are less overjoyed 
 at this change of fortune than impressed with a 
 kind of resentment toward the destiny that once 
 had subjected them to privation. Their feeling is 
 not so much joy at the present as discontent with 
 the past. 
 
 " Why was I not born to all this?" cried At- 
 lee, indignantly. " What is there in me, or in 
 my nature, that this should be a usurpation? 
 Why was I not schooled at Eton, and trained at 
 Oxford? Why was I not bred up among the 
 men whose competitor I shall soon find myself? 
 Why have I not their ways, their instincts, their 
 watch-words, their pastimes, and even their prej- 
 udices, as parts of my very nature? Why am 
 I to learn these late in life, as a man learns a new 
 language, and never fully catches the sounds or 
 the niceties? Is there any competitorship I 
 should flinch from, any rivalry I should fear, if 
 I had but started fair in the race ?" 
 
 This sense of having been hardly treated by 
 fortune at the outset marred much of his present 
 enjoyment, accompanied as it was by a misgiv- 
 ing that, do what he might, that early inferiority 
 would cling to him, like some rag of a garment 
 that he must wear over all his "braverie," pro- 
 claiming as it did to the world, "This is from 
 what I sprung originally." 
 
 It was not by any exercise of vanity that Atlee 
 knew he talked better, knew more, was wittier 
 and more ready-witted than the majority of men 
 of his age and standing. The consciousness 
 that he could do scores of things they could not 
 do was not enough, tarnished as it was by a mis- 
 giving that, by some secret mystery of breeding, 
 some freemasonry of fashion, he was not one of 
 them, and that this awkward fact was suspend- 
 ed over him for life, to arrest his course in the 
 hour of success, and balk him at the very mo- 
 ment of victory. 
 
 "Till a man's adoption among them is rati- 
 fied by a marriage he is not safe," muttered he. 
 " Till the fate and future of one of their own is 
 embarked in the same boat with himself, they'll 
 not grieve over his shipwreck." 
 
 Could he but call Lady Maude his wife ! 
 Was this possible ? There were classes in which 
 affections went for much, where there was such a 
 thing as engaging these same affections, and act- 
 ually pledging all hope of happiness in life on the 
 faith of such engagements. These, it is true, were 
 the sentiments that prevailed in humbler walks of 
 
 life, among those lowly born people whose births 
 and marriages were not chronicled in gilt-bound 
 volumes. The Lady Maudes of the world, what- 
 ever imprudences they might permit themselves, 
 certainly never "fell in love." Condition and 
 place in the world were far too serious things to 
 be made the sport of sentiment. Love was a 
 very proper thing in three-volume novels, and 
 Mr. Mudie drove a roaring trade in it ; but in 
 the well-bred world, immersed in all its engage- 
 ments, triple-deep in its projects and promises 
 for pleasure, where was the time, where the op- 
 portunity, for this pleasant fooling? That lux- 
 urious selfishness, in which people delight to 
 plan a future life, and agree to think that they 
 have in themselves what can confront narrow 
 fortune and difficulty, these had no place in the 
 lives of persons of fashion ! In that coquetry of 
 admiration and flattery which, in the language of 
 slang, is called spooning, young persons occa- 
 sionally got so far acquainted that they agreed to 
 be married, pretty much as they agreed to waltz 
 or to polka together ; but it was always with the 
 distinct understanding that they were doing what 
 mammas would approve of, and family solicitors 
 of good conscience could ratify. No tyrannical 
 sentimentality, no uncontrollable gush of sym- 
 pathy, no irresistible convictions about all" fu- 
 ture happiness being dependent on one issue, 
 overbore these natures, and made them insensi- 
 ble to title and rank and station and settlements. 
 
 In one word, Atlee, after due consideration, 
 satisfied his mind that, though a man might 
 gain the affections of the doctor's daughter or 
 the squire's niece, and so establish himself as an 
 element of her happiness that friends would over- 
 look all differences of fortune and try to make 
 some sort of compromise with fate, all these were 
 unsuited to the sphere in which Lady Maude 
 moved. It was, indeed, a realm where this 
 coinage did not circulate. To enable him to ad- 
 dress her with any prospect of success, he should 
 be able to show — ay, and to show argumenta- 
 tively — that she was, in listening to him, about 
 to do something eminently prudent and worldly- 
 wise. She must, in short, be in a position to 
 show her friends and "society" that she had not 
 committed herself to any thing willful or foolish 
 — had not been misled by a sentiment or betray- 
 ed by a sympathy ; and that the well-bred ques- 
 tioner who inquired, " Why did she marry At- 
 lee?" should be met by an answer satisfactory 
 and convincing. 
 
 In the various ways he canvassed the question 
 and revolved it with himself there was one con- 
 sideration which, if I were at all concerned for 
 his character for gallantry. I should be reluctant 
 to reveal, but, as I feel little interest on this 
 score, I am free to own was this : he remem- 
 bered that as Lady Maude was no longer in her 
 first youth, there was reason to suppose she 
 might listen to addresses now which, some years 
 ago, would have met scant favor in her eyes. 
 
 In the matrimonial Lloyd's, if there were such 
 a body, she would not have figured A. No. 1, 
 and the risks of entering the conjugal state have 
 probably called for an extra premium. Atlee 
 attached great importance to this fact ; but it 
 was not the less a matter which demanded the 
 greatest delicacy of treatment. He must know 
 it, and he must not know it. He must see that 
 she had been the belle of manv seasons, and he 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 17.'. 
 
 in 11 ~t pretend to regard her a> fresli to the ways 
 of life, and now to society. He trusted a good 
 ileal to his tact to do this, for, while insinuating 
 in her the possible future of Buch a man as him- 
 self, the high place, and the greal rewards which, 
 in all likelihood, awaited him, there would come 
 
 an opportune moment to su^^rest that to any one 
 
 less gifted, less eonversanl with knowledge of lite 
 
 than herself, such reasonings couKl not he ad- 
 Iressed. 
 
 •' It could never he," cried he. aloud, " to some 
 miss fresh from the school-room and the govern- 
 -- i could dare to talk a language only under- 
 stood by those who have been conversant with 
 high questions, and moved in the society of 
 thoughtful talkers." 
 
 There is no quality so dangerous to eulogize 
 as experience, and Atlee thought long over this. 
 One determination or another must speedily he 
 come to. If there was no likelihood of success 
 witli Lady Maude, he must not lose his chances 
 with the Greek girl. The sum. whatever it might 
 i.e. which her father should obtain for his secret 
 papers, would constitute a very respectable por- 
 tion. " I have a stronger reason to fight for lib- 
 eral terms," thought he, '"than the Prince Kos- 
 ralergi imagines, and. fortunately, that fine pa- 
 rental trait, that noble desire to make a provision 
 for his child, stands out so clearly in my brief, I 
 should be a sorry advocate if f could not em- 
 pl ry it." 
 
 In the few words that passed between Lord 
 Danesbury and himself on arriving he learned 
 that there was but little chance of his winning 
 his election fur the borough. Indeed, he bore 
 the disappointment jauntily and good-humoredly. 
 That great philosophy of not attaching too much 
 importance to anyone thing in life sustained him 
 in every venture. " Bet on the field — never back 
 the favorite." was his formula for inculcating the 
 wisdom of trusting to the general game of life, 
 rather than to any particular emergency. " Back 
 the field," he would say, "and you must be un- 
 lucky or you'll come right in the long-run.*' 
 
 They dined that day alone— that is, they were 
 but three at table; and Atlee enjoyed the un- 
 speakable pleasure of hearing them talk with the 
 freedom and unconstraint people only indulge in 
 when "at home." Lord Danesbury discussed 
 confidential questions of political importance; 
 told how his colleagues agreed in this, or differ- 
 ed on that ; adverted to the nice points of temper- 
 ament, which made one man hopeful and that 
 despondent or distrustful; he exposed the 
 difficulties they had to meet in the Commons, 
 and where the Upper Ibaise was intractable; 
 and even went so far in his confidences as to ad- 
 mit where the criticisms of the Press were felt to 
 ba damaging to the administration. 
 
 "The real danger of ridicule," said he, "is 
 not the pungency of the satire, it is the facility 
 with which it is remembered and circulated". 
 The man who reads the Btrong leader in the 
 Times may have some general impression of be- 
 nvinced, but be can not repeat its argu- 
 ments or quote its expressions. The pasquin- 
 ade or the squib gets a hold on the mind, and 
 its very drollery will insure its being retained 
 there. " 
 
 Atlee was not a little gratified to hear that this 
 opinion was delivered a pr<i]t"s to a -hurt paper 
 of his own, whose witrv Bftrcasms on t lie Cabin- 
 
 let were exciting great amusement in town, and 
 much curiosity as to the writer. 
 
 "He has not Beetl 'The Whitebait Dinner 
 yet." said Lady Mamie; "the cleverest jeu 
 d'esprit of the day." 
 
 "Ay, or of any day." broke in Lord Danes- 
 bury. " Even the Anti-Jacobin has nothing bet- 
 ter. The notion is this. The devil ha]. pen. t, 
 be taking a holiday, and he is in town jus) at the 
 time of the Ministerial dinner, and. bearing that 
 he is at Claridge's. the Cabinet, ashamed at the 
 little attention bestowed on a crowned head, ask 
 him down to Greenwich. He accepts, and to 
 kill an hour — 
 
 "'He strolled down, of course, 
 
 To the Parliament House, 
 
 And heard how England stood, 
 As she lias since the Flood, 
 Without ally or friend to assist her. 
 
 But. whi'le every persuasion 
 
 Was full of invasion, 
 
 From Russian or Prussian, 
 
 Yet the only discussion 
 Was, how should a gentleman marry his sister.' " 
 
 "Can you remember any more of it, my lord?' 
 
 asked Atlee, on whose table at that moment were 
 lying the proof-sheets of the production. 
 
 "Mamie has it all somewhere. You must 
 find it for him, and let him guess the writer — if 
 he can." 
 
 " What do the clubs say?" asked Atlee. 
 
 " I think they are divided between Orlop and 
 Bouverie. I'm told that the Garrick people say 
 it's Sankey. a young fellow in F. (). " 
 
 "You should see Aunt Jerningham about it. 
 Mr. Atlee — her eagerness is driving her half 
 mad." 
 
 "Take him out to 'Lebanon' on Sunday." 
 said my lord ; and Lady Maude agreed with a 
 charming grace and courtesy, adding, as she left 
 the room, "So remember you are engaged for 
 Sunday." Atlee bowed as he held the door ope;. 
 for her to pass out, and threw into his glance 
 what he desired might mean homage and eternal 
 devotion. 
 
 " Now then for a little quiet confab," said my 
 lord. "Let me hear what you meant by your 
 ! telegram. All I could make out was that you 
 found our man." 
 
 " Yes ; I found him, and passed several hours 
 in his company." 
 
 " Was the fellow very much out at elbows, as 
 j usual ?" 
 
 " No, my lord — thriving, and likely to thrive. 
 He has just been named Envoy to the Ottoman 
 Court." 
 
 " Bah!" was all the reply his incredulity could 
 permit. 
 
 " True. I assure you. Such is the estimation 
 he is held in at Athens, the Greeks declare he 
 
 has not bis equal. You are aware that his 11:1110 
 
 is Speridion Kostalergi, and he claims to !" 
 Prince of Delos." 
 
 "With all my heart. Our Hellenic friends 
 never quarrel over their nobility. There -or ti 
 ties and to spare for every one. Will he give us 
 our papers '-" 
 
 " Yes ; but not without 1 1 i ,lt 1 1 terms. II.- de- 
 clare-, in feet, my lord, that you can 110 more r<- 
 turn to the Bosphorus without I an, than he can 
 go there without you." 
 
 '• I- the fellow insolent enough to take this 
 ground ?" 
 
174 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIX. 
 
 " That is he. In fact, he presumes to talk as 
 your lordship's colleague, and hints at the sever- 
 al points in which you may act in concert." 
 
 " It is very Greek all this." 
 
 " His terms are ten thousand pounds in cash, 
 and — " 
 
 " There, there, that will do. Why not fifty 
 — why not a hundred thousand ?" 
 
 " He affects a desire to be moderate, my lord." 
 
 "I hope you withdrew at once after such a 
 proposal ? I trust you did not prolong the in- 
 terview a moment longer ?" 
 
 "I arose, indeed, and declared that the mere 
 mention of such terms was like a refusal to treat 
 at all." 
 
 "And you retired?" 
 
 " I gained the door, when he detained me. 
 He has, I must admit, a marvelous plausibility, 
 for, though at first he seemed to rely on the all- 
 importance of these documents to your lordship, 
 how far they would compromise you in the past 
 and impede you for the future ; how they would 
 impair your influence, and excite the animosity 
 of many who were freely canvassed and discuss- 
 ed in them — yet he abandoned all that at the end 
 of our interview, and restricted himself to the 
 plea that the sum, if a large one, could not be a 
 serious difficulty to a great English noble, and 
 would be the crowning fortune of a poor Greek 
 gentleman, who merely desired to secure a mar- 
 riage portion for his only daughter." 
 
 "And you believed this?" 
 
 "I so far believed him that I have his pledge 
 in writing that, when he has your lordship's as- 
 surance that you will comply with his terms — 
 and he only asks that much — he will deposit the 
 papers in the hands of the minister at Athens, 
 and constitute your lordship the trustee of the 
 amount in favor of his daughter, the sum only to 
 be paid on her marriage." 
 
 "How can it possibly concern me that he has 
 a daughter, or why should I accept such a 
 trust ?" 
 
 "The proposition had no other meaning than 
 to guarantee the good faith on which his demand 
 is made." 
 
 ' ' I don't believe in the daughter. " 
 
 "That is, that there is one?" 
 
 " No. I am persuaded that she has no exist- 
 ence. It is some question of a mistress or a de- 
 pendent ; and, if so, the sentimentality, which 
 would seem to have appealed so forcibly to you, 
 fails at once." 
 
 " That is quite true, my lord ; and I can not 
 pretend to deny the weakness you accuse me of. 
 There may be no daughter in the question." 
 
 "Ah! You begin to perceive now that you 
 surrendered your convictions too easily, Atlee. 
 You failed in that element of ' restless distrust' 
 that Talleyrand used to call the temper of the 
 diplomatist." 
 
 "It is not the first time I have had to feel I 
 am your lordship's inferior." 
 
 " My education was not made in a day, At- 
 lee. It need be no discouragement to you that 
 you are not as long-sighted as I am. No, no ; 
 rely upon it, there is no daughter in the case." 
 
 "With that conviction, my lord, what is eas- 
 ier than to make your adhesion to his terms con- 
 ditional on his truth ? You agree, if his state- 
 ment be in all respects verified." 
 
 "Which implies that it is of the least conse- 
 
 quence to me whether the fellow has a daughter 
 or not ?" 
 
 "it is so only as the guarantee of the man's 
 veracity. " 
 
 " And shall I give ten thousand pounds to test 
 thatf" 
 
 ' ' No, my lord ; but to repossess yourself of 
 what, in very doubtful hands, might prove a 
 great scandal and a great disaster." 
 
 "Ten thousand pounds! ten thousand pounds!" 
 
 "Why not eight — perhaps five? I have not 
 your lordship's great knowledge to guide me, and 
 I can not tell when these men really mean to 
 maintain their ground. From my own very 
 meagre experiences I should say lie was not a 
 very tractable individual. He sees some prom- 
 ise of better fortune before him, and like a gen- 
 uine gambler — as I hear he is — he determines to 
 back his luck. " 
 
 " Ten thousand pounds !" muttered the other, 
 below his breath. 
 
 "As regards the money, my lord, I take it 
 that these same papers were documents which 
 more or less concerned the public service — they 
 were in no sense personal, although meant to be 
 private ; and although in my ignorance I may be 
 mistaken, it seems to me that the fund devoted 
 to secret services could not be more fittingly ap- 
 propriated than in acquiring documents whose 
 publicity could prove a national injury." 
 
 " Totally wrong — utterly wrong. The money 
 could never be paid on such a pretense — the ' Of- 
 fice' would not sanction — no minister would dare 
 to advise it." 
 
 "Then I come back to my original suggestion. 
 I should give a conditional acceptance, and treat 
 for a reduction of the amount." 
 
 " You would say five ?" 
 
 "I opine, my lord, eight would have more 
 chance of success." 
 
 "You are a warm advocate for your client," 
 said his lordship, laughing ; and though the shot 
 was a merely random one, it went so true to 
 the mark that Atlee flushed up and became 
 crimson all over. "Don't mistake me, Atlee," 
 said his lordship, in a kindly tone. "I know 
 thoroughly how my interests, and only mine, have 
 any claim on your attention. This Greek fellow 
 must be less than nothing to you. Tell me now 
 frankly, do you believe one word he has told you ? 
 Is he really named as minister to Turkey ?" 
 
 "That much I can answer for — he is." 
 
 "What of the daughter — is there a daughter?" 
 
 " I suspect there may be. However, the mat- 
 ter admits of an easy proof. He has given me 
 names and addresses in Ireland of relatives with 
 whom she is living. Now I am thoroughly con- 
 versant with Ireland, and, by the indications in 
 my power, I can pledge myself to learn all, not 
 only about the existence of this person, but of 
 such family circumstances as might serve to 
 guide you in your resolve. Time is what is most 
 to be thought of here. Kostalergi requires a 
 prompt answer — first of all, your assurance that 
 you will support his claim to be received by the 
 Sultan. Well, my lord, if you refuse, Moura- 
 vieff will do it. You know better than me how 
 impolitic it might be to throw these Turks more 
 into Russian influence — " 
 
 "Never mind that, Atlee. Don't distress 
 yourself about the political aspect of the ques- 
 tion." 
 
LOUD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 17.'. 
 
 ■•1 promised a telegraphic lino to Bay would 
 you or would you not sustain his Domination. 
 h was to be yes or no— nol more." 
 
 ••Say yes. I'll not split hairs about what 
 Greek best represents liis nation. Say yes." 
 
 ••1 am Bure, my lord, you do wisely. He is 
 evidently a man of ability, and, I suspect, not 
 morally much worse than his countrymen in 
 general." 
 
 "Say yes; and then" — he mused for some 
 minutes before he continued — "and then run 
 over to Ireland ; learn something, if you can, of 
 this girl, with whom she is staying, in what po- 
 sition, what guarantees, if any, could lie had for 
 the due employment and destination of a sum of 
 money, in the event of our agreeing to pay it. 
 .Mind, it is simply as a gauge of the fellow's 
 veracity that this story has any value for us. 
 Daughter or no daughter is not of any moment 
 to me ; but I want to test the problem — can he 
 tell one word of truth about any thing ? You are 
 shrewd enough to see the bearing of this narra- 
 tive on all he has told you — where it sustains, 
 where it accuses him." 
 
 "Shall I set out at once, my lord ?" 
 
 ••No. Next week will do. We'll leave him 
 to ruminate over your telegram. That will 
 show him we have entertained his project; and 
 he is too practiced a hand not to know the value 
 of an opened negotiation. Cradoek and Mel- 
 lish, and one or two more, wish to talk with you 
 about Turkey. Graydon, too, has some ques- 
 tions to ask you about Suez. They dine here on 
 Monday. Tuesday we are to have the Hargraves 
 and Lord Ma-ham. and a couple of Under-Sec- 
 retaries of State ; and Lady Maude will tell us 
 about Wednesday, for all these people, Atlee, are 
 coming to meet you. The newspapers have so 
 persistently been keeping you before the world, 
 every one wants to see you." 
 
 Atlee might have told his lordship — but he did 
 not — by what agency it chanced that his jour- 
 neys and his jests were so thoroughly known to 
 the press of every capital in Europe. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXI. 
 
 THi: SAUNTER IN TOWN. 
 
 As Atlee sauntered along toward Downing 
 Street, whence he purposed to dispatch his tele- 
 gram to Greece, he thought a good deal of his late 
 interview with Lord 1 )anesbnry. There was much 
 in it that pleased him. He had so far succeed- 
 ed in re Kostalergi that the case was not scout- 
 ed out of court ; the matter, at least, was to be 
 entertained, and even that was something. The 
 fascination of a scheme to be developed, an in- 
 trigue to be worked out, had for his peculiar na- 
 ture a charm little short of ecstasy. The demand 
 upon his resources for craft and skill, concealment 
 and duplicity, was only second in his estimation 
 to the delight he felt at measuring his intellect 
 with some other, and seeing whether, in the 
 game of subtlety, he had his master. 
 
 Next to this, but not without a long interval, 
 was the pleasure he felt at the terms in which 
 Lord Daneshury spoke of him. No orator accus- 
 tomed to hold an assembly enthralled by his elo- 
 quence— no actor habituated to sway the pas- 
 sions of a crowded theatre — is more susceptible 
 
 to the promptings of personal vanity than your 
 " practiced talker." The man who devotes him- 
 self to be a "success" in conversation glories 
 
 more in his triumphs, and sets a greater value 
 on his gifts, than any other I know of. 
 
 That men ofm.uk and station desired to meet 
 him, that men whose position secured to them 
 the advantage of associating with the pleasautcst 
 people and the freshest minds — men who Com 
 mamled. so to say, the best talking in society — 
 wished to confer with and to hear him, was an 
 inten>e Battery, and he actually longed for the 
 occasion of display. He had learned a good deal 
 since he had left Ireland. He had less of that 
 fluency which Irishmen cultivate, seldom vent- 
 ured on an epigram, never on an anecdote, was 
 guardedly circumspect as to statements of fact, 
 and, on the whole, liked to understand his case, 
 and affect distrust of his own opinion. Though 
 there was not one of these which were not more 
 or less restrictions on him, he could be brilliant 
 and witty when occasion served, and there was 
 an incisive neatness in his repartee in which he 
 had no equal Some of those he was to meet 
 were well known among the most agreeable peo- 
 ple of society, and he rejoiced that at least if he 
 were to be put upon his trial, he should be 
 judged by his peers. 
 
 With all these flattering prospects, was it not 
 strange that his lordship never dropped a word, 
 nor even a hint, as to his personal career ? He 
 had told him, indeed, that he could not hope for 
 success at Cradford, and laughingly said, "You 
 have left Odger miles behind you in your Radi- 
 calism. Up to this we have had no Parliament 
 in England sufficiently advanced for your opin- 
 ions." On the whole, however, if not followed 
 up — which Lord Daneshury strongly objected to 
 its being — he said there was no great harm in a 
 young man making his first advances in political 
 life by something startling. They are only fire- 
 works, it is true ; the great requisite is that they 
 be brilliant, and do not go out with a smoke and 
 a bad smell ! 
 
 Beyond this he had told him nothing. Was 
 he minded to take him out to Turkey, and as 
 what? He had already explained to him that 
 the old days in which a clever fellow could be 
 drafted at once into a secretaryship of Embassy 
 were gone by ; that though a Parliamentary title 
 was held to supersede all others, whether in the 
 case of a man or a landed estate, it was all-essen- 
 tial to be in the House for that, and that a diplo- 
 matist, like a sweep, must begin when he is little. 
 
 "As his private secretary," thought he, "the 
 position is at once fatal to all my hopes with re- 
 gard to Lady Mamie." There was not a woman 
 living more certain to measure a man's preten- 
 sions by his station. " Hitherto I have not been 
 'classed.' I might be any body, or go any where. 
 My wide capabilities seemed to say that if I de- 
 scended to do small things, it would be quite OS 
 easy for me to do great ones ; and though I cop- 
 ied dispatches, they would have been rather bet 
 ter if I had drafted them also." 
 
 Lady Maude knew this. She knew the esteem 
 in which her uncle held him. She knew ho>v 
 that uncle, shrewd man of the world as he was. 
 
 rained the sort of qualities be saw in him, and 
 could, better than most men, decide how far such 
 gifts were marketable, and what price they 
 bronght to their possessor. 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 "And yet," cried he, "they don't know one 
 half of me ! What would they say if they knew 
 that it was I wrote the great paper on Turkish 
 Finance in the Memorial Diplomatique, and the 
 review of it in the Quarterly ; that it was I who 
 exposed the miserable compromise of Thiers with 
 Gambetta in the Dtiliats, and defended him in 
 the Daily News; that the hysterical scream of 
 the Kreutz Zeitung, and the severe article on 
 Bismarck in the Fortnightly were both mine ; and 
 that at this moment I am urging in the Pike how 
 the Fenian prisoners must be amnestied, and 
 showing in a London review that if they are lib- 
 erated Mr. Gladstone should be attainted for high 
 treason? I should like well to let them know 
 all this ; and I'm not sure I would not risk all 
 the consequences to do it." 
 
 And then he as suddenly bethought him how 
 little account men of letters were held in by the 
 Lady Maudes of this world; what a humble 
 place they assigned them socially ; and how 
 small they estimated their chanees of worldly 
 success ! 
 
 "It is the unrealism of literature as a career 
 strikes them ; and they can not see how men are 
 to assure themselves of the ' quoi vivre by pro- 
 viding what so few want, and even they could 
 exist without." 
 
 It was in reverie of this fashion he walked the 
 streets, as little cognizant of the crowd around 
 him as if he were sauntering along some rippling 
 stream in a mountain gorge. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXII. 
 
 THS DRIVE. 
 
 Sunday came, and with it the visit to South 
 Kensington, where Aunt Jerningham lived ; and 
 Atlee found himself seated beside Lady Maude in 
 a fine roomy barouche, whirling along at a pace 
 that our great moralist himself admits to be 
 among the very pleasantest excitements human- 
 ity can experience. 
 
 " I hope you will add your persuasions to 
 mine, Mr. Atlee, and induce my uncle to take 
 these horses with him to Turkey. You know 
 ' 'onstantinople, and can say that real carriage- 
 horses can not be had there." 
 
 "Horses of this size, shape, and action the 
 Sultan himself has not the equals of." 
 
 "No one is more aware than my lord," con- 
 tinued she, " that the measure of an embassa- 
 dor's influence is, in a great degree, the style and 
 splendor in which he represents his country, and 
 that his household, his equipage, his retinue, and 
 his dinners should mark distinctly the station he 
 assumes to occupy. Some caprice of Mr. Wal- 
 pole's about Arab horses — Arabs of bone and 
 blood he used to talk of — has taken hold of my 
 uncle's mind, and I half fear that he may not take 
 the English horses with him." 
 
 "By-the-way." said Atlee, half listlessly, 
 "where is Walpole? What has become of him?" 
 
 "He is in Ireland at this moment." 
 
 " In Ireland ! Good Heavens ! has he not had 
 enough of Ireland?" 
 
 "Apparently not. He went over there on 
 Tuesday last." 
 
 " And what can he possibly have to do in Ire- 
 land?" 
 
 " I should say that you are more likely to fur- 
 nish the answer to that question than I." If I'm 
 I not much mistaken, his letters are forwarded to 
 the same country house where you first made 
 each other's acquaintance." 
 "What, Kilgobbin Castle?" 
 " Yes, it is something Castle, and I think the 
 name you mentioned." 
 
 " And this only puzzles me the more," added 
 I Atlee, pondering. " His first visit there, at the 
 ; time I met him, was a mere accident of travel — 
 a tourist's curiosity to see an old castle supposed 
 I to have some historic associations." 
 
