I had waited with breathless interest for what Niall might have to say; but he put his whole secret in the opening words of his narrative.

"I am," he began, "a gold-seeker—a hunter for treasure-trove."

"A gold-seeker?" I repeated, amazed and incredulous; though here was the explanation of many mysteries.

"Yes. Here, in these very mountains gold has been found time and time again. There were mines here scarce a hundred years ago; 'tis said that ten thousand pounds' worth of gold was dug up in two months. Ten thousand pounds! Think of it!"

Niall stopped, full of a suppressed emotion, which threatened, I thought, to shake his strong frame to pieces.

"The old minstrels sang of the gold—the yellow gold, the red gold; and, touching the strings of their harps, the bards told the kings of other days of treasure that had been buried—vases, ornaments, trinkets of all sorts—"

"But tell me," I interrupted, "have you found any of these things?"

"I have found these treasures time and again. Some of them are now in the British Museum, and the money for them in my cave at the Phoul-a-Phooka with the other valuables, save those which I gave to my little lady. My storehouse is in the loneliest spot, where the timorous dare not venture, where the wild horse of the legend keeps guard for me. Once I brought my little lady there, and her eyes were so dazzled she covered them with her hands."

I listened as in a dream.

"But gold?" I asked, in an awe-stricken voice. "Have you found—"

"About a hundred ounces," he replied, "of genuine pure gold. But what is a hundred ounces where tons, perhaps, lie buried?"

He sprang up and paced the room, a fever, almost of insanity, glowing on his cheeks and in his eyes. I watched with a new interest this man, who was making the hills and streams of his loved Ireland yield up this treasure.

"It seems like a fairy-tale," I said.

"It is not fairy gold," Niall cried, with a grim smile; "and it has cost me years of slavery. I have guarded the secret with my life. I have spent long, lonely years in this cheerless cabin, haunting the streams by night, washing and rewashing the precious clay in the chill dawn, testing the gold in the fire of yonder hearth, often when the rest of the world was sleeping. Gold has been my idol, my one devotion."

"Do you get the gold in large pieces?"

"In every size, from the tiniest sparkle worth about sixpence to a lump worth several shillings."

"It is wonderful, wonderful!" I could only repeat.

"My studies in the East helped me much in my work," Niall observed; "but indeed for years past the study of precious metals