 " Were there not some other attractions in the 
 ! spot ?" interrupted she, smiling. 
 
 " Yes, there was a genial old Irish squire, who 
 did the honors very handsomely, if a little rude- 
 ly, and there were two daughters, or a daughter 
 and a niece, I'm not very clear which, who sang 
 Irish melodies and talked rebellion to match very 
 1 amusingly." 
 
 " Were they pretty?" 
 
 ' ' Well, perhaps courtesy would say ' pretty, ' 
 • but a keener criticism would dwell on certain 
 awkwardnesses of manner — Walpole called them 
 I Irishries." 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " Yes, he confessed to have been amused with 
 the eccentric habits and odd ways, but he was 
 not sparing of his strictures afterward." 
 " So that there were no ' tendernesses ?' " 
 "Oh, 111 not go that far. I rather suspect 
 there were 'tendernesses,' but only such as a 
 fine gentleman permits himself among semi-sav- 
 age peoples — something that seems to say, ' Be 
 as fond of me as you like, and it is a great priv- 
 ilege you enjoy ; and I, on my side, will accord 
 you such of my affections as I set no particular 
 store bv.' Just as one throws small coin to a 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Atlee!" 
 
 " I am ashamed to own that I have seen some- 
 thing of this kind myself." 
 
 "It is not like my cousin Cecil to behave in 
 that fashion." 
 
 " I might say, Lady Maude, that your home 
 experiences of people would prove a very falla- 
 cious guide as to what they might or might not 
 do in a society of whose ways you know noth- 
 ing." 
 
 "A man of honor would always be a man of 
 honor." 
 
 " There are men, and men of honor, as there 
 are persons of excellent principles with delicate 
 j moral health, and they — I say it with regret — 
 ' must be satisfied to be as respectably conducted 
 as they are able." 
 
 " I don't think you like Cecil." said she, half 
 puzzled by his subtlety, but hitting what she 
 thought to be a " blot." 
 
 " It is difficult for me to tell his cousin what 
 I should like to say in answer to this remark. " 
 
 "Oh, have no embarrassment on that score. 
 There are very few people less trammeled by the 
 ties of relationship than we are. Speak out, and 
 if you want to say any thing particularly severe, 
 have no fears of wounding my susceptibilities." 
 
 "And do you know, Lady Maude,"' said he, 
 in a voice of almost confidential meaning, "this 
 was the very thing I was dreading? I had at 
 one time a good deal of Walpole's intimacy — I'll 
 not call it friendship, for somehow there were 
 
LORD IULGOBBIN. 
 
 certain differences of temperament that separa- 
 ted us continually. We could commonly agree 
 upon the same tilings: we could never be one- 
 minded about' the same people. I" my experi- 
 ences, the world is by no means the cold-hearted 
 and selfish thing he deems it \ and yet I suppose, 
 Lady Maude, if there were to be a verdict given 
 upon us both, nine out of ten would have tixi-tl 
 (.ii in, ;i> the Bcoffer, I- not this so?" 
 
 The artfulness with which he had contrived to 
 make himself and his character a question of dis- 
 cussion achieved only a half success, for she only 
 gave <>ne of her most meaningless smiles as she 
 said, "'I do not know; I'm not quite sure." 
 
 "And yet I am more concerned to learn what 
 you would think on this score than for the opin- 
 ion of the whole world." 
 
 Like a man who lias taken a leap and found a 
 deep "drop" on the other side, he came to a 
 dead halt as he saw the cold and impassive look 
 her features had assumed. He would have giv- 
 en worlds to recall his speech and stand as he 
 did before it was uttered : for though she did not 
 say one word, there was that in her calm and 
 composed expression which reproved all that 
 savored of passionate appeal. A now-or-ncver 
 -ort of courage nerved him, and he went on: "1 
 know all the presumption of a man like myself 
 daring to address such words to you, Lady 
 Maude : hut do you remember that though all 
 eyes but one saw only fog-hank in the horizon, 
 Columbus maintained there was land in the dis- 
 tance? and so say 1, ' He who would lay his for- 
 tunes at your feet now s'ees high honors and great 
 rewards awaiting him in the future. It is with 
 you to say whether these honors hecome the 
 Crowning glories of a life, or all pursuit of them 
 he valueless:' May I — dare I hope?" 
 
 "This is Lebanon," said she; ''at least I 
 think so;" and she held her glass to her eye. 
 ••Strange caprice, wasn't it, to call her house 
 Lebanon because of those wretched cedars? 
 Aunt Jerninghara i so odd!" 
 
 ••There is a crowd of carriages here," said At- 
 lee, endeavoring to speak with unconcern. 
 
 "It is her day; she likes to receive on Sun- 
 days, as she says she escapes the bishops. By- 
 t he-way, did you tell me you were an old friend 
 .f hers, or did I dream it?" 
 
 " I'm afraid it was the vision revealed it." 
 
 " liecause, if so, I must not take you in. She 
 has a rule against all presentations on Sundays ; 
 they are only her intimates she receives on that 
 day. We shall have to return as we came." 
 
 " Not for worlds. Pray let me not prove an 
 embarrassment. Yon can make your visit, and 
 I will go hack on foot. Indeed, 1 should like a 
 walk." 
 
 "On no account! Take the carriage, and 
 send it hark for me. I shall remain here till 
 afternoon tea." 
 
 ••Thanks, hut I hold to my walk." 
 "It i- a (harming day. and I'm sure a walk 
 will he delightful." 
 
 " Am I to Suppose, Lady Maude.'' -aid he, in 
 
 a low voice, as he assisted her to alight, •"that 
 •.on will deign me a more formal answer at an- 
 other time to the word- I ventured to address 
 you? May I live in the hope that I ghall yel re- 
 gard this day a- the tuo-i fortunate of my life?" 
 •• It i- wonderful weather for November — an 
 English November, too. Pray let me assure you 
 M 
 
 that you need not make yourself uneasy about 
 what you were Bpeaking of. I shall not mention 
 
 it to any one, [east of all to 'my lord;' and as 
 for myself, it shall he as completely forgotten a- 
 
 though it had never been uttered." 
 
 And Bhe held out her hand with a sort of cor- 
 dial frankness that actually said. " There, you 
 
 are forgiven .' L there any record of generosity 
 like this?" 
 Atlee bowed low and resignedly over that 
 
 gloved hand, which he felt he was touching for 
 the last time, and turned away with a rush of 
 thoughts through his I. rain, in which certainly 
 
 the pleasantest were not the predominating ones. 
 
 He did not dine that day at Linton Street, 
 and only returned ahotit ten o'clock, whin he 
 knew he should find Lord Danesbury in his 
 study. 
 
 "I have determined, my lord," said he, with 
 somewhat of decision in his tone that savored of 
 a challenge, " to go over to Ireland by the morn- 
 ing mail." 
 
 Too much engrossed by his own thoughts to no- 
 tice the other's manner. Lord Daneslmry merely 
 turned from the papers before him to say. " All, 
 indeed ! it would he very well done. We were 
 talking ahout that, were we not, yesterday ? 
 What was it?" 
 "The Greek — Kostalergi's daughter, raylord?" 
 
 " To he sure. You are incredulous ahout her, 
 ain't you ?" 
 
 "On the contrary, my lord, I opine that the 
 fellow has told us the truth. I believe he has 
 a daughter, and destines this money to be her 
 dowry." 
 
 "With all my heart; I do not see how it 
 should concern me. If I am to pay the money. 
 it matters very little to me whether he invests it 
 in a Greek husband or the Double Zero — specu- 
 lations. I take it. pretty much alike. Have you 
 sent a telegram ?" 
 
 " I have, my lord. I have engaged your lord- 
 ship's word that you are willing to treat." 
 
 "Just so; it is exactly what I am! Willing 
 to treat, willing to hear argument, and reply with 
 my own, why 1 should give more for any thing 
 than it is worth." 
 
 "We need not discuss further what we can 
 only regard from one point of view, and that our 
 own." 
 
 Lord Danesbury started. The altered tone 
 and manner struck him now for the first time, 
 and he threw his spectacles on the tabic and 
 -tared at tin- speaker with astonishment. 
 
 "There is another point, my lord," continued 
 Atlee, with unbroken calm, "that I should like 
 to a-k your lordship's judgment upon, a- I shall 
 iii a few hours lie in Ireland, where the question 
 
 will present itself. There was some time ago in 
 Ireland a case brought under your lord-hip'- no- 
 tice of a very gallant resistance made bj a fami- 
 ly against an armed party who attacked a house, 
 and your lordshjp was graciously pleased to baa 
 
 that some recognition should be offered to oi f 
 
 the sons something to -how how the Govern- 
 ment regarded and approved hi- Bpirited e, Mi- 
 duct." 
 
 "I know, I know; but I am no longer the 
 Viceroy." 
 
 "• 1 am aware of that, my hud. nor is your 
 successor appointed ; but anj suggestion or wish 
 of your lordship's would be accepted by the 
 
178 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 Lords Justices with great deference, all the more 
 in payment of a debt. If, then, your lordship 
 would recommend this young man for the first 
 vacancy in the constabulary, or some place in the 
 customs, it would satisfy a most natural expec- 
 tation, and, at the same time, evidence your 
 lordship's interest for the country you so lately 
 ruled over." 
 
 " There is nothing more pernicious than fore- 
 stalling other people's patronage, Atlee. Not 
 but if this thing was to be done for yourself — " 
 
 " Pardon me, my lord, I do not desire any 
 thing for myself." 
 
 " Well, be it so. Take this to the Chancellor 
 or the Commander-in-Chief" — and he scribbled 
 a few hasty lines as he talked — "and say what 
 you can in support of it. If they give you some- 
 thing good, I shall be heartily glad of it, and I 
 wish you years to enjoy it." 
 
 Atlee only smiled at the warmth of interest 
 for him which was linked with such a shortness 
 of memory, but was too much wounded in his 
 pride to reply. And now, as he saw that his 
 lordship had replaced his glasses and resumed 
 his work, he walked noiselessly to the door and 
 withdrew. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIII. 
 
 A DARKENED ROOM. 
 
 The "comatose" state, to use the language 
 of the doctors, into which Gorman O'Shea had 
 fallen had continued so long as to excite the 
 greatest apprehensions of his friends ; for al- 
 though not amounting to complete insensibility, 
 it left him so apathetic and indifferent to every 
 thing and every one that the girls, Kate and 
 Nina, in pure despair, had given up reading or 
 talking to him, and passed their hours of "watch- 
 ing" in perfect silence in the half-darkened room. 
 
 The stern immobility of his pale features, the 
 glassy and meaningless stare of his large blue 
 eyes, the unvarying rhythm of a long-drawn res- 
 piration, were signs that at length became more 
 painful to contemplate than evidences of actual 
 suffering; and as day by day went on, and in- 
 terest grew more and more eager about the trial, 
 which was fixed for the coming Assize, it was 
 pitiable to see him, whose fate was so deeply 
 pledged on the issue, unconscious of all that went 
 on around him, and not caring to know any of 
 those details the very least of which might de- 
 termine his future lot. 
 
 The instructions drawn up for the defense 
 were sadly in need of the sort of information 
 which the sick man alone could supply ; and 
 Nina and Kate had both been entreated to 
 watch for the first favorable moment that should 
 present itself, and ask certain questions, the an- 
 swers to which would be of the last import- 
 ance. 
 
 Though Gill's affidavit gave many evidences 
 of unscrupulous falsehood, there was no counter- 
 evidence to set against it, and O'Shea's counsel 
 complained strongly of the meagre instructions 
 which were briefed to him in the case, and his ut- 
 ter inability to construct a defense upon them. 
 
 " He said he would tell me something this 
 evening, Kate," said Nina; "so, if you will let 
 me, I will go in your place and remind him of 
 his promise." 
 
 This hopeful sigii of returning intelligence was 
 so gratifying to Kate that she readily consented 
 to the proposition of her cousin taking " her 
 watch," and, if possible, learning something of 
 his wishes. 
 
 " He said it," continued Nina, " like one talk- 
 ing to himself, and it was not easy to follow him. 
 The words, as well as I could make out, were, 
 'I will say it to-day — this evening, if I can. 
 When it is said' — here he muttered something, 
 but I can not say whether the words were, 'Mv 
 mind will be at rest, 'or 'I shall be at rest fo'r 
 evermore. ' " 
 
 Kate did not utter a word, but her eyes swam, 
 and two large tears stole slowly down her face. 
 
 " His own conviction is that he is dying," said 
 Nina ; but Kate never spoke. 
 
 "The doctors persist," continued Nina, "in 
 declaring that this depression is only a well-known 
 symptom of the attack, and that all affections of 
 the brain are marked by a certain tone of de- 
 spondency. They even say more, and that the 
 cases where this symptom predominates are more 
 frequently followed by recovery. Are you list- 
 ening to me, child ?" 
 
 "No: I was following some thoughts of my 
 own." 
 
 " I was merely telling you why I think he is 
 getting better." 
 
 Kate leaned her head on her cousin's shoul- 
 der, and she did not speak. The heaving mo- 
 tion of her shoulders and her chest betrayed the 
 agitation she could not subdue. 
 
 "I wish his aunt were here; I see how her 
 absence frets him. Is she too ill for the jour- 
 ney ?" asked Nina. 
 
 "She says not, and she seems in some way to 
 be coerced by others ; but a telegram this morn- 
 ing announces she would try and reach Kilgobbin 
 this evening." 
 
 " What could coercion mean ? Surely this is 
 mere fancy ?" 
 
 "I am not so certain of that. The convent 
 has great hopes of inheriting her fortune. She 
 is rich, and she is a devout Catholic ; and we 
 have heard of cases where zeal for the Church 
 has pushed discretion very far." 
 
 " What a worldly creature it is !" cried Nina ; 
 "and who would have suspected it?" 
 
 " I do not see the worldliness of my believing 
 that people will do much to serve the cause 
 they follow. When chemists tells us that there 
 is no finding such a thing as a glass of pure wa- 
 ter, where are we to go for pure motives ?" 
 
 "To one's heart, of course, "said Nina; but 
 the curl of her perfectly cut upper lip as she said 
 it scarcely vouched for the sincerity. 
 
 On that same evening, just as the last flicker- 
 ings of twilight were dying away, Nina stole into 
 the sick-room and took her place noiselessly be- 
 side the bed. 
 
 Slowly moving his arm without turning his 
 head, or by any gesture whatever acknowledging 
 her presence, he took her hand and pressed it to 
 his burning lips, and then laid it upon his cheek. 
 She made no effort to withdraw her hand, and sat 
 perfectly still and motionless. 
 
 "Are we alone?" whispered he, in a voice 
 hardly audible. 
 
 "Yes, quite alone." 
 
 " If I should say what — displease yon," fal- 
 tered he, his agitation making speech more diffi- 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 cult; "how shall I tell?" And once more he 
 pressed bei hand to hia lips, 
 
 "No, no; have no tears of displeasing me. 
 Say what you would like to tell me." 
 
 "''It is this, then," said he, with an effort " 1 
 am dying with my seeret in my heart. I am dy- 
 ing, to cany away with me the love 1 am not to 
 tell— my love for you, Kate." 
 
 through her heart, ami she lav Lark in her chair 
 
 with a cold feeling of sickness like fainting. The 
 overpowering passion of her nature was jealousy. 
 
 and to share even the admiration of a Salon, the 
 
 " passing homage," as Buch deference is called, 
 with another, was a something do effort of he. 
 
 generosity could compass. 
 
 Though she did not s)>eak, she suffered Iter 
 
 8HE 8CFFERED HEK HAND TO UEMA.IX UNRESISTINGLY WITHIN HIS OWN. 
 
 "I am not Kate," was almost on her lips, Imt 
 her struggle to keep silent was aided by that de- 
 sire, so strong in her nature, to follow out a situ- 
 ation of difficulty to the end. .She did not love 
 him, nor did she desire his love; hut a Btrange 
 sense of injury at hearing his profession of love 
 for another shot a pang of intense Buffering 
 
 hand to remain unresistingly within his own. 
 After a short pause he went on: "I thought 
 yesterday that I was dying, and in my rambling 
 intellect] thought l took leave of you; and 
 
 do you know my last words — my last words, 
 Kate?" 
 " No ; what were they ?" 
 
180 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 "My last words were these, ' Beware of the 
 Greek; have no friendship with the Greek.'" 
 
 "And why that warning?" said she, in a low, 
 faint voice. 
 
 " She is not of ns, Kate ; none of her ways or 
 thoughts are ours, nor would they suit us. She 
 is subtle and clever and sly, and these only mis- 
 lead those who live simple lives." 
 
 "May it not be that you wrong her ?"' 
 
 "I have tried to learn her nature." 
 
 " Not to love it?" 
 
 "I believe I was beginning to love her — just 
 when yon were cold to me. You remember 
 when ?" 
 
 " I do ; and it was this coldness was the cause. 
 Was it the only cause ?" 
 
 "No, no. She has wiles and ways which, 
 with her beauty, make her nigh irresistible." 
 
 "And now you are cured of this passion? 
 There is no trace of it in your breast?" 
 
 " Not a vestige. But why speak of her?" 
 
 " Perhaps I am jealous." 
 
 Once more he pressed his lips to her hand and 
 kissed it rapturously. 
 
 "No, Kate," cried he, "none but you have 
 the place in my heart. Whenever I have tried a 
 treason it has turned against me. Is there light 
 enough in the room to find a small portfolio of 
 red-brown leather? It is on that table yonder." 
 
 Had the darkness been not almost complete, 
 Nina would scarcely have ventured to rise and 
 cross the room, so fearful was she of being rec- 
 ognized. 
 
 "It is locked," said she, as she laid it beside 
 him on the bed ; but touching a secret spring, 
 he opened it, and passed his fingers hurriedly 
 through the papers within. 
 
 "I believe it must be this," said he. "I 
 think I know the feel of the paper. It is a 
 telegram from my aunt : the doctor gave it to 
 me last night. We read it over together four or 
 five times. This is it, and these are the words : 
 ' If Kate will be your wife, the estate of O'Shea's 
 Barn is your own forever. ' " 
 
 " Is she to have no time to think over this of- 
 fer ?" asked she. 
 
 "Would you like candles, miss?" asked a 
 maid-servant, of whose presence there neither 
 of the others had been aware. 
 
 "No, nor are you wanted," said Nina, 
 haughtily, as she arose, while it was not without 
 some difficulty she withdrew her hand from the 
 sick man's grasp. 
 
 "I know," said he, falteringly. "you would 
 not leave me if you had not left hope to keep me 
 company in your absence. Is not that so, 
 Kate ?" 
 
 "By-by," said she, softly, and stole away. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIV. 
 
 AN ANGRY COLLOQUY. 
 
 It was with passionate eagerness Nina set off 
 in search of Kate. Why she should have felt 
 herself wronged, outraged, insulted even, is not 
 so easy to say, nor shall I attempt any analysis 
 of the complex web of sentiments which, so to 
 say, spread itself over her faculties. The man 
 who had so wounded her self-love had been at her 
 feet, he had followed her in her walks, hung 
 
 ] over the piano as she sang — shown by a thou- 
 sand signs that sort of devotion by which men in- 
 timate that their lives have but one solace, one 
 ecstasy, one joy. By what treachery had he 
 been moved to all this, if he really loved anoth- 
 er? That he was simply amusing himself with 
 the sort of flirtation she herself could take up as 
 a mere pastime was not to believed. That the 
 worshiper should be insincere in his worship 
 was too dreadful to think of. And yet it was 
 to this very man she had once turned to avenge 
 herself on Walpole's treatment of her ; she had 
 even said, "Could you not make a quarrel with 
 him?" Now no woman of foreign breeding 
 puts such a question without the perfect con- 
 sciousness that, in accepting a man's champion- 
 ship, she has virtually admitted his devotion. 
 Her own levity of character, the thoughtless in- 
 difference with which she would sport with any 
 man's affections, so far from inducing her to pal- 
 liate such caprices, made her more severe and 
 unforgiving. " How shall I punish him for 
 this? How shall I make him remember whom 
 it is he has insulted ?" repeated she over and 
 over to herself as she went. 
 
 The servants passed her on the stairs with 
 trunks and luggage of various kinds ; but she 
 was too much engrossed with her own thoughts 
 to notice them. Suddenly the words, "Mr. 
 Walpole's room," caught her ear, and she asked, 
 "Has any one come ?" 
 
 Yes : two gentlemen had just arrived. A third 
 was to come that night, and Miss O'Shea might 
 be expected at any moment. 
 
 "Where .was Miss Kate?' ! she inquired. 
 
 " In her own room at the top of the house." 
 
 Thither she hastened at once. 
 
 " Be a dear good girl," cried Kate as Nina 
 entered, "and help me in my many embarrass- 
 ments. Here are a flood of visitors all coming 
 unexpectedly. Major Lockwood and Mr. Wal- 
 pole have come. Miss Betty will be here for 
 dinner, and Mr. Atlee, whom we all believed to 
 be in Asia, may arrive to-night. I shall lie able 
 to feed them ; but how to lodge them with any 
 pretension to comfort is more than I can see." 
 
 "I am in little humor to aid any one. I have 
 my own troubles — worse ones, perhaps, than 
 playing hostess to disconsolate travelers." 
 
 " And what are your troubles, dear Nina ?" 
 
 " I have half a mind not to tell you. 'You ask 
 me with that supercilious air that seems to say, 
 | ' How can a creature like you be of interest 
 enough to any one or any thing to have a diffi- 
 culty ?' " 
 
 " I force no confidences," said the other, 
 coldly. 
 
 "For that reason yon shall have them — at 
 least this one. What will you say when I tell 
 you that young O'Shea has made me a declara- 
 tion, a formal declaration of love ?" 
 
 " I should say that you need not speak of it 
 as an insult nor an offense." 
 
 "Indeed! and if so, you would say what 
 was perfectly wrong. It was both insult and 
 offense — yes, both. Do you know that the man 
 mistook me tor you, and called me Kate?" 
 
 " How could this be possible?" 
 
 " In a darkened room, with a sick man slow- 
 ly rallying from a long attack of stupor; noth- 
 ing of me to he seen but my hand, which he de- 
 voured with kisses— raptures, indeed, Kate, of 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 1-] 
 
 which I bad no conception till I experienced 
 them by counterfeit !" 
 
 •' ( >h ! Nina, this is not fair !" 
 
 ••It is true, child. The man caught my hand, 
 and declared be would never quit it till 1 prom- 
 ised it should be his own. Nor was be content 
 with this; but, anticipating his right to be lord 
 and master, lie hade von beware of me I 'He- 
 ware of that Greek girl!' were his words— words 
 strengthened by what he Baid of my character 
 nnd my temperament 1 shall spare you, and I 
 shall spare myself, his acute comments on the na- 
 ture he dreaded to see in companionship with Ins 
 wife. I have had good training in learning these 
 unbiased judgments — my early life abounded in 
 such experiences— but this young gentleman's 
 cautions were candor itself." 
 
 ••1 am sincerely sorry for what has pained 
 
 you." 
 
 " I did not say it was this boy's foolish words 
 had wounded ine so acutely. I could bear 
 sterner critics than he is — his very blundering 
 misconception of me would always plead his par- i 
 don. How could he, or how could they with 
 whom he lived and talked, and smoked and 
 swaggered, know of me or such as me? What 
 could there be in the monotonous vulgarity of 
 their tiresome lives that should teach them what 
 we are, or what we wish to he ? By what pre- 
 sumption did he dare to condemn all that he 
 could not understand ?" 
 
 "You are angry, Nina; and I will not say' 
 without some cause." 
 
 •* What ineffable generosity ! You can really 
 constrain yourself to believe that I have been in- 
 sulted: - ' 
 
 •• I should not say insulted." 
 
 "You can not be an honest judge in such a 
 cause. Every outrage ottered to me. was an act ; 
 of homage to yourself! If you but knew how I 
 burned to tell him who it was whose hand he 
 held in his, and to whose ears he had poured out 
 his raptures! To tell him, too, how the Creek 
 girl would have resented his presumption had 
 he but dared to indulge it ! One of the women- 
 servants, it would seem, was a witness to this 
 boy's declaration. 1 think it was .Mary was in 
 the room, I do not know for how long, but she 
 announced her presence by asking some question 
 about candles. In tact, I shall have become aj 
 servants-hall scandal by this time." 
 
 "There need not he any fear of that, Nina; i 
 there arc no bad tongues among our people." 
 
 " I know all that. I know we live amidst hu- 
 man perfectibilities — all of [rish manufacture, 
 and warranted to be genuine." 
 
 •■ I would hope that some of your impressions j 
 of Ireland are not unfavorable?" 
 
 "I scarcely know. I suppose you understand 
 each other, and are tolerant about capricious 
 moods and ways, which to strangers might Beem 
 to have a deeper significance. I believe you are 
 
 not as hasty, or as riolent, or as rash as you 
 
 se -in. and 1 am sure you are not Bfl impulsive in 
 
 your generosity, or as headlong in your affec- 
 tions. Not exactly that you mean to be false, 
 but you are hypocrites to yourselves." 
 " A very Battering pictnre of us." 
 
 " I do not mean to Hatter you • and it is to 
 this end I say you are Italians without the sub- 
 tlety of the Italian, and Greeks without their 
 genius. You need not courtesy so profoundly. 
 
 I could say worse than this, Rate, it' I were 
 nfinded to do bo." 
 
 •' Pray do not be so minded, then. Pray re- 
 member that, even when you wound me, I can 
 
 not return the thrust." 
 
 •• I know what you mean," cried Nina, rapidly. 
 
 "You arc veritable Arabs in your estimate of hos- 
 pitality, and he w ho has eaten your salt is sacred.' 
 
 "You remind me of what I had nigh forgot- 
 ten, Nina— of our coming guestB." 
 
 "Do you know why VValrJble and his friend 
 are coining ?" 
 
 " They are already come, Nina — they are out 
 walking with papa; bul what has brought them, 
 here I can not guess, and, since I have heard 
 your description of Ireland. I can not imagine." 
 
 " Nor can I," said she, indolently, and moved 
 away. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXV. 
 
 MAURICE KEARNEY'S REFLECTIONS. 
 
 To have his house full of company, to see his 
 table crowded with guests, was nearer perfect 
 happiness than any thing Kearney knew ; and 
 when he set out, the morning after the arrival 
 of the strangers, to show Major Lockwood where 
 he would find a brace of woodcocks, the old man 
 was in such spirits as he had not known for 
 years. 
 
 " Why don't your friend Walpolc come with 
 us ?" asked he of his companion, as they trudged 
 across the bog. 
 
 " I believe I can guess," mumbled out the oth- 
 er ; "but I'm not quite sure I ought to tell." 
 
 "I see." said Kearney, with a knowing leer: 
 "he's afraid I'll roast him about that unlucky 
 dispatch he wrote. He thinks I'll give him no 
 peace about that bit of stupidity ; for you see. 
 major, it was stupid, and nothing less. Of all 
 the things we despise in Ireland, take my word 
 for it, there is nothing we think so little of as a 
 weak Government. We can stand up Strong 
 and bold against hard usage, and we gain self 
 respect by resistance; but when you come down 
 to conciliations and what you call healing meas- 
 ures, we feel as if you were going to humbug us. 
 and there is not a devilment comes into our heads 
 we would not do, just to see how you'll bear it : 
 and it's then your London newspapers cry out : 
 ■ What's the 086 of doing any thing for Ireland ? 
 We pulled down the Church, and we robbed tic 
 landlords, and we're now going to back Cardi- 
 nal t 'alien for them, and there they are lnurther- 
 ing away as bad as ever.' " 
 
 •• Is it not true?" asked the major. 
 
 "And whose fault if it it true? Who has 
 broke down the laws in Ireland but yourselves? 
 We Irish never said that many things you called 
 crimes were bad in murals, and when it occurs 
 to you now to doubt if lliev are crimes. I'd like 
 
 to ask you, why wouldn't »•>■ do them? Jfoi 
 won't give us our independence, and so well 
 fight for it •, and though, maybe, we can't lick 
 
 you, we'll make your life so uncomfortable ti 
 
 you, keeping us down; that you 11 beg a i' • 
 
 promise— a healing measure, you'll call it — just 
 as wle-n I won't give Tim Sullivan a tease, la' 
 
 takes a shot at me : and as I reckon the holes in 
 my hat. I think better of it. and take a pound or 
 two otf his rent.'' 
 
1 S2 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 " So that, in fact, you court the policy of con- 
 ciliation ?" 
 
 " Only because I'm weak, major — because I'm 
 weak, and that I must live in the neighborhood. 
 If I could pass my days out of the range of Tim's 
 carbine, I wouldn't reduce him a shilling." 
 
 "I can make nothing of Ireland or Irishmen 
 either." 
 
 "Why would you? God help us! we are 
 poor enough and ^vretched enough ; but we're 
 not come down to that yet that a major of dra- 
 goons can read us like big print." 
 
 "So far as I see, you wish for a strong des- 
 potism." 
 
 "In one way it would suit us well. Do you 
 see, major, what a weak administration and un- 
 certain laws do ? They set every man in Ireland 
 about righting himself by his own hand. If I 
 know I shall be starved when I'm turned out of 
 my holding, I'm not at all so sure I'll be hanged 
 if I shoot my landlord. Make me as certain of 
 one as the other, and I'll not shoot him." 
 
 "I believe I understand you." 
 
 " No, you don't, nor any cockney amoug you." 
 
 "I'm not a cockney." 
 
 ' ' I don't care ; you're the same : you're not 
 one of us ; nor, if you spent fifty years among us, 
 would you understand us." 
 
 ' ' Come over and see me in Berkshire, Kear- 
 ney-, and let me see if you can read our people 
 much better. " 
 
 "From all I heai", there's not much to read. 
 Your chawbacon isn't as 'cute a fellow as Pat." 
 
 " He's easier to live with." 
 
 "Maybe so; but I wouldn't care for a life 
 with such people about me. I like human na- 
 ture and human feelings — ay, human passions, 
 if you must call them so. I want to know I 
 can make some people love me, though I well 
 know there must be others will hate me. You're 
 all for tranquillity over in England — a quiet life 
 you call it. I like to live without knowing what's 
 coming, and to feel all the time that I know 
 enough of the game to be able to play it as well 
 as my neighbors. Do you follow me now, ma- 
 jor?" 
 
 " I'm not quite certain I do." 
 
 "No — but I'm quite certain you don't; and, 
 indeed, I wonder at myself talking to you about 
 these things at all." 
 
 " I'm much gratified that you do so. In fact, 
 Kearney, you give me courage to speak a little 
 about myself and my own affairs ; and, if you 
 will allow me, to ask your advice." ' 
 
 This was an unusually long speech for the 
 major, and he actually seemed fatigued when he 
 concluded. He was, however, consoled for his 
 exertions by seeing what pleasure his words had 
 conferred on Kearney, and with what racy self- 
 satisfaction that gentleman heard himself men- 
 tioned as a "wise opinion." 
 
 "I believe I do know a little of life, major," 
 said he, sententiously. " As old Giles Dackson 
 used to say, ' Get Maurice Kearney to tell you 
 what he thinks of it.' You knew Giles?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Well, you've heard of him ? No ! not even 
 that. There's another proof of what I was say- 
 ing — we're two people, the English and the Irish, 
 [f it wasn't sc^ you'd be no stranger to the say- 
 ings and doings of one of the 'cutest men that 
 ever lived." 
 
 "We have witty fellows too." 
 
 "No, you haven't! Do you call your House 
 of Commons' jokes wit ? Are the stories you tell 
 at your hustings' speeches wit? Is there one 
 over there" — and he pointed in the direction of 
 England — "that ever made a smait repartee or 
 a brilliant answer to any one about any thing? 
 You now and then tell an Irish story, and you 
 forget the point; or you quote a French 'mot,' 
 and leave out the epigram. Don't be angry — 
 it's truth I'm telling you." 
 
 "I'm not angry ; though, I must say, I don't 
 think you are fair to us." 
 
 "The last bit of brilliancy you had in the 
 House was Brinsley Sheridan — and there wasn't 
 much English about him." 
 
 " I've never heard that the famous O'Connell 
 used to convulse the House with his drollery." 
 
 ' ' Why should he ? Didn't he know where he 
 was ? Do you imagine that O'Connell was going 
 to do like poor Lord Killeen, who shipped a car- 
 go of coal-scuttles to Africa ?" 
 
 "Will you explain to me, then, how, if j'ou 
 are so much shrewder and wittier and cleverer 
 than us, that it does not make you richer, more 
 prosperous, and more contented ?" 
 
 " I could do that too, but I'm losing the birds. 
 There's a cock now. Well done! I see you 
 can shoot a bit. Look here, major, there's a 
 deal in race — in the blood of a people. It's very 
 hard to make a light -hearted, joyous people 
 thrifty. It's your sullen fellow, that never cuts a 
 joke, nor wants any one to laugh at it, that's the 
 man who saves. If you're a wit, you want an 
 audience, and the best audience is round a din- 
 ner-table ; and we know what that costs. Now 
 Ireland has been very pleasant for the last hun- 
 dred and fifty years in that fashion, and you, and 
 scores of other low-spirited, depressed fellows, 
 come over here to pluck up and rouse yourselves, 
 and you go home and you wonder why the 
 people who amused you were not always as jolly 
 as you saw them. I've known this country now 
 nigh sixty years, and I never knew a turn of 
 prosperity that didn't make us stupid ; and, upon 
 my conscience, I believe, if we ever begin to grow 
 rich, we'll not be a bit better than yourselves." 
 
 " That would be very dreadful," said the oth- 
 er, in mock horror. 
 
 "So it would, whether you mean it or not. 
 There's a hare missed this time!" 
 
 " I was thinking of something I wanted to ask 
 you. The fact is, Kearney, I have a thing on 
 my mind now." 
 
 "Is it a duel? It's many a day since I was 
 out, but I used to know every step of the way as 
 well as most men." 
 
 "No; it's not a duel!" 
 
 " It's money, then ! Bother it for money. 
 What a deal of bad blood it leads to ! Tell me 
 all about it, and I'll see if I can't deal with it." 
 
 "No, it's not money; it has nothing to do 
 with money. I'm not hard up. I was never 
 less so." 
 
 "Indeed!" cried Kearney, staring at him. 
 
 "Why, what do you mean by that?" 
 
 "I was curious to see how a man looks, and 
 I'd like to know how he feels, that didn't want 
 money. I can no more understand it than if a 
 man told me he didn't want air." 
 
 "If he had enough to breathe freely, could he 
 need more ?" 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 188 
 
 "That would depend on the rise of his lungs, 
 
 .-mkI I believe mine are pretty big. Bat come now, 
 if there's nobody yon want to shoot, and yon 
 have a good balance at the banker's, what can 
 ail von, except it's a girl you want to marry, and 
 
 she won't have you?" 
 
 •' Well, there is a lady in the case." 
 
 "Ay, ay! she's a married woman," cried 
 Kearney, closing one eye. and looking intensely 
 conning. " Then I may tell you at once, major, 
 Tin no use to you whatever. If it was a young 
 girl that liked you against the wish of her family, 
 or that you were in love with though she was 
 below you in condition, or that was promised to 
 another man but wanted to get out of her bar- 
 gain, I'm good for any of these, or scores more 
 of the same kind ; but if it's mischief, and mis- 
 ery, and life-long sorrow you have in your head, 
 you must look out for another adviser." 
 
 "It's nothing of the kind," said the other, ' 
 bluntly. " It's marriage I was thinking of. I 
 want to settle down and have a wife." 
 
 •■ And why couldn't you, if you think it would 
 be any comfort to you ?" The last words were [ 
 rather uttered than spoken, and sounded like a j 
 sad reflection uttered aloud. 
 
 "I'm not a rich man," said the major, with 
 that strain it always cost him to speak of him- 
 self, "but I have got enough to live on. A 
 goodish old house, and a small estate, underlet 
 as it is, bringing me about two thousand a year, 
 and some expectations, as they call them, from 
 an old grand-aunt.'' 
 
 "You have enough, if you marry a prudent 
 girl," muttered Kearney, who was never happier 
 than when advocating moderation and discretion. 
 
 " Enough, at least, not to look for money 
 with a wife." 
 
 "I'm with you there, heart and soul," cried 
 Kearney. " Of all the shabby inventions of our 
 civilization, I don't know one as mean as that 
 custom of giving a marriage-portion with a girl. 
 Is it to induce a man to take her ? Is it to pay 
 for her board and lodging? Is it because mar- 
 riage is a partnership, and she must bring her I 
 share into the ' concern ?' or is it to provide for 
 the day when they are to part company, and I 
 each go his own road? Take it how you like, 
 it's bad and it's shabby. If you're rich enough 
 to give your daughter twenty or thirty thousand I 
 pounds, wait for some little family festival — her ! 
 birthday, or her husband's birthday, or a Christ- 
 mas gathering, or maybe a christening — and pnt 
 the notes in her hand. Oh, major dear," cried 
 lie, aloud, " if you knew how much of life you 
 lose with lawyers, and what a deal of bad blood 
 comes into the world by parchments, you'd see 
 the wisdom of trusting more to human kindness 
 and good feeling, and, above all, to the honor 
 of gentlemen — things that nowadays we always 
 hope to secure by Act of Parliament." 
 
 " I go with a great deal of what you say." 
 
 "Why not with all of it? What do we gain 
 by trying to overreach each other? What ad- 
 vantage in a system where it's always the rogue 
 that wins? If I was a king to-morrow, I'd rath- 
 er fine a fellow for quoting Blackstone than for 
 blasphemy, and I'd distribute all the law libra- 
 ries in the kingdom as cheap fuel for the ] r. 
 
 We pray for peace and quietness, and we educate 
 a special class of people to keep us always wran- 
 gling. Where's the sense of that ?" 
 
 While Kearney poured out these WOrdl in a 
 flow of fervid conviction, they had arrived at a 
 
 little open spare in the wood, from which vari- 
 ous alleys led oil' in dill'erent directions. Along 
 
 one of these two figures were slowly moving side 
 by side, whom Lockwood quickly recognized as 
 
 Walpole and Nina Kostalergi. Kearney did not 
 see them, for bis attention was suddenly called 
 Off by a shout from a distance, and bis BOO Dick 
 rode hastily up to the spot. "I have been in 
 search of yon all through the plantation," cried 
 he. " I have brought back Holmes, the lawyer, 
 from Tullaniore, who wants to talk to you about 
 this affair of Gorman's. It's going to be a bad 
 business, I fear." 
 
 " Isn't that more of what I was saying ?" said 
 the old man, turning to the major. "There's 
 law for you!" 
 
 " They are making what they call a ' National' 
 event of it," continued Dick. "The Pike has 
 opened a column of subscriptions to defray the 
 cost of proceedings, and they've engaged Batters- 
 by with a hundred-guinea retainer already.'' 
 
 It appeared from what tidings Dick brought 
 back from the town that the Nationalists — to 
 give them the much unmerited name by which 
 they called themselves — w r ere determined to show 
 how they could dictate to a jury. 
 
 "There's law for you!" cried the old man 
 again. 
 
 " You'll have to take to vigilance committees, 
 like the Yankees," said the major. 
 
 "We've had them for years; but they only- 
 shoot their political opponents." 
 
 "They say, too," broke in the young man, 
 " that Donogan is in the town, and that it is he 
 who has organized the whole prosecution. In 
 fact, he intends to make Battersby's speech for 
 the plaintiff a great declaration of the wrongs of 
 Ireland ; and as Battersby hates the Chief Baron, 
 who will try the cause, he is determined to insult 
 the Bench, even at the cost of a commitment." 
 
 " What will he gain by that ?" asked Lock- 
 wood. 
 
 " I'll tell you what he'll gain — he'll gain the 
 election of Mallow," said Kearney. " Every one 
 can not have a father that was hanged in '98; 
 but any one can go to jail for blackguarding a 
 Chief Justice." 
 
 For a moment or two the old man seemed 
 ashamed at having been led to make these con- 
 fessions to "the Saxon," and telling Lockwood 
 where he would be likely to find a brace of cork-. 
 he took his son's arm and turned homeward. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVI. 
 
 VERY CONFIDENTIAL CONVERSATION. 
 
 When Lockwood returned, only in time to 
 dress lor dinner, Walpole, whose room adjoined 
 his, threw open the door between them and en- 
 tered. He had just accomplished a monl careful 
 " tie," and came in with the air of one burly Belf- 
 sati-tied and happy. 
 
 •' You look quite triumphant this evening." 
 said the major, half sulkily. 
 
 " So I am, old fellow ; and so I have a right 
 to be. It's all done and settled." 
 
 " Already ?" 
 
 "Ay. already. I asked her to take a Stroll 
 
181 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIX. 
 
 with me in the garden ; but we sauntered offinto 
 the plantation. A woman always understands 
 the exact amount of meaning a man has in a re- 
 quest of this kind, and her instinct reveals to her 
 at once whether he is eager to tell her some bit 
 of fatal scandal of one of her friends, or to make 
 her a declaration." 
 
 A sort of sulky grunt was Lockwood's ac- 
 knowledgment of this piece of abstract wisdom 
 — a sort of knowledge he never listened to with 
 much patience. 
 
 " I am aware," said Walpole, flippantly, " the 
 female nature was an omitted part in your edu- 
 cation, Lockwood ; and you take small interest 
 in those nice distinctive traits which, to a man of 
 the world, are exactly what the stars are to the 
 mariner." 
 
 "Finding out what a woman means by the 
 stars does seem very poor fan." 
 
 "'Perhaps you prefer the moon for your ob- 
 servation," replied Walpole ; and the easy imper- 
 tinence of his manner was almost too much for 
 the other's patience. 
 
 "I don't care for your speculations — I want 
 to hear what passed between you and the Greek 
 girl." 
 
 " The Greek girl will in a very few days be 
 Mrs. "Walpole, and I shall crave a little more def- 
 erence for the mention of her." 
 
 "I forgot her name, or I should not have call- 
 ed her with such freedom. What is it ?" 
 
 ' ; Kostalergi. Her father is Kostalergi, Prince 
 of Delos." 
 
 "All right; it will read well in the Post." 
 
 "My dear friend, there is that amount of 
 sarcasm in your conversation this evening that 
 to a plain man like myself, never ready at reply, 
 and easily subdued by ridicule, is positively over- 
 whelming. Has any disaster befallen you that 
 you are become so satirical and severe?" 
 
 '•Never mind me — tell me about yourself," 
 was the blunt reply. 
 
 " I have not the slightest objection. "When 
 we had walked a little way together, and I felt 
 that we were beyond the risk of interruption, I 
 led Iter to the subject of my sudden reappear- 
 ance here, and implied that she, at least, could 
 not have felt much surprise. ' You remember,' 
 said I, '1 promised to return ?' 
 
 "'There is something so conventional,' said 
 she, ' in these pledges that one comes to read 
 them like the "yours sincerely" at the foot of a 
 letter.' 
 
 " ' I ask for nothing better,' said I, taking her 
 up on her own words, 'than to be "yours sin- 
 cerely."' It is to ratify that pledge by making 
 you "mine sincerely" that I am here.' 
 
 " ' Indeed !' said she, slowly, and looking down. 
 
 " ' I swear it !' said I, kissing her hand, which, 
 however, had a glove on." 
 
 "Why not her cheek ?" 
 
 ' ' That is not done, major mine, at such times. " 
 
 " Well, go on." 
 
 " I can't recall the exact words, for I spoke 
 rapidly ; but I told her I was named minister at 
 a foreign court, that my future career was as- 
 sured, and that I was able to offer her a station, 
 not, indeed, equal to her deserts, but that, occu- 
 pied by her, would only be less than royal." 
 
 "At Guatemala!" exclaimed the other, deri- 
 sively. 
 
 "• Have the kindness to keep your geography 
 
 to yourself," said Walpole. " I merely said in 
 South America, and she had too much delicacy 
 to ask more." 
 
 " But she said yes ? She consented ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir, she said she would venture to com- 
 mit her future to my charge." 
 
 "Didn't she ask you what means you had? 
 what was your income ?" 
 
 "Not exactly in the categorical way you put 
 it, but she alluded to the possible style we should 
 live in." 
 
 " I'll swear she did. That girl asked you, in 
 plain words, how many hundreds or thousands 
 you had a year?" 
 
 "And I told her. I said, ' It sounds humbly, 
 dearest, to tell you we shall not have fully two 
 thousand a year ; but the place we are going to 
 is the cheapest in the universe, and we shall have 
 a small establishment of not more than forty black 
 and about a dozen white servants, and at first 
 only keep twenty horses, taking our carriages on 
 job.'" 
 
 " What about pin-money ?" 
 
 "There is not much extravagance in toilet, 
 and so I said she must manage with a thousand 
 a year." 
 
 " And she didn't laugh in your face ?" 
 
 " No, Sir; nor was there any strain upon her 
 good-breeding to induce her to laugh in my face." 
 
 " At all events, you discussed the matter in a 
 fine practical spirit. Did you go into groceries ? 
 I hope you did not forget groceries ?" 
 
 " My dear Lockwood, let me warn you against 
 being droll. You ask me for a correct narrative, 
 and when I give it you will not restrain that sub- 
 tile sarcasm the mastery of which makes you un- 
 assailable." 
 
 " When is it to be? When is it to come off? 
 Has she to write to his Serene Highness the 
 Prince of What's-his-name ?" 
 
 "No, the Prince of What's-his-name need 
 not be consulted. Lord Kilgobbin will stand in 
 the position of father to her." 
 
 Lockwood muttered something, in which "Give 
 her away!" were the only words audible. "I 
 must say," added he, aloud, "the wooing did not 
 take long." 
 
 "You forget that there was an actual engage- 
 ment between us when I left this for London. 
 My circumstances at that time did not permit me 
 to ask her at once to be my wife ; but our affec- 
 tions were pledged, and — even if more tender 
 sentiments did not determine — my feeling, as a 
 man of honor, required I should come back here 
 to make her this offer." 
 
 "All right; I suppose it will do — I hope it 
 will do ; and, after all, I take it, you are likely 
 to understand each other better than others 
 would." 
 
 "Such is our impression and belief." 
 
 " How will your own people — how will Danes- 
 bury like it?" 
 
 " For their sakes I trust they will like it very 
 much ; for mine, it is less than a matter of indif- 
 ference to me." 
 
 " She, however — she will expect to be properly 
 ' received among them ?" 
 
 "Yes," cried Walpole, speaking for the first 
 I time in a perfectly natural tone, divested of all 
 1 pomposity. " Yes, she stickles for that, Lock- 
 wood. It was the one point she seemed to stand 
 out for. Of course I told her she would be re- 
 
LOUD KILOOBIWN. 
 
 is: 
 
 ceived with open arm-; by my relatives — that my 
 family would be overjoyed to receive her aa one 
 of them. I only hinted that my lord's goal 
 might prevent him from being at the wedding. 
 I'm not sure Uncle Danesbnry would not conic 
 over. 'And the charming Lady Maude,' asked 
 she, 'would she honor me so far as to he a 
 
 bride-maid ?' " 
 
 •• She didn't say that ?" 
 
 ••She did. She actually pushed me to prom- 
 ise I should ask her." 
 
 '• Which you never would." 
 
 ••tit' that I will not affirm I am quite positive ; 
 l>ut I certainly intend to press my uncle for some 
 sort of recognition of the marriage — a civil note ; 
 better still, if it could he managed, an invitation 
 to his house in town." 
 
 "You are a hold fellow to think of it, " 
 
 " Not so hold as you imagine. Have you not 
 often remarked that when a man of good connec- 
 tions is about to exile himself by accepting a far- 
 away post, whether it be out of pure compassion 
 or a feeling that it need never he done again, 
 and that they are about to see the last of him, 
 hut, somehow — whatever the reason — his friends 
 are marvelously civil and polite to him, just as 
 some benevolent but eccentric folk send a par- 
 tridge to the condemned felon for his last din- 
 ner ?" 
 
 "They do that in France." 
 
 " Here it would he a rump-steak ; but the sen- 
 timent is the same. At all events, the thing is 
 a> I told yon, and I do not despair of Danes- 
 bury." 
 
 " For the letter, perhaps not; but he'll never 
 ask you to Bruton Street, nor, if he did, could 
 you accept." 
 
 '• You are thinking of Lady Maude." 
 
 •• 1 am." 
 
 " There would be no difficulty in that quar- 
 ter. When a Whig becomes Tory, or a Tory 
 Whig, the gentlemen of the party he has desert- 
 ed never take umbrage in the same way as the 
 vulgar dogs below the gangway ; so it is in the 
 world. The people who must meet, must dine 
 together, sit side by side at flower-shows and 
 garden-parties, always manage to do their ha- 
 treds decorously, and only pay off their dislikes 
 by installments. If Lady .Maude were to receive 
 my wife at all, it would he with a most winning 
 politeuess. All her malevolence would limit it- 
 self to making the supposed under-bred woman 
 commit a ' gaucherie,' to do or say something 
 that ought not to have been done or said; and 
 as I know Nina can stand the test, I have no 
 fears for the experiment." 
 
 A knock at the door apprised them that the din- 
 ner was waiting, neither having heard the hell 
 which had summoned them a quarter of an hour 
 before. "And I wanted to hear all about your 
 JS," cried Walpole, as they descended" the 
 staircase together. 
 
 '• I have none to report," was the gruff reply. 
 
 •■ Why, surely you have not passed the whole 
 day in Kearney's company without some hint of 
 what you came here for?" 
 
 But at the same moment they were in the din- 
 ing-room. 
 
 " We are a man-party to-day, I am sorry to 
 say," cried old Kearney, as they entered. ■* m v 
 niece and my daughter are keeping Miss O'Shea 
 ■ in; any up -tails. She is not well enough to 
 
 ;,,!,- 
 
 come down to dinner, and they bavi 
 about leaving her in Bolitude, " 
 
 •• At least we II have a cigar after dinner," was 
 
 Dick's ungallant reflection as they moved away. 
 
 CHAPTEB LXXYII. 
 
 TWO Votm; LADIES u.n MATRIMONY, 
 
 " I HOPE they had a pleasanter dinner down 
 stairs than we have had here," said Nina, as. ai'i 
 
 er wishing Miss O'Shea a good-night, the young 
 
 girls slowly mounted the stairs. 
 
 " Poor old godmother was too sad and too de- 
 pressed to he cheerful company; but did she not 
 talk well and sensibly on the condition of the 
 country ? was it not well said, when she showed 
 the danger of all that legislation which, assuming 
 to establish right, oidy engenders disunion and 
 class jealousy?" 
 
 "1 never followed her; I was thinking of 
 something else." 
 
 "She was worth listening to, then. She 
 knows the people well, and she sees all the mis- 
 chief of tampering with natures so imbued with 
 distrust. The Irishman is a gambler, and En- 
 glish law-makers are always exciting him to 
 play." 
 
 "It seems to me there is very little on the 
 game." 
 
 " There is every thing — home, family, subsist- 
 ence, life it-elf, all that a man can care for." 
 
 "Never mind these tiresome themes. Come 
 into my room — or I'll go to yours, for I'm sure 
 you've a better fire ; besides, I can walk away it' 
 you offend me ; I mean offend beyond endurance, 
 for you an sure to say something cutting." 
 
 " I hope you wrong me, Nina." 
 
 " Perhaps I do. Indeed. I half suspect I do ; 
 but the fact is, it is not your words that reproach 
 me, it is your whole life of usefulness is my re- 
 proach, and the least syllable you utter comes 
 charged with all the responsibility of one who 
 has a duty and does it, to a mere good-for-noth- 
 ing. There, is not that humility enough ?" 
 
 " More than enough, for it goes to flattery." 
 
 "I'm not a hit sure all the time that I'm not 
 the more lovable creature of the two. If you 
 like, I'll put it to the vote at breakfast." 
 
 "Oh, Nina!" 
 
 " Very shocking— that's the phrase for it — very 
 shocking! Oh dear, what a nice lire, and what 
 a nice little snug room! How is it, will you tell 
 me, that though my room is much larger and 
 hetter furnished in every way, your room is al- 
 ways brighter and neater, and more like a little 
 home ? They letch you drier lire-wood, and they 
 bring you flowers, wherever they get them. 1 
 know well what devices of roguery they practice." 
 
 " Shall I give you tea?" 
 
 "Of course I'll have tea. I expect to he treat- 
 ed like a favored guest in all things, and I mean 
 to take this arm-chair, and the nice gofi cushion 
 for my feet, for I warn you, Kate. I'm here far 
 two hours. I've an immense deal to tell you, 
 and I'll not go till it's told." 
 
 "I'll DOl turn you out." 
 
 "I'll take care of that; I have not lived in 
 Ireland for nothing. I have a proper Bet) 
 what is meant by possession, and I defy what 
 your great minister calls a heartless eviction. 
 
J 86 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 Even your tea is nicer, it is more fragrant than 
 any one else's. I begin to hate you out of sheer 
 jealousy." 
 
 " That is about the last feeling I ought to in- 
 spire. " 
 
 "More humility;, but I'll drop rudeness and 
 tell you my story, for I have a story to tell. Are 
 you listening? Are you attentive? Well, my; 
 Mr. Walpole, as you called him once, is about to i 
 become so in real earnest. I could have made a j 
 long narrative of it and held you in weary sus- 
 pense, but I prefer to dash at once into the thick 
 of the fray, and tell you that he has this morning 
 made me a formal proposal, and I have accepted 
 him. Be pleased to bear in mind that this is no 
 case of a misconception or a mistake. No young 
 gentleman has been petting and kissing my hand i 
 for another's ; no tender speeches have been ut- 
 tered to the ears they were not meant for. I I 
 have been wooed this time for myself, and on my 
 own part I have said yes. " 
 
 "You told me you had accepted him already. 
 I mean when he was here last." 
 
 " Yes, after a fashion. Don't you know, child, 
 that though lawyers maintain that a promise to 
 do a certain thing, to make a lease or some con- 
 tract, has in itself a binding significance, that in 
 Cupid's Court this is not law ? and the man knew 
 perfectly that all that passed between us hitherto 
 had no serious meaning, and bore no more real 
 relation to marriage than an outpost encounter 
 to a battle. For all that has taken place up to 
 this, we might never fight — I mean marry — after 
 all. The sages say that a girl should never be- 
 lieve a man means marriage till he talks money 
 to her. Now, Kate, he talked money ; and I be- 
 lieved him." 
 
 ' ' I wish you would tell me of these things se- 
 riously and without banter." 
 
 " So I do. Heaven knows I am in no jesting 
 humor. It is in no outburst of higli spirits or 
 gayety a girl confesses she is going to marry a 
 man who has neither wealth nor station to offer, 
 and whose fine connections are just fine enough 
 to be ashamed of him. " 
 
 "Are you in love with him?" 
 
 " If you mean, do I imagine that this man's 
 affection and this man's companionship are more 
 to me than all the comforts and luxuries of life 
 with another, I am not in love with him ; but if 
 you ask me, am I satisfied to risk my future with 
 so much as I know of his temper, his tastes, his 
 breeding, his habits, and his abilities, I incline 
 to say yes. Married life, Kate, is a sort of diet- 
 ary, and one should remember that what he has 
 to eat of every day ought not to be too appetizing. " 
 
 ' ' I abhor your theory. " 
 
 "Of course you do, child; and you fancy, 
 naturally enough, that you would like ortolans 
 every day for dinner; but my poor cold Greek 
 temperament has none of the romantic warmth 
 of your Celtic nature. I am very moderate in 
 my hopes, very humble in all my ambitions. " 
 
 " It is not thus I read you." 
 
 "Very probably. At all events, I have con- 
 sented to be Mr. Walpole's wife, and we are to 
 be Minister Plenipotentiary and Special Envoy \ 
 somewhere. It is not Bolivia, nor the Argentine 
 Republic, but some other fabulous region, where 
 the only fact is yellow fever." 
 
 "And you really like him?" 
 
 "I hope so, for evidently it must be on love 
 
 we shall have to live, one half of our income be- 
 ing devoted to saddle-horses and the other to my 
 toilet. " 
 
 "How absurd you are!" 
 
 "No, not I. It is Mr. Walpole himself, who, 
 not trusting much to my skill at arithmetic, 
 sketched out this schedule of expenditure ; and 
 then I bethought me how simple this man must 
 deem me. It was a flattery that won me at once. 
 Oh ! Kate, dearest, if you could understand the 
 ecstasy of being thought, not a fool, but one eas- 
 ily duped, easily deceived!" 
 
 " I don't know what you mean." 
 
 " It is this, then, that to have a man's whole 
 heart — whether it be worth the having is another 
 and a different question — you must impress him 
 with his immense superiority in every thing; 
 that he is not merely physically stronger than 
 you, and bolder and more courageous, but that 
 he is mentally more vigorous and more able, 
 judges better, decides quicker, resolves more ful- 
 ly than you; and that, struggle how you will, 
 you pass your life in eternally looking up to this 
 wonderful god, who vouchsafes now and then to 
 caress you, and even say tender things to you." 
 
 " Is it, Nina, that you have made a study of 
 these things, or is all this mere imagination ?" 
 
 " Most innocent young lady, I no more dream- 
 ed of these things to apply to such men as your 
 country furnishes — good, homely, commonplace 
 creatures — than I should have thought of asking 
 you to adopt French cookery to feed them. I spoke 
 of such men as one meets in what I may call the 
 real world ; as for the others, if they feel life to 
 be a stage, they are always going about in slipshod 
 fashion as if at rehearsal. Men like your broth- 
 er and young O'Shea, for instance — tossed here 
 and there by accidents," made one thing by a 
 chance, and something else by a misfortune. 
 Take my word for it, the events of life are Very 
 vulgar things ; the passions and emotions they 
 evoke, these constitute the higli stimulants of ex- 
 istence, they make the ' gros jeu,' which it is so 
 exciting to play." 
 
 " I follow you with some difficulty; but I am 
 rude enough to own I scarcely regret it." 
 
 " I know J I know all about that sweet inno- 
 cence that fancies to ignore any thing is to oblit- 
 erate it ; but it's a fool's paradise, after all, Kate. 
 We are in the world, and we must accept it as it 
 is made fdr us." 
 
 " I'll not ask does your theory make you bet- 
 ter, hut does it make you happier ?" 
 
 "If being duped were an element of bliss, I 
 should say certainly not happier, but I doubt the 
 blissful ignorance of your great moralist. I in- 
 cline to believe that the better you play any game 
 — life among the rest — the higher the pleasure it 
 yields. I can afford to marry, without believing 
 my husband to be a paragon : could you do as 
 much ?" 
 
 "I should like to know that I preferred him 
 to any one else." 
 
 "So should I, and I would only desire to add 
 'to every one else that asked me.' Tell the 
 truth, Kate dearest: we are here all alone, and 
 can afford sincerity. How many of us girls 
 marry the man we should like to marry, and if 
 the game were reversed, and it were to be we 
 who should make the choice — the slave pick out 
 his master — how many, think you, would be wed- 
 ded to their present mates ?" 
 
LOUD K1L0OHHIN. 
 
 187 
 
 ••s.i long as we can refase him we do not like, 
 
 1 can not tliink our rase a hard one." 
 
 •• Neither should I if 1 could stand fad at 
 three-and-twenty. The dread of that change of 
 heart and feeling that will come, most come, ten 
 
 years later, drives one to compromise with hap- 
 piness, and take a part of what you onee aspired 
 to the whole." 
 
 "You used to think very highly of Mr. Wal- 
 pole: admired, and 1 suspect you liked him." 
 
 " All true — my opinion is the same still. He 
 will stand the great test that one can go into the 
 world with him and not he ashamed of him. I 
 know, dearest, even without that shake of the 
 head, the small value you attach to this, hut it 
 is a great element in that droll contract by which 
 one person agrees to pit his temper against an- 
 other's, and which we are told is made in heaven, 
 with angels as sponsors. Mr. Walpole is suf- 
 ficiently good-looking to be prepossessing; he is 
 well-bred, very courteous, converses extremely 
 well, knows his exact place in life, and takes it 
 qnietly hut firmly. All these are of value to his 
 wife, and it is not easy to overrate them." 
 
 •• Is that enough ?" 
 
 " Enough for what ? If you mean for romantic 
 love, for the infatuation that defies all change of 
 sentiment, all growth of feeling, that revels in the 
 thought that experience will not make us wiser, 
 nor daily associations less admiring, it is not 
 enough. I, however, am content to hid for a much 
 humbler lot. I want a husband who, if he can 
 not give me a brilliant station, will at least secure 
 me a good position in life, a reasonable share 
 of vulgar comforts, some luxuries, and the ordi- 
 nary routine of what are called pleasures. If, in 
 affording me these, he will vouchsafe to add good 
 temper and not high spirits — which are detest- 
 able — but fair spirits, I think I can promise him 
 not that I shall make him happy, but that he 
 will make himself so, and it will afford me much 
 gratification to see it." 
 
 ••Is this real, or — " 
 
 " Or what ? Say what was on your lips." 
 
 "Or are you utterly heartless?" cried Kate, 
 with an effort that covered her face with blushes. 
 
 "I don't think I am," said she, oddly and 
 calmly ; " but all I have seen of life teaches me 
 that even- betrayal of a feeling or a sentiment is 
 like what gamblers call showing your hand, and 
 is sure to be taken advantage of by the other 
 players. It's an ugly illustration, dear Kate, 
 but in this same round game we call life there is 
 so much cheating that if you can not afford to be 
 pillaged, you must be prudent." 
 
 " I am glad to feel that I can believe you to be 
 much better than you make yourself." 
 
 "Do so — and as long as you can." 
 
 There was a pause of several moments after 
 this, each apparently following out her own 
 thoughts. 
 
 " By-the-way," cried Nina, suddenly, "did I 
 tell you that .Mary wished me joy this morning? 
 She had overheard Mr. O'Shea's declaration, and 
 believed he had asked me to be his wife." 
 
 '"How absurd!'' said Kate; and there was 
 anger as well as shame in her look as she 
 said it. 
 
 " Of course it was absurd. She evidently nev- 
 er suspected to whom she was speaking, and 
 then — " She stopped, for a quick glance at 
 Kate's face warned her of the peril she was graz- 
 
 ing. " I told the girl she was a fool, and fur- 
 bade her to speak of tlic matter to an\ ," 
 
 "It is a Bervants'-hall story already," said 
 Kate, qnietly. 
 
 " Do yon care for that ?" 
 
 " Not much ; three days will see the end of it." 
 
 " I declare, in your own homely way, I believe 
 you are the wiser of the two of us." 
 
 " My common-sense is of the very common. 
 est," said Kate, laughing; "there is nothing 
 subtile nor even mat about it." 
 
 "Let us see that! Give me a counsel, or 
 rather, say if you agree with me. I have ask- 
 ed Mr. Walpole to show me how his family ac- 
 cept my entrance among them ; witli what grace 
 they receive me as a relative. One of his cous- 
 ins called me the Oreek girl, and in my own 
 hearing. It is not, then, overcaution on my 
 part to inquire how they mean to regard me. 
 Tell me, however, Kate, how far you concur with 
 me in this. I should like much to hear how 
 your good sense regards the question. Should 
 you have done as I have?" 
 
 " Answer me first one question. If you should 
 learn that these great folks would not welcome 
 you among them, would you still consent to 
 marry Mr. Walpole?" 
 
 " I'm not sure, I am not quite certain, but I 
 almost believe I should." 
 
 "I have, then, no counsel to give you," said 
 Kate, firmly. "Two people who see the same 
 object differently can not discuss its proportions." 
 
 " I see my blunder," cried Nina, impetuously. 
 " I put my question stupidly. I should have 
 said, 'If a girl has won a man's affections and 
 given him her own — if she feels her heart has no 
 other home than in his keeping — that she lives 
 for him and by him — should she be deterred from 
 joining her fortunes to his because he has some 
 fine connections who would like to see him mar- 
 ry more advantageously?'" It needed not the 
 saucy curl of her lip as she spoke to declare how 
 every word was uttered in sarcasm. " Why will 
 you not answer me ?" cried she at length ; and 
 "her eyes shot glances of fiery impatience as she 
 said it. 
 
 " Our distinguished friend Mr. Atlee is to ar- 
 rive to-morrow, Dick tells me," said Kate, with 
 the calm tone of one who would not permit her- 
 self to be ruffled. 
 
 " Indeed ! If your remark has any apropos at 
 all, it must mean that in marrying such a man as 
 he is one might escape all the difficulties of fam- 
 ily coldness, and I protest, as I think of it, the 
 matter has its advantages." 
 
 A faint smile was all Kate's answer. 
 
 " I can not make you angry : I have done my 
 best, and it has failed. I am utterly discomfit- 
 ed, ami I'll go to bed." 
 
 "Good-night," said Kate, as she held out her 
 hand. 
 
 "I wonder is it nice to have this angelic tem- 
 pefament — to lie always right in one's judg- 
 
 nis. ami never carried away by passion? I 
 
 half suspect perfection dues not mean perfect 
 happiness." 
 "You shall tell me when you are married,' 
 
 said Kate, with a laugh ; and Nina darted a 
 flashing glance toward her, and swept out of the 
 room. 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVIII. 
 
 A MISERABLE MORNING. 
 
 It was not without considerable heart-sinking 
 and misgiving that old Kearney heard that it was 
 Miss Betty O'Shea's desire to have some conver- 
 sation with him after breakfast. He was, in- 
 deed, reassured to a certain extent by his daugh- 
 ter telling him that the old lady was excessive- 
 ly weak, and that her cough was almost inces- 
 sant, and that she spoke with extreme diffi- 
 culty. All the comfort that these assurances 
 gave him was dashed by a settled conviction of 
 Miss Betty's subtlety. " She's like one of the 
 wild foxes they have in Crim Tartary, and 
 when you think they are dead, they're up and at 
 you before you can look round." He affirmed 
 no more than the truth when he said that " he'd 
 rather walk barefoot to Kilbeggan than go up 
 that stair to see her." 
 
 There was a strange conflict in his mind all 
 this time between these ignoble fears and the 
 efforts he was making to seem considerate and 
 gentle by Kate's assurance that a cruel word, or 
 even a harsh tone, would be sure to kill her. 
 "You'll have to be very careful, pnpa dearest," 
 she said. " Her nerves are completely shattered, 
 and every respiration seems as if it would be the 
 last." 
 
 Mistrust was, however, so strong in him that 
 he would have employed any subterfuge to avoid 
 the interview ; but the Rev. Luke Delany, who 
 had arrived to give her " the consolations," as he 
 briefly phrased it, insisted on Kearney's attend- 
 ing to receive the old lady's forgiveness before 
 she died. 
 
 "Upon my conscience," muttered Kearney, 
 " I was always under the belief it was I was in- 
 jured ; but, as the priest says, 'it's only on 
 one's death-bed he sees things clearly.' " 
 
 As Kearney groped his way through the dark- 
 ened room, shocked at his own creaking shoes, 
 and painfully convinced that he was somehow de- 
 ficient in delicacy, a low, faint cough guided him 
 
 to the sofa where Miss O'.^hea lay. "Is that 
 Maurice Kearney?" said she, feebly. "I think 
 I know his foot." 
 
 " Yes indeed, bad luck to them for shoes. 
 Wherever Davy Morris gets the leather I don't 
 know, but it's as loud as a barrel-organ." 
 
 "Maybe they're cheap, Maurice. One puts 
 up with many a thing for a little cheapness." 
 
 "That's the first shot!" muttered Kearney to 
 himself, while he gave a little cough to avoid" re- 
 ply. 
 
 "Father Luke has been telling me, Maurice, 
 that before I go this long journey I ought to 
 take care to settle any little matter here that's on 
 my mind. ' If there's any body you bear an ill 
 will to,' says he ; ' if there's any one has wronged 
 you,' says he, 'told lies of you, or done you any 
 bodily harm, send for him,' says he, 'and let 
 him hear your forgiveness out of your own 
 mouth. I'll take care afterward,' says Father 
 Luke, ' that he'll have to settle the account with 
 me; but you mustn't mind that. You must be 
 able to tell St. Joseph that you come with a 
 clean breast and a good conscience ;' andfchat's" 
 — here she sighed heavily several times — "and 
 that's the reason I sent for you, Maurice Kear- 
 ney!" - 
 
 Poor Kearney sighed heavily over that cate- 
 gory of misdoers with whom he found himself 
 classed, but he said nothing. 
 
 " I don't want to say any thing harsh to you, 
 Maurice, nor have I strength to listen, if you'd 
 try to defend yourself; time is short with me 
 now ; but this I must say, if I'm here now sick 
 and sore, and if the poor boy in the other room 
 is lying down with his fractured head, it is you, 
 and you alone have the blame." 
 
 " May the blessed Virgin give me patience!" 
 muttered he, as he wrung his hands despairingly. 
 
 " I hope she will ; and give you more, Mau- 
 rice Kearney. I hope she'll give you a hearty re- 
 pentance. I hope she'll teach you that the few- 
 days that remain to you in this life are short 
 enough for contrition — ay — contrition and cas- 
 tigation." 
 
 " Ain't I getting it now?" muttered he ; but 
 low as he spoke the words her quick hearing 
 had caught them. 
 
 " I hope you are; it is the last bit of friend- 
 ship I can do you. You have a hard, worldly, 
 selfish nature, Maurice; you had it as ahoy, and 
 it grew worse as you grew older. What many- 
 believed high spirits in you was nothing else 
 than the reckless devilment of a man that only- 
 thought of himself. You could afford to be — at 
 least, to look — light-hearted, for you cared for 
 nobody. You squandered your little property, 
 and you'd have made away with the few acres 
 that belonged to your ancestors if the law would 
 have let you. As for the way you brought up 
 your children, that lazy boy below stairs that 
 "never did a hand's turn is proof enough, and 
 poor Kitty, just because she wasn't like the rest 
 of you, how she's treated!" 
 
 "How is that; what is my cruelty there?" 
 cried he. 
 
 "Don't try to make yourself out worse than 
 you are, ' ' said she, sternly, ' ' and pretend that you 
 don't know the wrong you done her." 
 
 " May I never — if I understand what you 
 mean." 
 
 "Maybe you thought it was no business of 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 L8'J 
 
 yours to provide for your own child. Maybe 
 you bad a aotion thai it was enough thai she 
 had her food and a roof over her while you were 
 here, and that somehow — anyhow — she'd get on, 
 as they call it, when you were in the other place. 
 Maurice Kearney, 1*11 Bay nothing bo cruel to you 
 as your own conscience is Baying this minute, or 
 maybe, with that 1 i ^r 1 » t heart that makes your 
 friends so fond of you, you never bothered your- 
 self about her at all, and that's the way it come 
 about." 
 
 "What came about it? I want to know 
 that." 
 
 •• First and foremost, I don't think the law will 
 let you. I don't believe you can charge youres- 
 tate against the entail. 1 have a note there to 
 ask M'Keown's opinion, ami if I'm light I'll set 
 apart a sum in my will to contest it in the 
 Queen's Bench. I tell you this to your face. 
 .Maurice Kearney, and I'm going where I can 
 tell it to somebody better than a hard-hearted, 
 cruel old man." 
 
 '• What is that I want to do. and that the law 
 won't let me?" asked lie, in the most imploring 
 accents. 
 
 '"At least twelve honest men will decide it." 
 
 "Decide what, in the name of the saints?"! 
 cried he. 
 
 "Don't he profane; don't parade your unhe- -■ 
 lieving notions to a poor old woman on her < 
 death-bed. You may want to leave your daugh- ! 
 ter a beggar, and your sou little better, but you 
 have no right to disturb my last moments with 
 your terrible blasphemies." 
 
 "I'm fairly bothered now," cried he, as his 
 two arms dropped powerlessly to his sides. "So 
 help me. if 1 know whether I'm awake or in a 
 dream." 
 
 "It's an excuse won't serve you where you'll 
 be soon going, and I warn you, don't trust it." 
 
 "Have a little pity on me. .Miss Betty dar- 
 ling." said he. in his most coaxing tone ; "and 
 tell me what it is I've doner" 
 
 " You mean what you are trying to do ; but 
 what, please the Virgin, we'll not let you!" 
 
 "What is thatf" 
 
 " And what, weak and ill and dying as I am, I 
 I've strength enough left in me to prevent, Mau- 
 rice Kearney, ami if you'll give me that Bible 
 there. I'll kiss it, and take my oath that if he 
 marries her he'll never put foot in a house of 
 mine, nor inherit an acre that belongs to me ; 
 and all that I'll leave him in my will shall be 
 my — Well, I won't say what, only it's some- 
 thing he'll not have to pay a legacy duty on. 
 Do you understand me now, or ain't 1 plain 
 enough yet ?" 
 
 " No, not yet. You'll have to make it clearer 
 still." 
 
 " Faith, I must say you did not pick up much 
 'cuteness from your adopted daughter." 
 
 " Who is Bhe?" 
 
 "The Greek hussy that you want to many 
 my nephew, anil give a dowry to out of the estate 
 that belongs to your son. I know it all, Mau- 
 rice. I wasn't two hours in the house before my 
 old woman brought me the story from Mai v. 
 Ay, Mare if you like, but they all know it below 
 stairs, and a nice way you are discussed in your 
 own house! (letting a promise out of a poor 
 boy in a brain fever— making him give a pledge 
 iu his ravings: Won't it tell well in a court of 
 
 justice, of a magistrate, a county gentleman, a 
 
 Kearney of Kilgohbin? (lb! Maurice, Mau- 
 rice. I in ashamed of J'OU !" 
 
 " I'pon my oath, you're making me ashamed 
 
 of myself thai 1 sit here and listen to you, "cried 
 he, carried beyond all endurance. " Abusing, 
 
 ay, blackguarding me this last hour about a ly 
 ing story that came from the kitchen. It's you 
 that ought to be ashamed, old lady. Not, "in- 
 deed, for believing ill of an old friend, fir that's 
 nature in you, but for not Inning common Beqse 
 — just common-sense to guide you, and a little 
 common decency to warn you. Look now, there 
 is not a word, there is not a syllable, of truth in 
 the whole story. Nobody ever thought of your 
 nephew asking my niece to marry him ; and if hi 
 did, she wouldn't have him. She looks higher, 
 and she lias a right to look higher, than to be 
 the wife of an Irish squireen." 
 
 " Goon, Maurice, go on. You waited for mo 
 to be as I am now before you had courage for 
 words like these." 
 
 "Well, I ask your pardon, and ask it in all 
 humiliation and sorrow. My temper — bad luck 
 to it! — gets the better, or, maybe, it's the worse 
 of me, at times, and I say fifty things that I know 
 I don't feel — just the way sailors load a gun 
 with any thing in the heat of an action." 
 
 " I'm not in a condition to talk of sea-fights, 
 Mr. Kearney, though I'm obliged to you all the 
 same for trying to amuse me. You'll not think 
 me rude if I ask you to send Kate to me? .And 
 please to tell Father Luke that I'll not see him 
 this morning. My nerves have been sorely trie. I. 
 One word before you go, Maurice Kearney ; and 
 have compassion enough not to answer me. 
 You may be a just man and an honest man: 
 you may be fair in your dealings, and all that 
 your tenants say of you may be lies and calum- 
 nies; but to insult a poor old woman on her death- 
 bed is cruel and unfeeling : and I'll tell you more, 
 Maurice, it's cowardly and it's — " 
 
 Kearney did not wait to hear what more it 
 might be, for be was already at the door, and 
 rushed out as if he was escaping from a lire. 
 
 "I'm glad he's better than they made him out." 
 said Miss Betty to herself, in a tone of calm so- 
 liloquy ; "and he'll not be worse for some of 
 the home truths I've told him." And with this 
 she drew on her silk mittens and arranged her 
 cap composedly, while she waited for Kate's ar- 
 rival. 
 
 As for poor Kearney, other troubles were 
 awaiting him in his study, where he found bi- 
 son and Mr. Holmes, the lawyer, sitting before 
 a table covered with papers. " I have no hem! 
 for business now, '* cried Kearney. "I don't fori 
 overwell to-day, and if yon want to talk to me. 
 you'll have to put it off till to-morrow." 
 
 "Mr. Holmes must leave for town, my lord," 
 
 interposed Dick, in his mosl insinuating tone, 
 
 " and he only wants a few minutes with you be- 
 fore be goes 
 
 " And it's just what he won't get. I would not 
 
 Bee the Lord-Lieutenant if he was here now." 
 "The trial is fixed for Tuesday, the 19th, my 
 
 lord." cried Holmes; "and the National press 
 ha- taken it up in such a way that we have no 
 
 chance whatever. The verdict will be 'Guilty, 1 
 
 without leaving the box; and the whole voire 
 
 of public opinion will demand the very heaviest 
 
 Bentence the law can pi'oi qi 
 
100 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 "Think of that poor fellow, O'Shea, just ris- 
 ing from a sick-bed," said Dick, as his voice 
 shook with agitation. 
 
 " They can't hang him." 
 
 " No, for the scoundrel Gill is alive, and will 
 be the chief witness on the trial ; but they may 
 give him two years with prison labor, and if they 
 do, it will kill him." 
 
 "I don't know that. I've seen more than one 
 fellow come out fresh and hearty after a spell. In 
 fact, the plain diet, and the regular work, and 
 the steady habits are wonderful things for a young 
 man that has been knocking about in a town life. " 
 
 " Oh, father, don't speak that way. I know 
 Gorman well, and I can swear he'd not survive 
 it." 
 
 Kearney shook his head doubtingly, and mut- 
 tered, "There's a great deal said about wound- 
 ed pride and injured feelings, but the truth is, 
 these things are like a bad colic, mighty hard to 
 bear, if you like, but nobody ever dies of it." 
 
 " From all I hear about young Mi'. O'Shea," 
 said Holmes, " I am led to believe he will scarce- 
 ly live through an imprisonment." 
 
 "To be sure! Why not? At three or four 
 and twenty we're all of us high-spirited and sen- 
 sitive and noble-hearted, and we die on the spot 
 if there's a word against our honor. It is only 
 after we cross the line in life, wherever that be, 
 that we become thick-skinned and hardened, and 
 mind nothing that does not touch our account at 
 the bank. Sure I know the theory well! Ay, 
 and the only bit of truth in it all is, that we cry 
 out louder when we're young, for we are not so 
 well used to bad treatment." 
 
 " Right or wrong, no man likes to have the 
 whole press of a nation assailing him, and all the 
 sympathies of a people against him," said Holmes. 
 
 " And what canyon and your brothers in wigs 
 do against that? Will all your little beguiling 
 ways and insinuating tricks turn the Pike and 
 the Irish Cry from what sells their papers ? Here 
 it is now, Mr. Holmes, and I can't put it shorter. 
 Every man that lives in Ireland knows in his 
 heart he must live in hot water ; but somehow, 
 though he may not like it, he gets used to it, 
 and he finds it does him no harm in the end. 
 There was an uncle of my own was in a passion 
 for forty years, and he died at eighty-six." 
 
 "I wish I could only secure your attention, 
 my lord, for ten minutes." 
 
 " And what would you do, counselor, if you 
 had it ?*' 
 
 " You see, my lord, there are some very grave 
 questions here. First of all, you and your broth- 
 er magistrates had no right to accept bail. The 
 injury was too grave : Gill's life, as the doctor's 
 certificate will prove, was in danger. It was 
 for a judge in Chambers to decide whether bail 
 could be taken. They will move, therefore, in 
 the Queen's Bench, for a mandamus — " 
 
 " May I never, if you won't drive me mad !" 
 cried Kearney, passionately ; " and I'd rather be 
 picking oakum this minute than listening to all 
 the possible misfortunes briefs and lawyers could 
 bring on me." 
 
 "Just listen to Holmes, father," whispered 
 Dick. " He thinks that Gill might be got over 
 — that if done by you with three or four hundred 
 pounds, he'd either make his evidence so light, 
 or he'd contradict himself, or, better than all, 
 he'd not make an appearance at the trial — " 
 
 " Compounding a felony ! Catch me at it !" 
 cried the old man, with a yell. 
 
 " Well, Joe Atlee will be here to-night," con- 
 tinued Dick. " He's a clever fellow at all rogu- 
 eries. Will you let him see if it can't be ar- 
 ranged ?" 
 
 "I don't care who does it, so it isn't Maurice 
 Kearney," said he, angrily, for his patience could 
 endure no more. " If you won't leave me alone 
 now, I'll go out and sit on the bog, and upon my 
 conscience I won't say that I'll not throw myself 
 into a bog-hole !" There was a tone of such per- 
 fect sincerity in his speech that, without another 
 word, Dick took the lawyer's arm and led him 
 from the room. 
 
 A third voice was heard outside as they issued 
 forth, and Kearney could just make out that it 
 was Major Lockwood, who was asking Dick if 
 he might have a few minutes' conversation with 
 his father. "I don't suspect you'll find my fa- 
 ther much disposed for conversation just now. 
 I think, if you would not mind making your visit 
 to him at another time — " 
 
 "Just so!" broke in the old man ; "if you're 
 not coming with a strait-waistcoat, or a coil of 
 rope to hold me down, I'd say it's better to leave 
 me to myself." 
 
 Whether it was that the major was undeterred 
 by these forbidding evidences, or that what he 
 deemed the importance of his communication 
 warranted some risk, certain it is he lingered at 
 the door, and stood there where Dick and the 
 lawyer had gone and left him. 
 
 A faint tap at the door at last apprised Kear- 
 ney that sonne one was without, and he hastily, 
 half angrily, cried, "Come in!" Old Kearney 
 almost started with surprise as the major walked 
 in. " I'm not going to make any apology for in- 
 truding on you," cried he. " What I want to 
 say shall be said in three words, and I can not 
 endure the suspense of not having them said and 
 answered. I've had a whole night of feverish 
 anxiety, and a worse morning, thinking and turn- 
 ing over the thing in my mind, and settled it 
 must be at once, one way or other, for my head 
 will not stand it." 
 
 "My own is tried pretty hard, and I can feel 
 for you," said Kearney, with a grim humor. 
 
 "I've come to ask if you'll give me your 
 daughter?" and his face became blood-red with 
 the effort the words had cost him. 
 
 "Give you my daughter?" cried Kearney. 
 
 " I want to make her my wife, and as I know 
 little about courtship, and have nobody here that 
 could settle this affair for me — for Walpole is 
 thinking of his own concerns — I've thought the 
 best way, as it was the shortest, was to come at 
 once to yourself: I have got a few documents 
 here that will show you I have enough to live on, 
 and to make a tidy settlement, and do all that 
 ought to be done." 
 
 "I'm sure you are an excellent fellow, and I 
 like you myself; but you see, major, a man 
 doesn't dispose of his daughter like his horse, and 
 I'd like to hear what she would say to the bargain. ' 
 
 "I suppose you could ask her?" 
 
 "Well, indeed, that's true, I could ask her; 
 but on the whole, major, don't you think the 
 question would come better from yourself?" 
 
 "That means courtship." 
 
 " Yes, I admit it is liable to that objection, but 
 somehow it's the usual course." 
 
LORD KDLGOBBIN. 
 
 191 
 
 •• No, no," said tlic other, slowly, " I COOld 
 
 not manage that. I'm nek of. bachelor life, and 
 
 I'm ready to send in my papers ami have done 
 with it, hut I don't know how to go about the 
 other. Not to Bay, Kearney,'' added he, more 
 boldly, "that I think there is something con- 
 foundedly mean in that daily pprsuit ot'a woman, 
 till by dint of importunity, and one thing or an- 
 other, you get her to like you! What can she 
 know of her own mind after three or four months 
 of what these snobs call attentions ? I low is she 
 to say how much is mere habit, how much is 
 gratified vanity of having a fellow dangling after 
 her, how much the necessity of showing the world 
 she is not compromised by the cad's solicitations ? 
 Take my word for it, Kearney, my way is the 
 1 ist lie able to go up like a man and tell the 
 girl, ' It's all arranged. I've shown the old cove 
 that I can take care of you ; he has seen that I've 
 no debts or mortgages ; I'm ready to behave 
 handsomely ; what do you say yourself?'" 
 
 "She might say, 'I know nothing about you. 
 I may possibly not see much to dislike, hut how 
 do I know I should like you?'" 
 
 "And I'd say, 'I'm one of those fellows that 
 are the same all through, to-day as I was yester- 
 day, and to-morrow the same. When I'm in a 
 bail temper I go out on the moors and walk it 
 off, and I'm not hard to live with.' " 
 
 " There's many a bad fellow a woman might 
 like better." 
 
 " All the luckier for me, then, that I don't get 
 her." 
 
 •'I might say, too," said Kearney, with a 
 smile, " how much do you know of my daughter 
 — of her temper, her tastes, her habits, and her 
 likings? What assurance have you that you 
 would suit each other, and that you are not as 
 wide apart in character as in country?" 
 
 " I'll answer for that. She's always good-tem- 
 pered, cheerful, and light-hearted. She's always 
 nicely dressed and polite to every one. She 
 manages this old house and these stupid bog- 
 trotters, till one fancies it a fine establishment 
 and a first-rate household. She rides like a lion, 
 and I'd rather hear her laugh than I'd listen to 
 l'atti." 
 
 " I'll call all that mighty like being in love." 
 
 "Do ifyou like — but answer me my question. " 
 
 " That is more than I'm able ; but I'll consult 
 my daughter. I'll tell her pretty much in your 
 own words all you have said to me, and she shall 
 herself give the answer." 
 
 "All right ; and how soon ?" 
 
 "Well, in the course of the day. Should she 
 say that she does not understand being wooed in 
 this manner, that she would like more time to 
 learn something more about yourself, that, in fact, 
 there is something too peremptory in this mode of 
 proceeding, I would not say she was wrong." 
 
 " But if she says yes frankly, you'll let me 
 know at once ?" 
 
 "I will — on the spot." 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIX. 
 
 PLEASANT CONGKATCI.AI toNS. 
 
 The news of Nina's engagement to Walpole 
 soon spread through the castle at Kilgobbin, and 
 
 gave great ?atisfaction ; even the humbler mem- 
 
 bers of the household wnc delighted to think 
 there would be a wedding ami all its appropri- 
 ate festivity. 
 
 When the tidings at length arrived at Mi — 
 O'Shea's room, so re\iving were the effects upon 
 her Bpiritfl that the old lady insisted she should 
 be dressed and carried down to the drawing- 
 room, that the bridegroom might be presented 
 to her in all form. 
 
 Though Nina herself chafed at such a pro- 
 ceeding, and called it a most " insufferable pre- 
 tension," she was perhaps not sorry secretly at 
 the opportunity afforded herself to let the tirc- 
 ; some old woman gue>s how she regarded her, 
 \ and what might be their future relation- toward 
 j each other. "Not, indeed," added she, "that 
 we are likely ever to meet again, or that I should 
 | recognize her beyond a bow if we should." 
 I As for Kearney, the announcement that Miss 
 Betty was about to appear in pnblic filled him 
 with unmixed terror, and he muttered drearily 
 as he went, "There'll be wigs on the green for 
 this." Nor was Walpole himself pleased at the 
 arrangement. Like most men in his position, 
 he could not be brought to see the delicacy or 
 the propriety of being paraded as an object of 
 public inspection, nor did he perceive the fitness 
 of that display of trinkets, which he had brought 
 with him as presents, and the sight of which had 
 become a sort of public necessity. 
 
 Not the least strange part of the whole pro- 
 cedure was that no one could tell where or how 
 or with whom it originated. It was like one of 
 those movements which are occasionally seen in 
 political life, where without the direct interven- 
 tion of any precise agent a sort of diffused atmos- 
 phere of public opinion suffices to produce re- 
 sults and effect changes that all are ready to dis- 
 avow but accept of. 
 
 The mere fact of the pleasure the prospect af- 
 forded to Miss Betty prevented Kate from offer- 
 ing opposition to what she felt to be both bad in 
 taste and ridiculous. 
 
 "That old lady imagines, I believe, that I am 
 ! to come down like a priti win in a French vau- 
 deville — dressed in a tail-coat, with a white tie 
 I and white gloves, and perhaps receive her bene- 
 diction. She mistakes herself, she mistakes us. 
 , If there was a casket of uncouth old diamonds 
 ' or some marvelous old point lace to grace the oc- 
 casion, we might play our parts with a certain 
 decorous hypocrisy; but to be stared at through 
 I a double eyeglass by a snuffy old woman in 
 black mittens is more than one is called on to 
 endure — eh, Lockwood ?" 
 
 " I don't know. I think I'd go through it all 
 gladly to have the occasion." 
 
 "Have a little patience, old fellow ; it will all 
 come right. My worthy relatives — for I Bup- 
 po>e I can call them so now — are too shrewd 
 people to refuse the offer of such a fellow as yon. 
 They have that native pride that demands a eer- 
 tain amount of etiquette and deference. They 
 must not seem to rise too eagerly to the fly 
 but only give them time, give them time, Lock- 
 wood." 
 
 "Ay, but the waiting in this uncertainty is 
 terrible to me." 
 
 "Let it be certainty, then, and for very little 
 I'll insure you | Hear this in mind, my dear 
 
 fellow, and you'll see how little i d there is for 
 
 apprehension, You and the men like you — snug 
 
192 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 fellows with comfortable estates and no mort- | 
 gages, unhampered by ties and uninfluenced by 
 connections — are a species of plant that is rare 
 every where, but actually never grew at all in 
 Ireland, where every one spent double his in- 
 come, and seldom dared to move a step without 
 a committee of relations. Old Kearney has 
 gone through that fat volume of the gentry and 
 squirearchy of England last night, and from Sir 
 Simon de Lokewood, who was killed at Crecy, 
 down to a certain major in the Carbineers, he 
 knows you all." 
 
 " I'll bet you a thousand they say No." 
 
 "I've not got a thousand to pay if I should 
 lose ; but I'll lay a pony — two if you like — that ! 
 you are an accepted man this day — ay, before 
 dinner." 
 
 " If I only thought so !" 
 
 " Confound it — you don't pretend you are in 
 love!'' 
 
 " I don't know whether I am or not, but I do 
 know how I should like to bring that nice girl 
 back to Hampshire, and install her at the Din- 
 gle. I've a tidy stable, some nice shooting, a 
 good trout stream, and then I should have the 
 prettiest wife in the county." 
 
 " Happy dog! Yours is the real philosophy 
 of life. The fellows who are realistic enough to 
 reckon up the material elements of their happi- 
 ness — who have little to speculate on and less to 
 unbelieve — they are right." 
 
 "If you mean that I'll never break my heart 
 because I don't get in for the county, that's true 
 — I don't deny it. But come, tell me is it all 
 settled about your business ? Has the uncle 
 been asked ? — has he spoken ?" 
 
 " He has been asked and given his consent. 
 My distinguished father-in-law, the Prince, has 
 been telegraphed to this morning, and his reply 
 may be here to-night or to-morrow. At all 
 events, we are determined that even should he 
 prove adverse, we shall not be deterred from our 
 wishes by the caprice of a parent who has aban- 
 doned US." k 
 
 " It's what people would call a love-matcn?" 
 
 "I sincerely trust it is. If her affections were 
 not inextricably engaged, it is not possible that 
 such a girl could pledge her future to a man as 
 humble as myself." 
 
 "That is, she is very much in love with you?" 
 
 "I hope the astonishment of your question 
 does not arise from its seeming difficulty of be- 
 lief?" 
 
 "No, not so much that; but I thought there 
 might have been a little heroics, or whatever it is, 
 on your side." 
 
 " Most dull dragoon, do you not know that so 
 long as a man spoons he can talk of his affec- 
 tion for a woman ; but that once she is about to 
 be his wife, or is actually his wife, he limits his 
 avowals to her love for him ?" 
 
 "I never heard that before. I say, what a 
 swell you are this morning ! The cock-pheasants 
 will mistake you for one of them." 
 
 " Nothing can be simpler, nothing quieter, I 
 trust, than a suit of dark purple knickerbockers ; 
 and you may see that my thread stockings and 
 my coarse shoes presuppose a stroll in the plan- 
 tations, where, indeed, I mean to smoke my 
 morning cigar." 
 
 " She'll make you give up tobacco, I suppose?" 
 
 "Nothing of the kind ; a thorough woman of 
 
 the world enforces no such penalties as these. 
 True free trade is the great matrimonial maxim, 
 and for people of small means it is inestimable. 
 Tlwj formula may be stated thus, ' Dine at the 
 best houses, and give tea at your own.' " 
 
 What other precepts of equal wisdom Walpole 
 was prepared to enunciate were lost to the world 
 by a message informing him that Miss Betty was 
 in the drawing-room, and the family assembled 
 to see him. 
 
 Cecil Walpole possessed a very fair stock of 
 that useful quality called assurance : but he had 
 no more than he needed to enter that large room, 
 where the assembled family sat in a half circle, 
 and stand to be surveyed by Miss O'Shea's eye- 
 glass, unabashed. Nor was the ordeal the less 
 trying as he overheard the old lady ask her 
 neighbor "if he wasn't the image of the Knave 
 of Diamonds!" 
 
 "I thought you were the other man!" said 
 she. curtly, as he made his bow. 
 
 " I deplore the disappointment, madam — even 
 though I do not comprehend it." 
 
 "It was the picture, the photograph, of the 
 other man I saw — a fine, tall, dark man, with 
 long mustaches." 
 
 "The fine, tall, dark man, with the long mus- 
 taches, is in the house, and will be charmed to be 
 presented to you." 
 
 "Ay, ay! presented is all very fine; but that 
 won't make him the bridegroom," said she, with 
 a laugh. 
 
 "I sincerely trust it will not. madam." 
 
 "And it is you, then, are Major Walpole?" 
 
 "Mr. Walpole, madam — my friend Lockwood 
 is the major." 
 
 "To be sure. I have it right now. Yon are 
 the young man that got into that unhappy scrape, 
 and got the Lord-Lieutenant turned away — " 
 
 "I wonder how r you endure this." hurst out 
 Nina, as she arose and walked angrily toward a 
 window. 
 
 "I don't think I caught what the young lady 
 said ; but if it was, that what can not be cured 
 must be endured, it is true enough ; and I sup- 
 pose that they'll get over your blunder as they 
 have done many another." 
 
 "I live in that hope, madam." 
 
 "Not but it's a bad beginning in public life : 
 and a stupid mistake hangs long on a man's mem- 
 ory. You're young, however, and people are gen- 
 erous enough to believe it might be a youthful in- 
 discretion." 
 
 "You give me great comfort, madam." 
 
 "And now you are going to risk another ven- 
 ture ?" 
 
 "I sincerely trust on safer grounds." 
 
 "That's what they all think. I never knew a 
 man that didn't believe he drew the prize in mat- 
 rimony. Ask him, however, six months after he's 
 tied. Say, ' What do you think of your ticket 
 now ?' Eh, Maurice Kearney ? It doesn't take 
 twenty or thirty years, quarreling and disputing, 
 to show one that a lottery with so many blanks 
 is just a swindle." 
 
 A loud bang of the door, as Nina flounced out 
 in indignation, almost shook the room. 
 
 "There's a temper you'll know more of yet. 
 young gentleman ; and, take my word for it, it's 
 only in stage-plays that a shrew is ever tamed." 
 
 "I declare," "cried Dick, losing all patience, 
 " I think Miss O'Shea is too unsparing of us all. 
 
LOUD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 Loa 
 
 Wo have our faults, I'm sure; lmt public correc- 
 tion will nut make us more comfortable." 
 
 "It wasn't i/our comfort I was thinking of, 
 young man : and if I thought of your poor fa- ! 
 titer's, Id have advised him to put you out an [ 
 apprentice. There's many a light business — like 
 stationery, or tigs, or children's toys — and they 
 want just as little capital as capacity." 
 
 ".Mi>s Betty," said Kearney, stiffly, " this is 
 not the time nor the place for these discussions. 
 Mr. Walpole was polite enough to present him- 
 self here to-day to have the honor of making 
 your acquaintance, and to announce his future 
 
 marriage." 
 
 "A great event for us all — and we're proud 
 of it! It's what the newspapers will call a great 
 day for the Bog of Allen. Eh, Mauriee? The 
 Princess — God forgive me, hut I'm always calling 
 her Kostigan — hut the Princess will he set down 
 niece to Lord Kilgobbin; and if you" — and she 
 addressed Walpole — " haven't a mock title and a 
 mock estate, you'll be the only one without them !" 
 
 "I don't think any one will deny us our tem- 
 pers," cried Kearney. 
 
 "Here's Lockwood," cried Walpole, delighted 
 to see his friend enter, though he as quickly en- 
 deavored to retreat. 
 
 "Come in, major," said Kearney. '"We're 
 all friends here. Miss O'Shea, this is Major 
 Lockwood, of the Carbineers — Miss O'Shea." 
 
 Lockwood bowed stiffly, but did not speak. 
 
 '"Be attentive to the old woman," whispered 
 Walpole. "A word from her will make your 
 affair all right." 
 
 " I have been very desirous to have had the 
 honor of this introduction, madam," said Lock- 
 wood, as he seated himself at her side. 
 
 " Was not that a clever diversion I accomplish- 
 ed with 'the Heavy?' " said Walpole, as he drew 
 away Kearney and his son into a window, 
 
 "I never heard her much worse than to-day," 
 -aid Dick. 
 
 "I don't know," hesitated Kilgobbin. "I 
 snspect she is breaking. There is none of the 
 sustained virulence I used to remember of old. 
 She lapses into half mildness at moments." 
 
 "I own I did not catch them, nor, I'm afraid, 
 did Nina," said Dick. "Look there! I'll be 
 shot, if she's not giving your friend the major a 
 lesson! When she performs in that way with 
 li. a- hands, you may swear she is didactic." 
 
 "I think I'll go to his relief," said Walpole; 
 " but I own it's a case for the V. C." 
 
 As Walpole drew nigh, he heard her saying: 
 " Marry one of your own race, and you will jog 
 on well enough. Many a Frenchwoman or a 
 Spaniard, and she'll lead her own life, and be very 
 well satisfied; but a poor Irish girl, with a fresh 
 heart and a joyous temper — what is to become 
 of her, with your dull habits and your dreary in- 
 tercourse, your county society and your Chinese 
 manners !" 
 
 "Mix O'Shea is telling me that I must not 
 look for a wife among her countrywomen," said 
 
 Lockwood, with a touching attempt to -mile. 
 
 "What I overheard was not encouraging," 
 said Walpole; "but I think Mi<s O'Shea takes 
 a low estimate of our social temperament." 
 
 "Nothing of the kind ! All I say is. you'll do 
 mighty well for each other, or. for aught I know, 
 you might intermarry with the Dutch or tic Ger- 
 mans ; but it's a downright shame to unite your 
 
 N 
 
 slow sluggish spirits with the sparkling brilliancy 
 
 and impetuous joy of an Irish girl. That's a anion 
 
 I'd never consent to." 
 
 " I hope this is no settled resolution, "said Wal- 
 pole, speaking in a low whisper; "for I want to 
 
 bespeak your especial influence in my friend's 
 
 behalf. Major Lockwood is a most impassioned 
 admirer of Miss Kearney, and has already de- 
 clared as much to her father." 
 
 "Come over here, Maurice Kearney! come 
 over here this moment !" cried she. half H ild with 
 excitement. " What new piece of roguery, what 
 fresh intrigue is this? Will you dare to tell me 
 you had a proposal for Kate, for my own god- 
 daughter, without even so much as telling tne?" 
 
 "My dear Miss Hetty, be calm, he cool for one 
 minute, and I'll tell you every thing." 
 
 " Ay, when I've found it out, Maurice!" 
 
 "I profess I don't think my friend's preten- 
 sions are discussed with much delicacy, time and 
 place considered," said Walpole. 
 
 "We have something to think of as well as 
 delicacy, young man; there's a woman's happi- 
 ness to be remembered." 
 
 " Here it is, now, the whole business," said 
 Kearney. " The major there asked me yester- 
 day to get my daughter's consent to his address- 
 es." 
 
 " And you never told me," cried Miss Betty. 
 
 "No, indeed, nor herself neither; for after I 
 turned it over in my mind I began to see it would 
 not do — " 
 
 ' ' How do you mean not do ?" asked Lock- 
 wood. 
 
 "Just let me finish. What I mean is this — 
 if a man wants to marry an Irish girl, he mustn't 
 begin by asking leave to make love to her — " 
 
 " Maurice is right! "cried the old lady, stoutly. 
 
 "And above all, he oughtn't to think that the 
 short cut to her heart is through his broad acres." 
 
 " Maurice is right — quite right!" 
 
 " And besides this, that the more a man dwells 
 on his belongings, and the settlements, and such 
 like, the more he seems to say, 'I may not catch 
 your fancy in every thing, I may not ride as bold- 
 ly or dance as well as somebody else, but never 
 mind — you're making a very prudent match, and 
 there is a deal of pure affection in the Three pet- 
 Cents. ' " 
 
 "And I'll give you another reason," said Miss 
 Betty, resolutely: "Kate Kearney can not have 
 two husbands, and I've made her promise to mar- 
 ry my nephew, this morning." 
 
 " What! withoutany leaveofmine?" exclaim- 
 ed Kearney. 
 
 "Just so, Maurice. She'll marry him if you 
 give your consent; but whether you will or not, 
 she'll never marry another." 
 
 " Is there, then, a real engagement?" whisper- 
 ed Walpole to Kearney. "Has my friend here 
 got his answer?" 
 
 "He'll not wait for another," said Lockwood. 
 haughtily, as he-arose. "I'm for town, Cecil," 
 whispered he. 
 
 "So shall I be this evening," replied Walpole. 
 in the same tone. " I must hurry over to Lon- 
 don and see I^ord Daneshury. I've my troubles 
 too." And so saying, he drew his arm within 
 the major's and led him away; while BdlSS Bet- 
 ty, with Kearney on one side of her and Dick on 
 the other, proceeded to recount the arrangement 
 she had made to make over the Barn and the es- 
 
194 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 tate to Gorman, it being her own intention to re- 
 tire altogether from the world and finish her days 
 in the "Retreat." 
 
 "And a very good thing to do too," said Kear- 
 ney, who was too much impressed with the ad- 
 vantages of the project to remember his polite- 
 ness. 
 
 "I have had enough of it, Maurice," added 
 she, in a lugubrious tone; "and it's all backbit- 
 ing, and lying, and mischief-making, and, what's 
 worse, by the people who might live quietly and 
 let others do the same. " 
 
 "What you say is true as the Bible." 
 
 "It may be hard to do it, Maurice Kearney ; 
 but I'll pray for them in my hours of solitude, 
 and in that blessed Retreat I'll ask for a blessing 
 on yourself, and that your heart, hard and cruel 
 and worldly as it is now, may be changed ; and 
 that in your last days — maybe on the bed of sick- 
 ness — when you are writhing and twisting with 
 pain, with a bad heart and a worse conscience — 
 when you'll have nobody but hirelings near you — 
 hirelings that will be robbing you before your 
 eyes, and not waiting till the breath leaves you — 
 when even the drop of drink to cool your lips — " 
 
 "Don't — don't go on that way, Miss Betty'! 
 I've a cold shivering down the spine of my back 
 this minute, and a sickness creeping all over me." 
 
 " I'm glad of it. I'm glad that my words have 
 power over your wicked old nature — if it's not 
 too late." 
 
 "If it's miserable and wretched you wanted to 
 make me, don't fret about your want of success ; 
 though whether it all comes too late, I can not 
 tell you." 
 
 "We'll leave that to St. Joseph." 
 
 " Do so ! do so ! " cried he eagerly, for he had 
 a shrewd suspicion he would have better chances 
 of mercy at any hands than her own. 
 
 " As for Gorman, if I find that he has any no- 
 tions about claiming an acre of the property, I'll 
 put it all into Chancery, and the suit will outlive 
 him — but if he owns he is entirely dependent on 
 my bounty, I'll settle the Barn and the land on 
 him, and the deed shall be signed the day he 
 marries your daughter. People tell you that you 
 can't take your money with you into the next 
 world, Maurice Kearney, and a greater lie was 
 never uttered. Thanks to the laws of England, 
 and the Court of Equity in particular, it's the very 
 thing you can do ! Ay, and you can provide, be- 
 sides, that every body but the people that had a 
 right to it shall have a share. So I say to Gor- 
 man O'Shea, beware what you are at, and don't 
 go on repeating that stupid falsehood about not 
 carrying your debentures into the next world." 
 
 "You are a wise woman, and you know life 
 well," said he, solemnly. 
 
 "And if I am, it's nothing to sigh over, Mr. 
 Kearney. One is grateful for mercies, but does 
 not groan over them like rheumatism or the lum- 
 bago. " 
 
 "Maybe I'm a little out of spirits to-day." 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder if you were. They tell 
 me you sat over your wine with that tall man, 
 last night, till nigh one o'clock, and it's not at 
 your time of life that you can do these sort of 
 excesses with impunity ; you had a good consti- 
 tution once, and there's not much left of it." 
 
 " My patience, I'm grateful to see, has not 
 quite deserted me." 
 
 "I hope there's other of your virtues you can 
 
 be more sure of, "said she, rising, " for if I was 
 asked your worst failing I'd say it was your irri- 
 tability." And with a stern frown, as though to 
 confirm the judicial severity of her words, she 
 nodded her head to him and walked away. 
 
 It was only then that Kearney discovered he 
 was left alone, and that Dick had stolen away, 
 though when or how, he could not say. 
 
 " I'm glad the boy was not listening to her, for 
 I'm downright ashamed that I bore it," was his 
 final reflection as he strolled out to take a walk 
 in the plantation. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXX. 
 
 A NEW ARRIVAL. 
 
 Though the dinner-party that day at Kilgob- 
 bin Castle was deficient in the persons of Lock- 
 wood and Walpole, the accession of Joe Atlee to 
 the company made up in a great measure for the 
 loss. He arrived shortly before dinner was an- 
 nounced, and even, in the few minutes in the 
 drawing-room, his gay and lively manner, his 
 pleasant flow of small talk, dashed with the light- 
 est of epigrams, and that marvelous variety he pos- 
 sessed, made every one delighted with him. 
 
 "I met Walpole and Lockwood at the station, 
 and did my utmost to make them turn back with 
 me. You may laugh, Lord Kilgobbin, but in do- 
 ing the honors of another man's house, as I was 
 at that moment, I deem myself without a rival." 
 
 "I wish with all my heart you had succeeded ; 
 there is nothing I like as much as a well-filled 
 table," said Kearney. 
 
 " Not that their air and manner," resumed Joe, 
 "impressed me strongly with the exuberance of 
 their spirits ; a pair of drearier dogs I have not 
 seen for some time, and I believe I told them so." 
 
 "Did they explain their gloom, or even excuse 
 it ?" asked Dick. 
 
 "Except on the general grounds of coming 
 away from such fascinating society. Lockwood 
 played sulky, and scarcely vouchsafed a word ; 
 and as for Walpole, he made some high-flown 
 speeches about his regrets and his torn sensibili- 
 ties — so like what one reads in a French novel, 
 that the very sound of them betrays unreality." 
 
 "But was it then so very impossible to be sor- 
 ry for leaving this ?" asked Nina, calmly. 
 
 "Certainly not for any man but Walpole." 
 
 "And why not Walpole?" 
 
 " Can you ask me? You who know people so 
 well, and read them so clearly ; you to whom the 
 secret anatomy of the ' heart' is no mystery, and 
 who understand how to trace the fibre of intense 
 selfishness through every tissue of his small na- 
 ture. He might be miserable at being separated 
 from himself— there could be no other estrange- 
 ment would affect him." 
 
 "This was not always your estimate of your 
 friend, " said Nina, with a marked emphasis of 
 the last word. 
 
 "Pardon me, it was my unspoken opinion from 
 the first hour I met him. Since then, some space 
 of time has intervened, and though it has made 
 no change in him, I hope it has dealt otherwise 
 with me. I have at least reached the point in 
 life where men not only have convictions but 
 avow them." 
 
 " Come, come ; I can remember what precious 
 
LORD KIU.OHHIN. 
 
 I'.i: 
 
 good luck you called it to make his acquaint- 
 ance." cried Dick, half angrily. 
 
 "I don't deny it. I was very nigh drowuMg 
 at the time, and it was the first plank 1 caught 
 hold of. I am very grateful to him for the res- 
 cue ; but I owe him more gratitude for the op- 
 portunity the incident gave me to see these men 
 in their intimacy — to know, and know thorough- 
 ly, what is the range, what the Stamp of those 
 minds by which states are ruled and masses are 
 governed. Through Walpole, I knew his mas- 
 ter : and through the master I have come to 
 know the slipshod intelligences which, composed 
 of official detail, House of Commons' gossip, and 
 nines' leaders, are accepted by us as statesmen. 
 And if — " A very supercilious smile on Nina's 
 mouth arrested him in the current of his speech, 
 and he said, "I know, of course I know, the 
 question you are too polite to ask, hut which 
 quivers on your lip — 'Who is the gifted creature 
 that sees all this incompetence and insufficiency 
 around him ?' And I am quite ready to tell you. 
 It is Joseph Atlee — Joseph Atlee, who knows 
 that when he and others like him — for we are a 
 strong coterie — stop the supply of ammunition, 
 these gentlemen must cease tiring. Let the De- 
 bats and the Times, the Revue de Deux Mondes 
 and the Saturday, and a few more that I need 
 not stop to enumerate, strike work, and let us 
 see how much of original thought you will ob- 
 tain from your Cabinet sages! It is in the clash 
 and collision of the thinkers outside of responsi- 
 bility that these world-revered leaders catch the 
 fire that lights up their policy. The Times made 
 the Crimean blunder. The Siecle created the 
 Mexican fiasco. The Kreutz Zeitung gave the 
 tirst impulse to the Schleswig-IIolstein imbroglio; 
 and, if I mistake not, the ' review' in the last Dip- 
 lomatic Chronicle will bear results of which he who 
 now speaks to you will not disown the parentage." 
 
 "The saints be praised, here's dinner!" ex- 
 claimed Kearney, "or this fellow would talk us 
 into a brain fever. Kate is dining with Miss 
 Betty again — God bless her for it!" muttered he, 
 as he gave his arm to Nina, and led the way. 
 
 "I've got you a commission as a 'Peeler,' 
 Dick,"said Joe as they moved along. "You'll 
 have to prove you can read and write, which is 
 more than they would ask of you if you were go- 
 ing into the Cabinet ; but we live in an intellect- 
 ual age, and we test all the cabin-boys, and it is 
 only the steersman we take on trust." 
 
 Though Nina was eager to resent Atlee's im- 
 pertinence on Walpole, she could not help feel- 
 ing interested and amused by his sketches of his 
 travels. 
 
 If, in speaking of Greece, he only gave the 
 substance of the article he had written for the 
 Rri-ue de l)eur Mondes, as the paper was yet un- 
 published, all the remarks were novel, and the 
 anecdotes fresh and sparkling. The tone of 
 light banter and raillery in which he described 
 public life in Greece and Greek statesmen, might 
 have lost some of its authority had any one re- 
 membered to count the hours the speaker had 
 spent at Athens; and Nina was certainly indig- 
 nant at the hazardous effrontery of tin- criticisms. 
 It was not, then, without intention that she arose 
 to retire while Atlee was relating an interesting 
 story of brigandage, and he— determined to re- 
 pay the impertinence in kind — continued to re- 
 count his history as he arose to open the door for 
 
 her to pass out. Her insolent look as she swept 
 by was met by a smile of admiration on his part 
 thai actually made her cheek tingle with anger. 
 
 Old Kearney dozed off gently, under the influ- 
 ence of names of places and persons that did not 
 interest him, and the two young men drew their 
 chairs to tin' lire, and grew confidential at once. 
 
 "I think you have sent my cousin away in 
 had humor," said Dick. 
 
 "I see it," said .Joe, as he slowly puffed his ci- 
 gar. "That young lady's head has been so cru- 
 elly turned by flattery of late, that the man who 
 does- not swing incense before her affronts her." 
 
 "Yes; but you went out of your way to pro- 
 voke her. It is true she knows little of Greece 
 or Greeks, but it offends her to hear them slight- 
 ed or ridiculed; and you took pains to do both." 
 
 "Contemptible little country! with a mock 
 army, a mock treasury, and a mock Chamber. 
 The only thing real is the debt and the brigand- 
 age." 
 
 "But why tell her so? You actually seemed 
 bent on irritating her." 
 
 "Quite true — so I was. My dear Dick, you 
 have some lessons to learn in life, and one of 
 them is, that, just as it is bad heraldry to put col- 
 or on color, it is an egregious blunder to follow 
 flattery by flattery. The woman who has been 
 spoiled by over-admiration must be approached 
 with something else as unlike it as may be — 
 pique — annoy — irritate — outrage, but take care 
 that you interest her. Let her only come to feel 
 what a very tiresome thing mere adulation i>. 
 and she will one day value your two or three civil 
 speeches as gems of priceless worth. It is ex- 
 actly because I deeply desire to gain her affec- 
 tions, I have begun in this way." 
 
 " You have come too late." 
 
 " How do you mean too late — she is not en- 
 gaged?" 
 
 "She is engaged — she is to be married to 
 Walpole. " 
 
 "To Walpole!" 
 
 "Yes; he came over a few days ago to ask 
 her. There is some question now — I don't well 
 understand it — about some family consent, or au 
 invitation — something, I believe, that Nina in- 
 sists on, to show the world how his family wel- 
 come her among them; and it is for this he has 
 gone to London, but to be back in eight or nine 
 days, the wedding to take place toward the end 
 of the month." 
 
 "Is he very much in love?" 
 
 " I should say lie is.'' 
 
 "And she? Of course she could not possibly 
 care for a fellow like Walpole?" 
 
 "I don't see why not. He is very much the 
 Stamp of man girls admire." 
 
 "Not gills like Nina; not girls who aspire to 
 a position in life, and who know that the little 
 talents of the salon no more make a man of the 
 world than the tricks of the circus will make a 
 fox-hunter. These ambitious women — she is one 
 of them — will marry a hopeless idiot if he can 
 bring wealth and rank ami a great name; but 
 they will not take a brainless creature who has to 
 
 work bis way up in the world. If she has ac- 
 cepted Walpole there is pioiie in it. or ennui, or 
 thai unca-v desire of change that girls suffer from 
 like a malady." 
 
 " I can not tell you why, but I know she ha* 
 accepted him." 
 
196 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 "Women are not insensible to the value of 
 second thoughts." 
 
 "You mean she might throw him over — might j 
 jilt him ?" 
 
 "I'll not employ the ugly word that makes 
 the wrong it is only meant to indicate ; but there 
 are few of our resolves in life to which we might 
 not move amendment, and the changed opinion 
 a woman forms of a man before marriage would 
 become a grievous injury if it happened after." 
 
 "But must she of necessity change?" 
 
 "If she mam- Walpole, I should say certain- 
 ly. If a girl has fair abilities and a strong tern- j 
 per — and Nina has a good share of each — she j 
 will endure faults, actual vices, in a man, but 
 she'll not stand littleness. Walpole has nothing 
 else ; and so I hope to prove to her to-morrow 
 and the day after — in fact, during those eight or 
 ten days you tell me he will be absent." 
 
 " Will she let you ? Will she listen to you ?" 
 
 "Not at first — at least, not willingly, or very 
 easily ; but I will show her, by numerous little 
 illustrations and even fables, where these small 
 people not only spoil their fortunes in life, but 
 spoil life itself; and what an irreparable blunder 
 it is to link companionship with one of them. I 
 will sometimes make her laugh, and I may have 
 to make her cry — it will not be easy, but I shall 
 do it — I shall certainly make her thoughtful ; and 
 if you can do this day by day, so that a woman 
 will recur to the same theme pretty much in the 
 same spirit, you must be a sorry steersman, Mas- 
 ter Dick, but you will know how to guide these j 
 thoughts and trace the channel they shall follow." 
 
 "And supposing, which I do not believe, you 
 could get her to break with Walpole, what could 
 you offer her ?" 
 
 "Myself!" 
 
 "Inestimable boon, doubtless; but what of 
 fortune — position or place in life ?" 
 
 "The first Napoleon used to say that the ' pow- 
 er of the unknown number was incommensura- 
 ble ;' and so I don't despair of showing her that ] 
 a man like myself may be any thing." 
 
 Dick shook his head doubtingly, and the other I 
 went on : "In this round game we call life it is i 
 all ' brag.' The fellow with the worst card in the 
 pack, if he'll only risk his head on it, keep a bold | 
 face to the world and his own counsel, will be 
 sure to. win. Bear in mind, Dick, that for some i 
 time back I have been keeping the company of 
 these great swells who sit highest in the syna- 
 gogue and dictate to us small Publicans. I have j 
 listened to their hesitating counsels and their ! 
 uncertain resolves; I have seen the blotted dis- 
 patches and equivocal messages given, to be dis- j 
 avowed if needful ; I have assisted at those dress j 
 rehearsals, where speech was to follow speech, and 
 what seemed an incautious avowal by one was to j 
 be ' improved' into a bold declaration by anoth- 
 er, 'in another place;' in fact, my good friend, I 
 have been near enough to measure the mighty 
 intelligences that direct us, and if I were not a 
 believer in Darwin I should be very much shock- 
 ed for what humanity was coming to. It is no 
 exaggeration that I say, if you were to be in the 
 Home Office, and I at the Foreign Office, with- 
 out our names being divulged, there is not a man 
 or woman in England would be the wiser or the 
 worse ; though if either of us were to take charge of 
 the engine of the Holyhead line, there would be a 
 smash or an explosion before we reached Rugby. " 
 
 "All that will not enable you to make a set- 
 tlement on Nina Kostalergi." 
 ^No ; but I'll marry her all the same." 
 ^1 don't think so." 
 
 " Will you have a bet on it, Dick ? What will 
 you wager?" 
 
 "A thousand — ten, if I had it; but I'll give 
 you ten pounds on it, which is about as much as 
 either of us could pay." 
 
 "Speak for yourself, Master Dick. As Rob- 
 ert Macaire says, ' Je viens de toucher mes divi- 
 dendes,'and I am in no want of money. The 
 fact is, so long as a man can pay for certain lux- 
 uries in life he is well off: the strictly necessary 
 takes care of itself." 
 
 ' ' Does it ? I should like to know how." 
 
 "With your present limited knowledge of life. 
 I doubt if I could explain it to you, but I will 
 try one of these mornings. Meanwhile, let us go 
 into the drawing-room and get mademoiselle to 
 sing for us. She will sing, I take it ?" 
 
 " Of course — if asked by you. " And there was 
 the very faintest tone of sneer in the words. 
 
 And they did go, and mademoiselle did sing all 
 that Atlee could ask her for, and she was charm- 
 ing in every way that grace and beauty and the 
 wish to please could make her. Indeed, to such 
 extent did she carry her fascinations that Joe 
 grew thoughtful at last, and muttered to himself, 
 "There is vendetta in this. It is only a woman 
 knows how to make a vengeance out of her at- 
 tractions." 
 
 "Why are you so serious, Mr. Atlee?" asked 
 she at last. 
 
 "I was thinking — I mean, I was trying to 
 think — yes, I remember it now," muttered he. 
 "I have had a letter for you all this time in my 
 pocket." 
 
 "A letter from Greece?" asked she, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 ' ' No — at least I suspect not. It was given me 
 as I drove through the bog by a barefooted boy, 
 who had trotted after the car for miles, and at 
 length overtook us by the accident of the horse 
 picking up a stone in his hoof. He said it was 
 for 'some one at the Castle,' and I offered to 
 take charge of it — here it is," and he produced a 
 square-shaped envelope of common coarse-look- 
 ing paper, sealed with red wax, and a shamrock 
 for impress. 
 
 "A begging letter, I should say, from the out- 
 side," said Dick. 
 
 "Except that there is not one so poor as to 
 ask aid from we," added Nina, as she took the 
 document, glanced at the writing, and placed it 
 in her pocket. 
 
 As they separated for the night, and Dick trot- 
 ted up the stairs at Atlee's side, he said, "I don't 
 think, after all, my ten pounds is so safe as I fan- 
 cied." 
 
 " Don't you ?" replied Joe. " My impressions 
 are all the other way, Dick. It is her courtesy 
 that alarms me. The effort to captivate where 
 there is no stake to win, means mischief. She'll 
 make me in love with her whether I will or not." 
 The bitterness of his tone, and the impatient bang 
 he gave his door as he passed in, betrayed more 
 of temper than was usual for him to display, and 
 as Dick sought his room, he muttered to himself, 
 "I'm glad to see that these overcunning fellows 
 are sure to "meet their match, and get beaten even 
 at the game of their own invention." 
 
LORD KILC.OBBIN. 
 
 L91 
 
 CHAPTEK I. XXXI. 
 
 AN CNLOOKED-FOB COKKE8PONDEKT. 
 
 It was no uncommon thing for the tenants to 
 address petitiona and complaints in writing to 
 Kate, and it occurred to Nina as not impossible 
 that some one might have bethought him of en- 
 treating her intercession in their favor. The look 
 of the letter, and the coarse wax, and the writing, 
 all in a measure strengthened this impression, and 
 it was in the most careless of moods she broke 
 the envelope, scarcely caring to look for the name 
 of the writer, whom she was convinced must be 
 unknown to her. 
 
 She had just let her hair fall freely down on 
 her neck and shoulders, and was seated in a deep 
 chair before her fire, as she opened the paper and 
 read, "Mademoiselle Kostalergi." This begin- 
 ning, so unlikely for a peasant, made her turn for 
 the name, and she read, in a large full hand, the 
 words " Daniel Donooan," So complete was 
 her surprise, that, to satisfy herself there was no 
 trick or deception, she examined the envelope ami 
 the seal, and reflected for some minutes over the 
 mode in which the document had come to her 
 hands. Atlee's story was a very credible one : 
 nothing more likely than that the boy was charged 
 to deliver the letter at the Castle, and simply 
 sought to spare himself so many miles of way, or 
 it might be that he was enjoined to give it to the 
 first traveler he met on his road to Kilgobbin. 
 Nina had little doubt that if Atlee guessed or 
 had reason to know the writer, he would have 
 treated the letter as a secret missive which would 
 give him a certain power over her. 
 
 These thoughts did not take her long, and she 
 turned once more to the letter. "Poor fellow," 
 <aid Bhe, aloud, "why does he write to mef 
 And her own voice sent back its surmises to her, 
 and as she thought over him standing on the 
 lonely road, his clasped hands before him, and 
 his hair wafted wildly back from his uncovered 
 head, two heavy tears rolled slowly down her 
 cheeks and dropped upon her neck. "I ami 
 sure he loved me — I know he loved me," mut- ; 
 tered she, half aloud. "I have never seen in' 
 any eye the same expression that his wore as he ! 
 lay that morning in the grass. It was not vener- I 
 ation. it was genuine adoration. Had I been a 
 saint and wanted worship, there was the very of- | 
 fering that I craved — a look of painful meaning, 
 made up of wonder and devotion, a something 
 that said — take what course you may, be willful, 
 !)■■ wayward, be even cruel, I am your slave. 
 You may not think me worthy of a thought, you 
 may be so indifferent as to forget me utterly, but 
 my life from this hour has but one spell to charm, 
 one memory to sustain it. It needed not his last 
 words to me to Bay that my image would lay on 
 his heart forever, l'oor fellow, / need not "have I 
 been added to his sorrows; he lias had his share 
 of trouble, without me!" 
 
 It was some time ere she could return to the 
 letter, which ran thus: 
 
 "Mademoiselle Kostalergi, — You once 
 
 rendered me a great service — not alone at some haz- 
 ard to yourself, but by doing what must have cosl 
 
 you sorely. It is now my turn, and if the ftCl of 
 repayment is not equal to the original debt, let me 
 ask you to believe that it taxes my strength even 
 more than your generosity once taxed your own. 
 
 "I came here a few days since m the hope 
 that I might see you before I leave Inland for- 
 
 ever, and while waiting for Borne fortunate chance, 
 
 I learned that you were betrothed and to be mar- 
 ried to the young gentleman who lies ill at Kil- 
 gobbin, and whose approaching trial at the As- 
 sizes is now the subject of so much discussion. I 
 will not tell you— I have no right to tell you — 
 the deep misery with which these tidings filled 
 me. It was no use to teach my heart how vain 
 and impossible were all my hopes with regard to 
 you. It was to no purpose that I could repeat 
 even aloud to myself how hopeless my pretensions 
 must be. My love for you had become a religion, 
 and what I could deny to a hope I could still be- 
 lieve. Take that hope away, and I could not im- 
 agine how I should face my daily life, how interest 
 myself in its ambitions, and even care to live on. 
 
 "These sad confessions can not offend you, 
 coming from one even as humble as I am. They 
 are all that are left me for consolation— they wiil 
 soon be all I shall have for memory. The little 
 lamp in the lowly shrine comforts the kneeling 
 worshiper far more than it honors the saint; and 
 the love I bear you is, suck as this. Forgive me 
 if I have dared these utterances. To save him 
 with whose fortunes your own are to be bound 
 up, became at once my object ; and as I knew 
 with what ingenuity and craft his ruin had been 
 compassed, it required all my elforts to bailie his 
 enemies. The National Press and the National 
 Party have made a great cause of this trial, and 
 determined that tenant-right should be vindicated 
 in the person of this man Gill. 
 
 "I have seen enough of what is intended here 
 to be aware what mischief may be worked by 
 hard swearing, a violent press, and a jury not in- 
 sensible to public opinion — evils, if you like, but 
 evils that are less of our own growing than the 
 curse ill government has brought upon us. It 
 has been decided in certain councils — whose de- 
 crees are seldom gainsaid — that an example 
 shall lwj made of Captain Gorman (('Shea, and 
 that no effort shall be spared to make his case a 
 terror and a warning to Irish land-owners, how 
 they attempt by ancient process of law to subvert 
 the concessions we have wrung from our tyrants 
 
 "A jury to find him guilty will be sworn ; and 
 let us see the judge — in defiance of a verdict given 
 from the jury-box. without a moment's hesitation 
 or the shadow of dissent — let us see the judge w ho 
 will dare to diminish the severity of tlie sentence. 
 This is the language, these are the very words, 
 of those who have more of the rule of Ireland in 
 their hands than the haughty gentlemen, honor- 
 able and right honorable, who sit at Whitehall. 
 
 " I have heard this opinion too often of late to 
 doubl how much it is a fixed determination of the 
 party; and until now — until I cam" here, and 
 learned what interest this fact could have for me 
 — I offered no opposition to these reasonings. 
 Since then I have bestirred myself actively. I 
 have addressed' the committee here who have 
 
 taken charge of the prosecution. I have written 
 to the editors of the chief newspapers. I have 
 even made a direct appeal to the leading counsel 
 for the prosecution, and tried to persuade them 
 that a victory here might COSt UB more than a de- 
 feat, and that the country at large, who submit 
 with difficulty to the verdict of absolving juries, 
 will rise with indignation at this evidence of a 
 jury prepared to exercise a vindictive power, and 
 
198 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 actually make the law the agent of reprisal. I 
 have failed in all— utterly failed. Some reproach 
 me as faint-hearted and craven ; some conde- 
 scend to treat me as merely mistaken and mis- 
 guided ; and some are bold enough to hint that, 
 though as a military authority I stand without 
 rivalry, as a purely political adviser my counsels 
 are open to dispute. 
 
 "I have still a power, however, through the 
 organization of which I am a chief; and by this 
 power I have ordered Gill to appear before me, 
 and, in obedience to my commands, he will sail 
 this night for America. With him will also leave 
 the two other important witnesses in this cause ; 
 so that the only evidence against Captain O'Shea 
 will be some of those against whom he has him- 
 self instituted a cross charge for assault. That 
 the prosecution can be carried on with such testi- 
 mony need not be feared. Our Press will de- 
 nounce the infamous arts by which these witness- 
 es have been tampered with, and justice has been 
 defeated. The insults they may hurl at our op- 
 pressors — for once unjustly — will furnish matter 
 for the opposition journals to inveigh against our 
 present Government, and some good may come 
 even of this. At all events, I shall have accom- 
 plished what I sought. I shall have saved from 
 a prison the man I hate most on earth, the man 
 who, robbing me of what never could be mine, 
 robs me of every hope, of every ambition, making 
 my love as worthless as my life ! Have I not re- 
 paid you ? Ask your heart which of us has done 
 more for the other ? 
 
 "The contract on which Gill based his right 
 as a tenant, and which would have sustained his 
 action, is now in my hands; and I will — if you 
 permit me — place it in yours. This may appear 
 an ingenious device to secure a meeting with you ; 
 but, though I long to see you once more, were it 
 but a minute, I would not compass it by a fraud. 
 If, then, you will not see me, I shall address the 
 packet to you through the post. 
 
 "I have finished. I have told you what it 
 most concerns you to know, and what chiefly re- 
 gards your happiness. I have done this as cold- 
 ly and impassively, I hope, as though I had no 
 other part in the narrative than that of the friend 
 whose friendship had a blessed office. I have 
 not told you of the beating heart that hangs over 
 this paper, nor will I darken one bright moment 
 of your fortune by the gloom of mine. If you 
 will write me one line— a farewell if it must be— 
 send it to the care of Adam Cobb, ' Cross Keys,' 
 Moate, where I shall find it up to Thursday next. 
 If — and oh ! how I shall bless you for it — if you 
 will consent to see me, to say one word, to let 
 me look on you once more, I shall go into my 
 banishment with a bolder heart, as men go into 
 battle with an amulet. 
 
 " Daniel Donogak." 
 
 "Shall I show this to Kate?" was the first 
 thought of Nina as she laid the letter down. " Is 
 it a breach of confidence to let another than my- 
 self read these lines ? Assuredly they were meant 
 for my eyes alone. Poor fellow ! " said she, once 
 more aloud. "It was very noble in him to do 
 this for one he could not but regard as a rival." 
 And then she asked herself how far it might con- 
 sist with honor to derive benefit from his mistake 
 — since mistake it was — in believing O'Shea was 
 her lover, and to be her future husband. 
 
 "There can be little doubt Donogan would 
 never have made the sacrifice had he known that 
 I am about to marry Walpole." From this she 
 rambled on to speculate on how far might Don- 
 ogan's conduct compromise or endanger him with 
 his own party, and if — which she thought very 
 probable — there was a distinct peril in what he 
 was doing, whether he would have incurred that 
 peril if he really knew the truth, and that it was 
 not herself he was serving. 
 
 The more she canvassed these doubts, the more 
 she found the difficulty of resolving them ; nor in- 
 deed was there any other way than one — distinct- 
 ly to ask Donogan if he would persist in his kind 
 intentions when he knew that the benefit was to 
 revert to her cousin, and not to herself. So far 
 as the evidence of Gill at the trial was concerned, 
 the man's withdrawal was already accomplished ; 
 but would Donogan be as ready to restore the 
 lease, and would he, in fact, be as ready to con- 
 front the danger of all this interference, as at first? 
 She could scarcely satisfy her mind how she would 
 wish him to act in the contingency. She was 
 sincerely fond of Kate, she knew all the traits of 
 honesty and truth in that simple character, and 
 she valued the very qualities of straightforward- 
 ness and direct purpose in which she knew she 
 was herself deficient. She would have liked well 
 to secure that dear girl's happiness, and it would 
 have been an exquisite delight to her to feel that 
 she had been an aid to her welfare ; and yet, with 
 all this, there was a subtle jealousy that tortured 
 her in thinking, "What will this man have done 
 to prove his love for me ? Where am I, and are 
 my interests in all this?" There was a poison 
 in this doubt that actually extended to a state of 
 fever. "I must see him," she said at last, speak- 
 ing aloud to herself. "I must let him know the 
 truth. If what he proposes should lead him to 
 break with his party or his friends, it is well he 
 should see for what and for whom he is doing it." 
 
 And then she persuaded herself she would like 
 to hear Donogan talk as once before she had heard 
 him talk of his hopes and his ambitions. There 
 was something in the high-sounding aspirations 
 of the man, a lofty heroism in all he said, that 
 struck a chord in her Greek nature. The cause 
 that was so intensely associated with danger, that 
 life was always on the issue, was exactly the thing 
 to excite her heart, and, like the trumpet-blast 
 to the charger, she felt stirred to her inmost soul 
 by whatever appealed to reckless daring and per- 
 il. "He shall tell me what he intends to do — 
 his plans, his projects, and his troubles. He shall 
 tell me of his hopes, what he desires in the fu- 
 ture, and where he himself will stand when his 
 efforts have succeeded ; and, oh ! " thought she, 
 "are not the wild extravagances of these men 
 better a thousand times than the well-turned noth- 
 ings of the fine gentlemen who surround us ? Are 
 not their very risks and vicissitudes more manly 
 teachings than the small casualties of the polish- 
 ed world ? If life were all ' salon, ' taste, perhaps, 
 might decide against them ; but it is not all ' sa- 
 lon,' or, if it were, it would be a poorer thing even 
 than I think it!" She turned to her desk as she 
 said this, and wrote : 
 
 "Dear Mr. Donogan, — I wish to thank you 
 in person for the great kindness you have shown 
 me, though there is some mistake on your part 
 in the matter. I can not suppose you are able 
 
LORD KILCOBBIN. 
 
 l«.»«.i 
 
 to come here openly, bat if yon will be in the gar- 
 den on Saturday evening at nine o'clock, I shall 
 be there to meet you. I an very truly yours, 
 
 " Nina 1vostai.ku..i. " 
 
 "Very imprudent — scarce delicate — perhaps, 
 all this, and for a girl who is to he married to 
 another man in some three weeks hence; but 1 1 
 will tell Cecil Walpole all when he returns, and 
 if he desires to be off his engagement he shall 
 hare the liberty. I have one-half at least of the 
 Bayard legend, and, if I can not say 1 am 'with- 
 out reproach' — I am certainly without fear." 
 
 The letter-bag lay in the hall, and Nina went 
 down at once and deposited her letter in it; this 
 done, she lay down on her bed, not to sleep, but to 
 think over Donogan and his letter till daybreak. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXII. 
 
 THE BREAKFAST-KOOM. 
 
 "Strange house this!" said Joseph Atlee, as 
 Nina entered the room the next morning where ■ 
 he sat alone at breakfast. "Lord Kilgobbin 
 and Dick were here a moment ago, and disap- 
 peared suddenly: Miss Kearney for an instant, j 
 and also left as abruptly ; and now you have 
 come, I most earnestly hope not to fly away in 
 the same fashion."' 
 
 " No ; I mean to eat my breakfast, and so far 
 to keep you company." 
 
 "I thank the tea-urn for my good-fortune," 
 saitl he, solemnly. 
 
 "A tete-a-tete with Mr. Atlee is a piece of 
 good luck," said Nina, as she sat down. "Has 
 any tiling occurred to call our hosts away?" 
 
 "In a house like this," said he, jocularly, 
 "where people are marrying or giving in mar- 
 riage at every turn, what may not happen ? It 
 may be a question of the settlement, or the bride- j 
 cake, the white satin ' slip' — if that's the name 
 for it, the orange-flowers, or the choice of the 
 best man — who knows ?" 
 
 "You seem to know the whole bead-roll of 
 wedding incidents." 
 
 " It is a dull ' repertoire' after all, for whether 
 the piece be melodrama, farce, genteel comedy, 
 or harrowing tragedy, it has to be played by the 
 same actors." 
 
 "What would you have — marriages can not 
 be all alike. There must be marriages for many 
 things besides love : for ambition, for interest, 
 for money, for convenience." 
 
 ••Convenience is exactly the phrase I wanted 
 and could not catch." 
 
 " It is not the word / wanted, nor do I think 
 we mean the same thing by it." 
 
 "What I mean is this," said Atlee, with a 
 firm voice, "that when a young girl has decided 
 in her own mind that she has had enough of 
 that social bondage of the daughter, and can in it 
 marry the man she would like, she will marry the 
 man that she can." 
 
 "And like him, too," added Nina, with a 
 strange, dubious sort of smile. 
 
 "Yes, and like him, too, for there is a curious 
 feature in the woman's nature that, without any 
 falsehood or disloyalty, permits her to like differ- 
 ent people in different ways, so that the quiet, 
 gentle, almost impassive woman might, if differ- 
 
 ently mated, have been a being of fervid temper, 
 
 headstrong and passionate, If it were not tor 
 
 this species of accoimnodalion, marriage would 
 be a Worse thing than it is" 
 
 "I never Buspeoted you of having made a 
 
 study of the subject. Since when have VOH de- 
 voted your attention to the theme?" 
 
 "I could answer in the words of Wilkes— 
 since 1 have had the honor to know your royal 
 
 highness.- but perhaps you might be displeased 
 with the flippancy." 
 
 " I should think that very probable," said she, 
 gravely. 
 
 "Don't look so serious. Remember that 1 
 did not commit myself, alter all." 
 
 " 1 thought it was possible to discuss this prob- 
 lem without a personality." 
 
 " Don't you know that, let one deal in ab- 
 stractions as long as he will, he is only skirmish- 
 ing around special instances? It is out of what 
 I glean from individuals I make up my general- 
 ities." 
 
 "Am I to understand by this that I have sup- 
 plied you with the material of one of these re- 
 flections ?" 
 
 "You have given me the subject of many. 
 If I were to tell you how often I have thought 
 of you, I could not answer for the words in which 
 I might tell it." 
 
 "Do not tell it, then." 
 
 " I know — I am aware — I have heard since I 
 came here that there is a special reason why you 
 could not listen to me." 
 
 "And being so, why do you propose that 1 
 should hear you?" 
 
 "I will tell you," said he, with an earnestness 
 that almost startled her; "I will tell you, be- 
 cause there are things in which a doubt or an 
 equivocation is actually maddening; and I will 
 not, I can not believe that you have accepted 
 Cecil Walpole." 
 
 "Will you please to say why it should seem 
 so incredible?" 
 
 "Because I have seen you not merely in ad- 
 miration, and that admiration would be better 
 conveyed by a stronger word; and because I 
 have measured you with others infinitely beneath 
 you in every way, and who are yet soaring into 
 Very high regions indeed ; because I have (earned 
 enough of the world to know that alongside of— 
 often above— the influence that men are wielding 
 in life by their genius and their Capacity, there is 
 another power exercised by women of marvelous 
 beauty, of infinite attractions, and exquisite grace, 
 which sways and moulds the fate of mankind far 
 more than cabinets and councils. There are not 
 above half a dozen of these in Europe, and you 
 might be one added to the number." 
 
 ••Kven admitting all this— and I don't see 
 that I should go so far— it is no answer to my 
 question." 
 
 "Must I then say there can be no — not com- 
 panionship, that's not the. word ; no, I must take 
 the French expression, and call it "solidarite" — 
 there can be no solidarity of interests, of objects, 
 of passions, or of hopes between people so Widely 
 dissevered a- you and Walpole. 1 am so con- 
 vinced of this," that still I can dare to declare I 
 can not believe you could marry him." 
 
 '• And if I were to tell you it were true?" 
 
 "I should still regard it as a passing caprice, 
 that the mere mention of to-morrow would of- 
 
•_T,() 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 fend you. It is no disparagement of Walpole 
 to say he is unworthy of you, for who would be 
 worthy ? but the presumption of his daring is 
 enough to excite indignation — at least, I feel it 
 such. How he could dare to link his supreme 
 littleness with consummate perfection ; to freight 
 the miserable bark of his fortunes with so pre- 
 cious a cargo; to encounter the feeling — and 
 there is no escape for it — 'I must drag that 
 woman down, not alone into obscurity, but into 
 all the sordid meanness of a small condition, that 
 never can emerge into any thing better.' He 
 can not disguise from himself that it is not with- 
 in his reach to attain power, or place, or high 
 consideration. Such men make no name in life ; 
 they leave no mark on their time. They are 
 heaven-bom subordinates, and never refute their 
 destiny. Does a woman with ambition — does a 
 woman conscious of her own great merits con- 
 descend to ally herself, not alone with small for- 
 tune — that might be borne — but with the smaller 
 associations that make up these men's lives ? with 
 the peddling efforts to mount even one rung high- 
 er of that crazy little ladder of their ambition — 
 to be a clerk of another grade — a creature of some 
 fifty pounds more — a being in an upper office ?" 
 
 "And the Prince — for he ought to be at least 
 a prince who should make me the offer of his 
 name— whence is he to come, Mr. Atlee ?" 
 
 ' ' There are men who are not born to princely 
 station who, by their genius and their determina- 
 tion, are just as sure to become famous, and who 
 need but the glorious prize of such a woman's 
 love — No, no, don't treat what I say as rant and 
 rodomontade ; these are words of sober sense 
 and seriousness." 
 
 "Indeed!" said she, with a faint sigh. "So 
 that it really amounts to this — that I shall actu- 
 ally have missed my whole fortune in life — thrown 
 myself away — all because I had not waited for 
 Mr. Atlee to propose for me?" 
 
 Nothing less than Atlee's marvelous assur- 
 ance and self-possession could have sustained 
 this speech unabashed. 
 
 "You have only said what my heart has told 
 me many a day since." 
 
 "But you seem to forget," added she, with a 
 very faint curl of scorn on her lip, "that I had 
 no more to guide me to the discover}' of Mr. Al- 
 ice's affection than to that of his future great- 
 ness. Indeed, I could more readily believe in 
 the latter than the former." 
 
 "Believe in both," cried he, warmly. "If 
 I have conquered difficulties in life, if I have 
 achieved some successes — now for a passing tri- 
 umph, now for a moment of gratified vanity, 
 now for a mere caprice — try me by a mere hope 
 — I only plead for a hope — try me by a hope of 
 being one day worthy of calling that hand my 
 own." 
 
 As he spoke, he tried to grasp her hand ; but 
 she withdrew it coldly and slowly, saying, "I 
 have no fancy to make myself the prize of any 
 success in life, political or literary ; nor can I 
 believe that the man who reasons in this fashion 
 lias any really high ambition. Mr. Atlee," add- 
 ed she, more gravely, "your memory may not 
 be as good as mine, and you will pardon me if I 
 remind you that, almost at our first meeting, we 
 struck up a sort of friendship, on the very equiv- 
 ocal ground of a common country. We agreed 
 that each of us claimed for their native land the 
 
 mythical Bohemia, and we agreed, besides, that 
 the natives of that country are admirable col- 
 leagues, but not good partners." 
 
 "You are not quite fair in this," he began ; 
 but before he could say more Dick Kearney en- 
 tered hurriedly, and cried out, "It's all true. 
 The people are in wild excitement, and all de- 
 clare that they will not let him be taken. Oh! 
 I forgot," added he. " You were not here when 
 my father and I were called away by the dis- 
 patch from the police station, to say that Dono- 
 gan has been seen at Moate, and is "about to hold 
 a meeting on the bog. Of course, this is mere 
 rumor ; but the constabulary are determined to 
 capture him, and Curtis has written to inform 
 my father that a party of police will patrol the 
 grounds here this evening." 
 
 "And if they should take him, what would 
 happen — to him, I mean?" asked Nina, coldly. 
 
 "An escaped convict is usually condemned to 
 death ; but I suppose they would not hang him," 
 said Dick. 
 
 "Hang him!" cried Atlee; "nothing of the 
 kind. Mr. Gladstone would present him with a 
 suit of clothes, a ten-pound note, and a first-class 
 passage to America. He would make a 'heal- 
 ing measure' of him." 
 
 "I must say, gentlemen," said Nina, scorn- 
 fully, "you can discuss your friend's fate with a 
 marvelous equanimity." 
 
 "So we do," rejoined Atlee. "He is another 
 Bohemian." 
 
 "Don't say so, sir," said she, passionately. 
 "The men who put their lives on a venture — 
 and that venture not a mere gain to themselves — 
 are in nowise the associates of those poor adven- 
 turers' who are gambling for their daily living. 
 He is a rebel, if you like ; but he believes in rebell- 
 ion. How much do you believe in, Mr. Atlee ?" 
 
 "I say, Joe, you are getting the worst of this 
 discussion. Seriously, however, I hope they'll 
 not catch poor Donogan ; and my father has 
 asked Curtis to come over and dine here, and I 
 trust to a good fire and some old claret to keep 
 him quiet for this evening, at least. We must 
 not molest the police ; but there's no great harm 
 done if we mislead them." 
 
 "Once in the drawing-room, if Mademoiselle 
 Kostalergi will only condescend to aid us," added 
 Atlee, "I think Curtis will be more than a chief 
 constable if he will bethink him of his duty." 
 
 "You are a strange set of people, you Irish," 
 said Nina, as she walked away. "Even such 
 of you as don't want to overthrow the Govern- 
 ment, are always ready to impede its march and 
 contribute to its difficulties." 
 
 "She only meant that for an impertinence," 
 said Atlee, after she left the room; "but she 
 was wonderfully near the truth, though not truth-, 
 fully expressed." 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIII. 
 
 THE GARDEN BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 There was but one heavy heart at the din- 
 ner-table that day; but Nina's pride was proof 
 against any disclosure of suffering, and, though 
 she was tortured by anxiety and fevered with 
 doubt, none — not even Kate — suspected that any 
 care weighed on her. 
 
 As for Kate herself, her happiness beamed in 
 
LOUD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 .'in 
 
 .<very lino ami lineament of her handsome face 
 The captain — to give him the name by which he 
 was known- had been np thai day, and parta- 
 ken of an afternoon tea with his aunt and Kate. 
 
 Her spirits were excellent, ami all the promise of 
 the future was rose-colored and bright The lit- 
 tle cloud of what trouble the trial might bring 
 was not Buffered to darken the cheerful meeting, 
 and it was the one only hitter in their cup. 
 
 To divert Curtis from this theme, on which, 
 with the accustomed mal a pro/ios of an awkward 
 man, he wished to talk, the young men led him 
 to the mbject of Donogan and his party. 
 
 ■• I believe well take him this time," said Cur- 
 tis. "He must, have some close relations with 
 some one about Moate or Kilheggan, for it is re- 
 marked he can not keep away from the neighbor- 
 hood : hut who are his friends, or what they are 
 meditating, we can not guess." 
 
 ••If what Mademoiselle Kostalergi said this 
 morning he correct," remarked Atlee, conjecture 
 is unnecessary. She told Dick and myself that 
 every Irishman is at heart a rebel." 
 
 " I said more or less of one, Mr. Atlee, since 
 there are some who have not the courage of their 
 opinions." 
 
 " I hope you are gratified by the emendation," 
 whispered Dick ; and then added, aloud, "Dono- 
 gan is not one of these." 
 
 " He's a consummate fool, "cried Curtis, blunt- 
 ly, "lie thinks the attack of a police barrack 
 or the capture of a few firelocks will revolutionize 
 Ireland." 
 
 "He forgets that there are twelve thousand po- 
 lice, officered by such men as yourself, captain," 
 said Nina, gravely. 
 
 "Well, there might be worse," rejoined Cur- 
 tis, doggedly, for he was not quite sure of the sin- 
 cerity of the speaker. 
 
 " What will you be the better of taking him ?" 
 said Kilgohhin. "If the whole tree be perni- 
 cious, where's the use of plucking one leaf off it ?" 
 
 "The captain has nothing to do with that," 
 said Atlee, " any more than a hound has to dis- 
 cuss the morality of fox-hunting — his business is 
 the pursuit." 
 
 "I don't like your simile, Mr. Atlee," said 
 Nina, while she whispered some words to the 
 captain, and drew him in this way into a con- 
 fidential talk. 
 
 " I don't mind him at all. Miss Nina," said Cur- 
 tis; "he's one of those fellows on the Press, and 
 they are always saying impertinent things, to keep 
 their little talents in wind. I'll tell you, in con- 
 fidence, how wrong he is. I have just had a 
 meeting with the Chief Secretary, who told me 
 that the Popish bishops are not at all pleased 
 with the leniency of the Government ; that, what- 
 ever "healing measures' .Mr. Gladstone contem- 
 plates, ought to be for the Church and the ( latho- 
 lics ; that the Fenians or the Nationalists are the 
 enemies of the Holy Father; and that the time 
 has come for the Government to hunt them down, 
 md give over the rule of Ireland to the Cardinal 
 and his party." 
 
 "That seerns to me very reasonable, and very 
 logical," said Nina. 
 
 " Well, it is and it is not. If you want peace 
 in the rabbit-warren, you must banish either the 
 rats or the rabbits : and I suppose either tie- Prot- 
 estants or the Papists must have it their own way 
 here." 
 
 "Then you mean to capture this man ?" 
 
 " We do —we are determined on that. Ami 
 
 what's more, I'd hang him if 1 hail the power." 
 "And why ?" 
 
 "Just because he isn't a had fellow! There's 
 no use in hanging a had fellow iu Ireland — it 
 frightens nobody ; hut if you hang a respectable 
 
 man, a man that has done generous and tine 
 things, it produces a great effect on society, and 
 
 is a terrible example." 
 
 "There may be a deep wisdom in what you 
 say. " 
 
 "Not that they'll mind me for all that. It's 
 the men like myself. Miss Nina, who know Ire 
 land well, who know every assize town in the 
 country, and what the juries will do in each, are 
 never consulted in England. They say, ' Let 
 Curtis catch him — that's Ins business.'" 
 
 "And how will you do it ?" 
 
 "I'll tell you. 1 haven't men enough to watch 
 all the roads; but I'll take care to have my peo- 
 ple where he's least likely to go — that is, to the 
 North. He's a cunning fellow is Dan, and he'd 
 make for the Shannon if he could ; but now that 
 he knows we're after him, he'll turn to Antrim 
 or Deny. He'll cut across Westmeath and make 
 North, if he gets away from this." 
 
 "That is a very acute calculation of yours; 
 and where do you suspect he may be now — I 
 mean, at this moment we're talking?" 
 
 "He's not three miles from where we're sit- 
 ting," said he, in a low whisper, and a cautious 
 glance round the table. "He's hid in the bog 
 outside. There's scores of places there a man 
 could hide in, and never be tracked; and there's 
 few fellows would like to meet Donogan single- 
 handed. He's as active as a rope-dancer, and 
 he's as courageous as the devil." 
 
 "It would be a pity to hang such a fellow." 
 
 "There's plenty more of the same sort — not 
 exactly as good as him, perhaps, for Dan was 
 a gentleman once." 
 
 "And is, probably, still?" 
 
 " It would be hard for him, with the rapscall- 
 ions he has to live with, and not five shillings in 
 his pocket besides." 
 
 " I don't know, after all, if you'll be happier for 
 giving him up to the law. He may have a moth- 
 er, a sister, a wife, or a sweetheart." 
 
 "He may have a sweetheart, but I know he 
 has none of the others. He said, in the dock, 
 that no man could quit life at less cost — that 
 there wasn't one to grieve after him." 
 
 "Poor fellow! that was a sad confession." 
 
 "We're not all to turn Fenians, Miss Nina, be- 
 cause we're only children and unmarried." 
 
 "You are too clever for me to dispute with,'' 
 said she, in affected humility ; " but I like great- 
 ly to hear you talk of Ireland. Now, what num- 
 ber of people have you here?" 
 
 "I have my orderly, and two men to patrol 
 the demesne: hut to-morrow we'll draw the net 
 tighter. We'll call in all the party from Moate. 
 and. from information I have got, we're sure to 
 track him." 
 
 "What confidences is Curtis making with 
 
 Mademoiselle Nina?" said Atlee, who, though af- 
 fecting to join the general conversation, had oev- 
 
 1 er ceased to watch them. 
 
 '•The captain is telling me how he put down 
 
 1 the Fenians in the rising of '61," said Nina, 
 
 | calmly. 
 
-02 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 "And did he? I say, Curtis, have you really 
 suppressed rebellion in Ireland ?" 
 
 "No; nor won't, Mr. Joe Atlee, till we put 
 down the rascally Press— the unprincipled pen- 
 ny-a-liners, that write treason to pay for their 
 dinner." 
 
 ' ' Poor fellows ! " replied Atlee. ' ' Let us hope 
 it does not interfere with their digestion. But 
 seriously, mademoiselle, does it not give you a 
 great notion of our insecurity here in Ireland 
 when you see to what we trust law and order." 
 
 "Never mind him, Curtis," said Kilgobbin. 
 " When these fellows are not saying sharp 
 things, they have to be silent." 
 
 While the conversation went briskly on, Nina 
 contrived to glance unnoticed at her watch, and 
 saw that it wanted only a quarter of an hour to 
 nine. Nine was the hour she had named to 
 Donogan to be in the garden, and she already 
 trembled at the danger to Tvhieh she had exposed 
 him. She reasoned thus : " So reckless and fear- 
 less is this man, that, if he should have come de- 
 termined to see me, and I do not go to meet him, 
 he is quite capable of entering the house boldly, 
 even at the cost of being captured. The very 
 price he would have to pay for his rashness 
 would be its temptation." 
 
 A sudden cast of seriousness overcame her as 
 she thus thought, and Kate, perceiving it, rose at 
 once to retire. 
 
 "You were not ill, dearest Nina? I saw you 
 grow pale, and I fancied for a moment you seemed 
 faint." 
 
 "No; a mere passing weakness. I shall lie 
 down and be better presently." 
 
 "And then you'll come up to aunt's room — I 
 call godmother aunt now — and take tea with 
 Gorman and us all." 
 
 "Yes, I'll do that after a little rest. I'll take 
 half an hour or so of quiet," said she, in broken 
 utterances. "I suppose the gentlemen will sit 
 over their wine ; there's no fear of their break- 
 ing up." 
 
 "Very little fear, indeed," said Kate, laughing 
 at the word. " Papa made me give out some of 
 his rare old '41 wine to-day, and they're not like- 
 ly to leave it. " 
 
 "By-by, then, for a little while," said Nina, 
 dreamily, for her thoughts had gone off on an- 
 other track. " I shall join you later on." 
 
 Kate tripped gayly up the stairs, singing pleas- 
 antly as she went, for hers was a happy heart and 
 a hopeful. 
 
 Nina lingered for a moment with her hand on 
 the banister, and then hurried to her room. 
 
 It was a still, cold night of deep winter, a very 
 faint crescent of a new moon was low in the sky, 
 and a thin snow-fall, slightly crisped with frost, 
 covered the ground. Nina opened her window 
 and looked out. All was still and quiet without 
 — not a twig moved. She bent her ear to listen, 
 thinking that on the frozen ground a step might 
 perhaps be heard, and it was a relief to her anx- 
 iety when she heard nothing. The chill, cold air 
 that came in through the window warned her to 
 muffle herself well, and she drew the hood of her 
 scarlet cloak over her head. Strong-booted, and 
 with warm gloves, she stood for a moment at her 
 door to listen, and finding all quiet, she slowly 
 descended the stairs and gained the hall. She 
 started affrighted as she entered, thinking there 
 was some one seated at the table, but she rallied 
 in an instant, as she saw it was only the loose 
 
 horseman's coat or cloak of the chief constable, 
 which, lined with red, and with the gold-laced cap 
 beside it, made up the delusion that alarmed her. 
 
 It was not an easy task to withdraw the heavy 
 bolts and bars that secured the massive door, and 
 even to turn the heavy key in the lock required 
 an effort ; but she succeeded at length, and is- 
 sued forth into the open. 
 
 "How I hope he has not come; how I pray 
 he has not ventured," said she to herself as she 
 walked along. "Leave-takings are sad things, 
 and why incur one so full of peril and misery 
 too ! When I wrote to him, of course I knew 
 nothing of his danger, and it is exactly his dan- 
 ger will make him come!" She knew of others 
 to whom such reasonings would not have applied, 
 and a scornful shake of the head showed that she * 
 would not think of them at such a moment. The 
 sound of her own footsteps on the crisp ground 
 made her once or twice believe she heard some 
 one coming, and, as she stopped to listen, the 
 strong beating of her heart could be counted. 
 It was not fear — at least not fear in the sense of 
 a personal danger — it was that high tension which 
 great anxiety lends to the nerves, exalting vitali- 
 ty to a state in which a sensation is as powerful 
 as a material influence. 
 
 She ascended the steps of the little terraced 
 mound of the rendezvous, one by one, over- 
 whelmed almost to fainting by some imagined 
 analogy with the scaffold, which might be the 
 fate of him she was going to meet. 
 
 He was standing under a tree, his arms cross- 
 ed on his breast, as she came up. The moment 
 she appeared he rushed to meet her, and throw- 
 ing himself on one knee, he seized her hand and 
 kissed it. 
 
 "Do you know your danger in being here?" 
 she asked, as she surrendered her hand to his 
 grasp: 
 
 "I know it all, and this moment repays it ten- 
 fold." 
 
 "You can not know the full extent of the 
 peril ; you can not know that Captain Curtis and 
 his people are in the Castle at this moment, that 
 they are in full cry after you, and that every av- 
 enue to this spot is watched and guarded." 
 
 "What care I! Have I not this ?" And he 
 covered her hand with kisses. 
 
 "Every moment that you are here increases 
 your danger, and if my absence should become 
 known, there will be a search after me. I shall 
 never forgive myself if my folly should lead to 
 your being captured." 
 
 "If I could but feel my fate was linked with 
 yours, I'd give my life for it willingly." 
 
 "It was not to listen to such words as these 1 
 came here." 
 
 "Remember, dearest, they are the last confes- 
 sions of one you shall never see more. They are 
 the last cry of a heart that will soon be still forever. " 
 
 "No, no, no!" cried she, passionately. "There 
 is life enough left for you to win a worthy name. 
 Listen to me calmly now ; I have heard from Cur- 
 tis within the last hour all his plans for your cap- 
 ture ; I know where his patrols are stationed, and 
 the roads they are to watch." 
 
 "And did you care to do this?" said he, ten- 
 derly. 
 
 ' ' I would do more than that to save you. " 
 
 "Oh, do not say so!" cried he, wildly, "or 
 you will give me such a desire to live as will 
 make a coward of me." 
 
.OKI) KILGOBBIN. 
 
 203 
 
 "Curtis suspects you will go nor th w ar d; ei- 
 ther lie has had information, or computes it bom 
 
 what vim have done already." 
 
 "lie is wrong, then. When I go hence, it 
 -hall he to the court-house at Tullamore, where 
 I mean to give myself up.'' 
 
 '•As what?" 
 
 •• As what I am — a rchel, convicted, sentenced, 
 and escaped, and still a rebel." 
 
 •• Yon do not. then, care for life?*' 
 
 •• Do I not, for such moments of life as this:" 
 cried he. as with a wild rapture he kissed her 
 hand again and again. 
 
 ••And were I to ask you, you would not try to 
 save your life?" 
 
 "To share that life with you there is not any 
 thing I would not dare. To live and know you 
 were another's is more than I can face. Tell 
 me. Nina, is it true you are to he the wife of this 
 soldier? I can not utter his name." 
 
 '• I am to be married to Mr. Walpole.'' 
 
 " What ! to that contemptuous young man yon 
 have already told me so much of? How have 
 they brought you down to this?" 
 
 "There is no thought of bringing down; his 
 rank and place are above my own — he is by fam- 
 ily and connection superior to us all." 
 
 "And what is he, or how does he aspire to 
 you? Is the vulgar security of competence to 
 live on — is that enough for one like you ? is the 
 well-balanced good-breeding of common polite- 
 ness enough to fill a heart that should be fed on 
 passionate devotion ? You may link yourself to 
 mediocrity, but can you humble your nature to 
 resemble it ? Do you believe you can plod on 
 the dreary road of life without an impulse or an 
 ambition, or blend your thoughts with those of a 
 man who has neither ?" 
 
 She stood still, and did not utter a word. 
 
 "There are some — I do not know if you are 
 one of them — who have an almost shrinking 
 dread of poverty. " 
 
 "lam not afraid of poverty." 
 
 "It has but one antidote, I know — intense 
 love! The all-powerful sense of living for an- 
 other begets indifference to the little straits and 
 trials of narrow fortune, till the mind at last comes 
 to feel how much there is to live for beyond the 
 indulgence of vulgar enjoyments ; and if, to crown 
 all, a high ambition be present, there will be an 
 ecstasy of bliss no words can measure." 
 
 •• Have you failed in Ireland ?" asked she, Sud- 
 denly. 
 
 "Failed, so far as to know that a rebellion will 
 only ratify the subjection of the country to En- 
 gland ; a reconquest would be slavery. The 
 chronic discontent that burns in every peasant 
 heart will do more than the appeal to arms. It 
 is slow, but it is certain." 
 
 "And where is your part?" 
 
 "My part is in another land; my fortune is 
 linked with America — that is, if I care to have a 
 fortune." 
 
 "Come, come, Donogan," cried she, calling 
 him inadvertently by his name, "men like you 
 do not give up the battle of life so easily. It is 
 the very essence of their natures to resist pressure 
 and defy defeat." 
 
 "So I could; so I am ready to show myself. 
 Give me but hope. There are high path- u. be 
 trodden in more than one region of the globe. 
 There are great prizes to be wrestled for. hut it 
 must be bv him who would share them with an- 
 
 other. Tell me. Nina," said he, suddenly, low- 
 ering his voire to a tone of exquisite tenderne— . 
 •• have you never, as a little child, played at thai 
 game of what is called seeking your fortune, wan- 
 dered out into some thick wood or along a wind- 
 ing rivulet, to meet whatever little incident im- 
 agination illicit dignify into adventure; and in 
 
 the chance heroism of your situation have you 
 
 not found an intense delimit ? And if so in child- 
 hood, why not see if adult years can not renew 
 the experience ? Why not see if the great world 
 be not as dramatic as the small one? I should say 
 it is still more so. I know you have courage. 
 
 "And what will couruge do for me?" asked 
 she, after a pause. 
 
 " For you, not much ; for me, every thing." 
 
 "I do not understand you." 
 
 "I mean this — that if that stout heart could 
 dare the venture and trust its fate to me — to me, 
 poor, outlawed, and doomed, there would be a 
 grander heroism in a girl's nature than ever found 
 home in a man's." 
 
 "And what should I be?" 
 
 "My wife within an hour; my idol while I 
 live." 
 
 " There are some who would give this another 
 name than courage," said she, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Let them call it what they will, Nina. Is it 
 not to the unbounded trust of a nature that is 
 above all others that I, poor, unknown, ignoble 
 as I am, appeal when I ask — Will you be mine ? 
 One word — oidy one ; or, better still — " 
 
 He clasped her in Ins arms as he spoke, and. 
 drawing her head toward his, kissed her cheek 
 rapturously. 
 
 With wild and fervent words, he now told her 
 rapidly that he had come prepared to make her 
 the declaration, and had provided every thing, in 
 the event of her compliance, for their flight. By 
 an unused path through the bog they should gain 
 the main road to Maryborough, where a priest 
 well known in the Fenian interest would join 
 ! them in marriage. The officials of the railroad 
 were largely imbued with the Nationalist senti- 
 ment, and Donogan could be sure of safe cross- 
 ing to Kilkenny, where the members of the party 
 were in great force. 
 
 In a very few words he told her how, by the 
 mere utterance of his name, he could secure the 
 
 faithful services and the devotion of the i pie 
 
 in every town or village of the kingdom. "The 
 English have done this for us," cried he. "and 
 we thank them for it. They have popularized re- 
 bellion in a way that all our attempts could never 
 have accomplished. How could 1, for instance, 
 gain access to those little gatherings at fair or mar- 
 ket, in the yard before the chapel, or the square 
 before the court-house — how could I be able to 
 explain to these groups of country people what 
 we mean by a rising in Ireland ? what we pur- 
 pose by a revolt against England? how it is to he 
 carried on, or for whose benefit ? what the prizes 
 of success, what the cost of failure? Yet the En- 
 glish have contrived to embody all these iii one 
 word, and that word my name!" 
 
 There was a certain artifice, there is no doubt. 
 in the way in which this poorly-clad ami not dis- 
 tinguished looking man contrived to surround him- 
 self with attributes of power and influence, and 
 his self-reliance imparted to his voice a- he spoke 
 a tone of confidence that was actually dignified. 
 And, besides this, there was personal daring, for 
 his life was on the hazard, and it was the very 
 
204 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 contingency of which he seemed to take the least 
 heed. 
 
 Not less adroit, too, was the way in which he 
 showed what a shock and amazement her con- 
 duct would occasion in that world of her acquaint- 
 ances — that world which had hitherto regarded 
 her as essentially a pleasure-seeker, self-indulgent 
 and capricious. "'Which of us all,' will they 
 say, ' could have done what that girl has done ? 
 Which of us, having the world at her feet, her 
 destiny at her very bidding, would go off and 
 brave the storms of life out of the heroism of her 
 own nature? How we all misread her nature! 
 how wrongfully and unfairly we judged her ! In 
 what utter ignorance of her real character was 
 every interpretation we made! How scornfully 
 has she, by one act, replied to all our miscon- 
 struction of her! What a sarcasm on all our 
 worldliness is her devotion!'" 
 
 He was eloquent after a fashion, and he had, 
 above most men, the charm of a voice of singular 
 sweetness and melody. It was clear as a bell, 
 and he could modulate its tones till, like the drip, 
 drip of water on a rock, they fell one by one upon 
 the ear. Masses had often been moved by the 
 power of his words, and the mesmeric influence 
 of persuasiveness was a gift to do him good serv- 
 ice now. 
 
 There was much in the man that she liked. 
 She liked his rugged boldness and determination ; 
 she liked his contempt for danger and his self-re- 
 liance ; and, essentially, she liked how totally dif- 
 ferent he was to all other men. He had not their 
 objects, their hopes, their fears, and their ways. 
 To share the destiny of such a man was to insure 
 a life that could not pass unrecorded. There 
 might be storm, and even shipwreck, but there 
 was notoriety — perhaps even fame ! 
 
 And how mean and vulgar did all the others 
 she had known seem by comparison with him ; 
 how contemptible the polished insipidity of Wal- 
 pole, how artificial the neatly-turned epigrams of 
 Atlee. How would either of these have behaved 
 in such a moment of danger as this man's ? Ev- 
 ery minute he passed there was another peril to 
 his life, and yet he had no thought for himself — 
 his whole anxiety was to gain time to appeal to 
 her. He told her she was more to him than his 
 ambition — she saw herself she was more to him 
 than life. The whirlwind rapidity of his elo- 
 quence also moved her, and the varied arguments 
 he addressed, now to her heroism, now to her 
 self-sacrifice, now to the power of her beauty, 
 now to the contempt she felt for the inglorious 
 lives of commonplace people — the ignoble herd, 
 who passed unnoticed. All these swayed her; 
 and after a long interval, in which she had heard 
 him without a word, she said, in a low murmur 
 to herself, ' ' I will do it. " 
 
 Uonogan clasped her to his heart as she said 
 it, and held her some seconds in a fast embrace. 
 ' ' At last I know what it is to love ! " cried he, 
 with rapture. 
 
 "Look there!" cried she, suddenly disengag- 
 ing herself from his arm. "They are in the 
 drawing-room already. I can see them as they 
 pass the windows. I must go back, if it be for a 
 moment, as I should be missed." 
 
 "Can I let you leave me now?" he said, and 
 the tears were in his eyes as he spoke. 
 
 "I have given you my word, and you may 
 trust me," said she, as she held out her hand. 
 
 " I was forgetting this document; this is the 
 
 lease or the agreement I told you of." She took 
 it, and hurried away. 
 
 In less than five minutes afterward she was 
 among the company in the drawing-room. 
 
 "Here have I been singing a rebel ballad, 
 Nina," said Kate, "and not knowing the while 
 it was Mr. Atlee who wrote it." 
 
 "What, Mr. Atlee, "cried Nina, "is the ' Time 
 to Begin' yours ?" And then, without waiting for 
 his answer, she seated herself at the piano, and 
 striking the chords of the accompaniment with a 
 wild and vigorous hand, she sang — 
 
 If the moment ia come and the hour to need ns, 
 If we stand man to man, like kindred and kin ; 
 If we know we have one who is ready to lead us, 
 What want we for more than the word to begin ? 
 
 The wild ring of defiance in which her clear, 
 full voice gave out these words seemed to electrify 
 all present, and to a second or two of perfect si- 
 lence a burst of applause followed that even Cur- 
 tis, with all his loyalty, could not refrain from 
 joining. 
 
 "Thank God, you're not a man, Miss Nina!" 
 cried he, fervently. 
 
 "I'm not sure she's not more dangerous as she 
 is," said Lord Kilgobbin. "There's people out 
 there in the bog, starving and half-naked, would 
 face the Queen's Guards if they only heard her 
 voice to cheer them on. Take my word for it, 
 rebellion would have died out long ago in Ireland 
 if there wasn't the woman's heart to warm it." 
 
 " If it were not too great a liberty, Mademoi- 
 selle Kostalergi," said Joe, "I should tell you that 
 you have not caught the true expression of my 
 song. The brilliant bravura in which you gave 
 the last line, immensely exciting as it was, is not 
 correct. The whole force consists in the con- 
 centrated power of a fixed resolve — the passage 
 should be subdued." 
 
 An insolent toss of the head was all Nina's re- 
 ply, and there was a stillness in the room, as, 
 exchanging looks with each other, the different 
 persons there expressed their amazement at At- 
 lee's daring. 
 
 ' ' Who's for a rubber of whist ?" said Lord Kil- 
 gobbin, to relieve the awkward pause. "Are you, 
 Curtis? Atlee, I know, is ready." 
 
 " Here is all prepared," said Dick. " Captain 
 Curtis told me before dinner that he would not like 
 to go to bed till he had his sergeant's report, and 
 so I have ordered a broiled bone to be ready at one 
 o'clock, and we'll sit up as late as he likes after." 
 
 "Make the stake pounds and fives," cries Joe, 
 "and I should pronounce your arrangements per- 
 fection." 
 
 " With this amendment," interposed my lord, 
 "that nobody is expected to pay!" 
 
 "I say, Joe," whispered Dick, as they drew 
 nigh the table, "my cousin is angry with you; 
 why have you not asked her to sing ?" 
 
 " Because she expects it ; because she's toss- 
 ing over the music yonder to provoke it ; because 
 she's in a furious rage with me : that will be nine 
 points of the game in my favor," hissed he out 
 between his teeth. 
 
 "You are utterly wrong — you mistake her al- 
 together." 
 
 ' ' Mistake a woman ! Dick, will you tell me 
 what I do know, if I do. not read every turn and 
 trick of their tortuous nature •? They are oc- 
 casionally hard to decipher when they're dis- 
 pleased. It's very big print indeed when they're 
 angry." 
 
LORD KILGOBBIN 
 ou?" asked Nina, as Kate 
 
 " You're off, are 
 was about to leave. 
 •• Xes : I'm going i° read to him." 
 
 "To read to him.'" said Nina, laughing. " How 
 nice it sounds, when one sums up all existence in 
 a pronoun. Good-night, dearest — good-night," 
 and she kissed her twice. And then, as Kate 
 
 "Are you come to study whi-t, Nina?" said 
 
 Lord Kilgobbin, as she drew nigh the table. 
 
 "No, my lord. I have no talent for games, 
 but I like to look at the players." 
 
 Joe touched Dick with his foot, and shot a 
 cunning glance toward him, as though to say, 
 •' Was I not correct in all I said?" 
 
 reached the door, she ran toward her, and said, 
 '• Kiss me again, my dearest Kate !" 
 
 "I declare you have left a tear upon my cheek," 
 said Kate. 
 
 " It was ahout all I could give you as a wed- 
 ding present," muttered Nina, as she turned away. 
 
 "Couldn't you sing us something, my dear? 
 we're not such infatuated gamblers that we'll not 
 like to hear you — eh, Atlee 
 
 " Well, my lord, I don't know, I'm not sure— 
 that is. I don't see how a memory for trumps i- 
 to he maintained through the fascinating charm 
 
206 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIN. 
 
 of mademoiselle's voice. And as for cards, it's 
 enough for Miss Kostalergi to be in the room to 
 make one forget not only the cards, but the Fe- 
 nians." 
 
 "If it was only out of loyalty, then, I should 
 leave you !" said she, and walked proudly away. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIV. 
 
 NEXT MORNING. 
 
 The whist- party did not break up till nigh 
 morning. The sergeant had once appeared at 
 the drawing-room to announce that all was quiet 
 without. There had been no sign of any rising 
 of the people, nor any disposition to molest the 
 police. Indeed, so peaceful did every thing look, 
 and such an air of easy indifference pervaded the 
 country, the police were half disposed to believe 
 that the report of Donogan being in the neigh- 
 borhood was unfounded, and not impossibly cir- 
 culated to draw off attention from some other 
 part of the country. 
 
 This was also Lord Kilgobbin's belief. "The 
 man has no friends, or even warm followers, down 
 here. It was the merest accident first led him 
 to this part of the country, where, besides, we are 
 all too poor to be rebels. It"s only down in Meath, 
 where the people are well off, and rents are not 
 too high, that people can afford to be Fenians. " 
 
 "While he was enunciating this fact to Curtis, 
 they were walking up and down the breakfast- 
 room, waiting for the appearance of the ladies to 
 make tea. 
 
 "I declare it's nigh eleven o'clock," said Curtis, 
 "and I meant to have been over two baronies be- 
 fore this hour." 
 
 "Don't distress yourself, captain. The man 
 was never within fifty miles of where we are. 
 And why would he ? It is not the Bog of Allen 
 is the place for a revolution. " 
 
 "It's always the way with the people at the 
 Castle," grumbled out Curtis. "They know 
 
 more of what's going on down the country than 
 we that live there ! It's one dispatch after an- 
 other. Head-Centre Such-a-one is at the ' Three 
 Cripples.' He slept there two nights; he swore 
 in fifteen men last Saturday, and they'll tell you 
 where he bought a pair of corduroy breeches, and 
 what he ate for his breakfast — " 
 
 "I wish we had ours," broke in Kilgobbin. 
 "Where's Kate all this time?" 
 
 ' ' Papa, papa, I want you for a moment ; come 
 here to me quickly," cried Kate, whose head ap- 
 peared for a moment at the door. " Here's very 
 terrible tidings, papa dearest," said she, as she 
 drew him along toward his study. "Nina is 
 gone ! Nina has ran away ! " 
 
 " Run away for what?" 
 
 " Run away to be married ; and she is married. 
 Read this, or I'll read it for you. A country boy 
 has just brought it from Maryborough." 
 
 Like a man stunned almost to insensibility, 
 Kearney crossed his hands before him, and sat 
 gazing out vacantly before him. 
 
 "Can you listen to me? can you attend to 
 me, dear papa ?" 
 
 "Go on," said he, in a faint voice. 
 
 " It is written in a great hurry, and very hard 
 to read. It runs thus : 'Dearest — I have no time 
 for explainings nor excuses, if I were disposed to 
 make either, and I will confine myself to a few 
 facts. I was married this morning to Donogan 
 — the rebel : I know you have added the word, 
 and I write it to show how our sentiments are 
 united. As people are prone to put into the lot- 
 tery the numbers they have dreamed of, I have 
 taken my ticket in this greatest of all lotteries on 
 the same wise grounds. I have been dreaming 
 adventures ever since I was a little child, and it 
 is but natural that I marry an adventurer.'" 
 
 A deep groan from the old man made her 
 stop ; but as she saw that he was not changed in 
 color or feature, she went on : 
 
 '"He says he loves me very dearly, and that 
 he will treat me well. I like to believe both, 
 and I do believe them. He says we shall be 
 very poor for the present, but that he means to 
 become something or somebody later on. I do 
 not much care for the poverty, if there is hope ; 
 and he is a man to hope with and to hope from. 
 
 " 'You are, in a measure, the cause of all, 
 since it was to tell me he would send away all 
 the witnesses against your husband that is to be, 
 that I agreed to meet him, and to give me the 
 lease which Miss O'Shea was so rash as to place 
 in Gill's hands. This I now send you.'" 
 
 "And this she has sent you, Kate?" asked 
 Kilgobbin. 
 
 "Yes, papa, it is here, and the master of the 
 Swallows receipt for Gill as a passenger to Que- 
 bec." 
 
 "Read on." 
 
 " There is little more, papa, except what I am 
 to say to you — to forgive her." 
 
 "I can't forgive her. It was deceit — cruel 
 deceit. " 
 
 "It was not, papa. I could swear there was 
 no forethought. If there had been she would 
 have told me. She told me every thing. She 
 never loved Walpole ; she could not love him. 
 She was marrying him with a broken heart. It. 
 was not that she loved another, but she knew she 
 could have loved another." 
 
 "Don't talk such muddle to r«e," said he, an- 
 
LOUD KII.COHHIN. 
 
 207 
 
 gvily. "You fancy Eft is to be nil courting, but 
 ir isn't. In house-rent, and batchers' bills and 
 apothecaries', and the pipe-water — its shoes, ariti 
 schooling, and arrears of rent, and rhenmatism, 
 and flannel waistcoats, and toothache have a con- 
 siderable Bpace in Paradise!'' And there was a 
 grim comicality in his utterance of the word. 
 
 "She said DO more than the truth of herself," 
 broke in Kate. "With all her queenly ways, she 
 COnld tare poverty bravely — 1 know it. - ' 
 
 "So you can— any of you. if a man's making 
 love to you. You care little enough what you 
 eat, and not much more what you wear, if he 
 tells you it becomes you ; but that's not the pov. 
 
 erty that grinds and erushes. It's what eomes 
 home in sickness; it's what meets you in inso- 
 lent letters, in threats of this or menaces of that. 
 Hut what do you know about it, or why do I 
 speak of it ? She's married a man that could be 
 hanged if the law caught him, and for no other 
 reason, that I see. than because he's a felon." 
 
 "I don't think you are fair to her, papa." 
 
 "Of course I'm not. Is it likely that at sixty 
 I ran lie as great a fool as I was at sixteen?" 
 
 "So that means that you once thought in the 
 same way that she does?" 
 
 "I didn't say any such thing, miss," said he, 
 angrily. "Did you tell Miss Betty what's hap- 
 pened us ?" 
 
 "I just broke it to her, papa, and she made 
 me run away and read the note to you. Per- 
 haps you'll come and speak to her?" 
 
 " I will," said he, rising, and preparing to leave 
 the room. "I'd rather hear I was a bankrupt 
 this morning than that news!" and he mounted 
 the stairs, sighing heavily as he went. 
 
 " Isn't this fine news the morning has brought 
 us, Miss Betty !" cried he, as he entered the room 
 with a haggard look and hands clasped before 
 him. " Did you ever dream there was such dis- 
 grace in store for us ?" 
 
 "This marriage yon mean," said the old lady, 
 dryly. 
 
 "Of course I do — if you call it a marriage at all." 
 
 "I do call it a marriage — here's Father Tier- 
 ney's certificate, a copy made in his own hand- 
 writing. 'Daniel Donogan, M. P., of Killa- 
 moyle, and Innismul, County Kilkenny, to Vir- 
 ginia Kostalergi, of noplace in particular, daugh- 
 ter of Prince Kostalergi, of the same localities, 
 contracted in holy matrimony this morning at six 
 o'clock, and witnessed likewise by Morris M'Cabe, 
 vestry clerk— Mary Kestinogue, her mark.' Do 
 you want more than that?" 
 
 "Do I want moref Do I want a respectable 
 wedding? Do I want a decent man — a gentle- 
 man — a man tit to maintain her? Is this the 
 way she ought to have behaved? Is this what 
 we thought of her?" 
 
 "It is not, Maurice Kearney — you say truth. 
 I never believed so well of her till now. " I nev- 
 er believed before that she had any thing in her 
 head but to catch one of those English puppies, 
 with their soft voices and their sneers about 
 Ireland. I never saw her that she wasn't trying 
 to flatter them and to please them, and to sing 
 them down, as she called it herself— tin? rery 
 name fit for it ! And that she had the high heart 
 to take a man not only poor, but with a rope 
 round his neck, shows me how I wronged her. 
 I could give her five thousand this morning to 
 make her a dowry, and to prove how I honor her." 
 
 "Can any one tell who he is? What do we 
 know of him ? " 
 
 "All Ireland knows of him ; and, after all. 
 Maurice Kearney, she has only done what her 
 mother did before her." 
 
 " Poor Matty!" said Kearney, as he drew his 
 hand across his eves. 
 
 "Ay, ay! Poor Matty, if you like ; but Mat- 
 ty was a beauty run to seed, and, like the rest of 
 them, she married the first good-looking vaga- 
 bond she saw. Now, this girl was in the very- 
 height and bloom of her beauty, and she took a 
 fellow for other qualities than his whiskers or his 
 legs. They tell me he isn't even well-looking — 
 so that I have hopes of her." 
 
 "Well, well," said Kearney, "he has done 
 you a good turn, any how — he has got Peter (Jill 
 out of the country." 
 
 "And it's the one thing that I can't forgive 
 him, Maurice — just the one thing that's fretting 
 me now. I was living in hopes to see that scoun- 
 drel Peter on the table, and Counselor Holmes 
 bating him in a cross-examination. 1 wanted to 
 see how the lawyer wouldn't leave him a rag of 
 character or a strip of truth to cover himself with. 
 How he'd tear off his evasions, and confront him 
 with his own lies, till he wouldn't know what he 
 was saying or where he was sitting! I wanted 
 to hear the description he would give of him to 
 the jury ; and I'd go home to my dinner after 
 that, and not wait for the verdict." 
 
 "All the same, I'm glad we're rid of Peter." 
 
 " Of course you are. You're a man, and well- 
 pleased when your enemy runs away; but, if you 
 were a woman, Maurice Kearney, you'd rather 
 he'd stand out boldly and meet you, and tight his 
 battle to the end. But they haven't done with 
 me yet. I'll put that little blackguard attorney. 
 that said my letter was a lease, into Chancery ; 
 and it will go hard with me if I don't have him 
 struck off the rolls. There's a small legacy of 
 five hundred pounds left me the other day, and, 
 with the blessing of Providence, the Common 
 Pleas shall have it. Don't shake your head, 
 Maurice Kearney. I'm not robbing any one. 
 Your daughter will have enough and to spare — " 
 
 "Oh, godmother!" cried Kate, imploringly. 
 
 " It wasn't I, my darling, that said the five 
 hundred would be better spent on wedding-clothes 
 or house-linen. That delicate and refined sug- 
 gestion was your father's. It was his lordship 
 made the remark." 
 
 It was a fortunate accident at that conjuncture 
 that a servant should announce the arrival of Mr. 
 Flood, the Tory J. P., who, hearing of Donogan's 
 escape, had driven over to confer with his broth- 
 er-magistrate. Lord Kilgobbin was not sorry to 
 quit the field, where he'd certainly earned few 
 laurels, and hastened down to meet his colleague. 
 
 CHAPTEB LXXXV. 
 
 Tin: B1TD. 
 
 Wim. a the two justices and Curtis discussed 
 
 the unhappy condition of Ireland, and deplored 
 the fact that the law-breaker never appealed in 
 vain to the sympathies of a people whose instincts 
 were adverse lo discipline, [flood's estimate of 
 Donogan went very far to reconcile Kilgobbin to 
 Nina's marriage. 
 
208 
 
 LORD KILGOBBIX. 
 
 "Out of Ireland, you'll see that man has stuff 
 in him to rise to eminence and station. All the 
 qualities of which home manufacture would only 
 make a rebel, will combine to form a man of in- 
 finite resource and energy in America. Have 
 you never imagined, Mr. Kearney, that, if a man 
 were to employ the muscular energy to make his 
 way through a drawing-room that he would use 
 to force his passage through a mob, the effort 
 would be misplaced, and the man himself a nui- 
 sance ? Our old institutions, with all their faults, 
 have certain ordinary characteristics that answer 
 to good-breeding and good-manners — reverence 
 for authority, respect for the gradations of rank, 
 dislike to civil convulsion, and such like. We 
 do not sit tamely by when all these are threat- 
 ened with overthrow ; but there are countries 
 where there are fewer of these traditions, and 
 men like Donogan find their place there." 
 
 While they debated such points as these within 
 doors, Dick Kearney and Atlee sat on the steps 
 of the hall door and smoked their cigars. 
 
 " I must say, Joe," said Dick, " that your ac- 
 customed acuteness cuts but a very poor figure in 
 the present case. It was no later than last night 
 you told me that Nina was madly in love with 
 you. Do you remember, as we went up stairs to 
 bed, what you said on the landing ? ' That girl 
 is my own. I may marry her to-morrow or this 
 day three months.' " 
 "And I was right." 
 
 "So right were you that she is at this moment 
 the wife of another!" 
 
 ' ' And can not you see why ?" 
 1 ' I suppose I can ; she preferred him to you, 
 and I scarcely blame her." 
 
 "No such thing; there was no thought of 
 preference in the matter. If you were not one 
 of those fellows who mistake an illustration, and 
 see every thing in a figure but the parallel, I 
 should say that I had trained too finely. Now, 
 had she been thorough-bred, I was all right : as 
 a cock-tail, I was all wrong!" 
 " I own I can not follow you." 
 "Well, the woman was angry, and she married 
 that fellow out of pique." 
 "Out of pique?" 
 
 "I repeat it. It was a pure case of temper. 
 I would not ask her to sing. I even found fault 
 with the way she gave the rebel ballad. I told 
 her there was an old lady — Americanly speaking 
 — at the corner of College Green, who enunciated 
 the words better, and then I sat down to whist, 
 and would not even vouchsafe a glance in return 
 for those looks of alternate rage or languishment 
 she threw across the table. She was frantic. I 
 saw it. There was nothing she wouldn't have 
 done. I vow she'd have married even you at 
 that moment. And with all that, she'd not have 
 done it if she'd been ' clean-bred.' Come, come, 
 don't flare up, and look as if you'd strike me. 
 On the mother's side she was a Kearney, and all 
 the blood of loyalty in her veins ; but there must 
 have been something wrong with the Prince of 
 Delos. Dido was very angry, but her breeding 
 saved her: she didn't take a head-centre because 
 she quarreled with iEneas." 
 
 "You are, without exception, the most con- 
 ceited—" 
 
 "No, not ass — don't say ass, for I'm nothing 
 
 of the kind. Conceited, if you like, or rather if 
 your natural politeness insists on saying it, and 
 Can not distinguish between the vanity of a puppv 
 and the self-consciousness of real power; but 
 come, tell me of something pleasanter than all 
 this personal discussion — how did mademoiselle 
 convey her tidings? have you seen her note? 
 was it ' transport ?' was it high-pitched, or apolo- 
 getic ?" 
 
 " Kate read it to me, and I thought it reason- 
 able enough. She had done a daring thing, and 
 she knew it ; she hoped the best, and in any case 
 she was not faint-hearted." 
 "Any mention of me?" 
 " Not a word — your name does not occur." 
 "I thought not; she had not pluck for that. 
 Poor girl, the blow is heavier than I meant it." 
 
 "She speaks of Walpole; she incloses a few- 
 lines to him, and tells my sister where she will 
 find a small packet of trinkets and such-like he 
 had given her." 
 
 "Natural enough all that. There was no 
 earthly reason why she shouldn't be able to talk 
 of Walpole as easily as of Colenso or the cattle- 
 plague ; but you see she could not trust herself 
 to approach my name." 
 
 "You'll provoke me to kick you, Atlee." 
 "In that case I shall sit where I am. But I 
 was going to remark that as I shall start for town 
 by the next train, and intend to meet Walpole. 
 if your sister desires it, I shall have much pleas- 
 ure in taking charge of that note to his address." 
 "All right, I'll tell her. I see that she and 
 Miss Betty are about to drive over to O'Shea's 
 Barn, and I'll give your message at once." 
 
 While Dick hastened away on his errand, Joe 
 Atlee sat alone, musing and thoughtful. I have 
 no reason to presume my reader cares for his 
 reflections, nor to know the meaning of a strange 
 smile, half scornful and half sad, that played upon 
 his face. At last he rose slowly, and stood look- 
 ing up at the grim old Castle, and its quaint blend- 
 ing of ancient strength and modem deformity. 
 "Life here, I take it, will go on pretty much as 
 before. All the acts of this drama will resemble 
 each other, but my own little melodrama must 
 open soon. I wonder what sort of house there 
 will be for Joe Atlee's benefit ?" 
 
 Atlee was right. Kilgobbin Castle fell back 
 to the ways in which our first chapter found it, 
 and other interests — especially those of Kate's 
 approaching marriage — soon effaced the memory 
 of Nina's flight and runaway match. By that 
 happy law by which the waves of events follow 
 and obliterate each other, the present glided back 
 into the past, and the past faded till its colors 
 grew uncertain. 
 
 On the second evening after Nina's departure. 
 Atlee stood on the pier of Kingston as the packet 
 drew up at the Jetty. Walpole saw him. and 
 waved his hand in friendly greeting. "What 
 news from Kilgobbin ?" cried he, as he landed. 
 
 " Nothing very rose-colored," said Atlee, as he 
 handed the note. 
 
 "Is this true?" said Walpole, as a slight tre- 
 mor shook his voice. 
 "All true." 
 
 "Isn't it Irish ?— Irish the whole of it?" 
 "So they said down there, and, stranger than 
 all, they seemed rather proud of it." 
 
 THE END. 
 
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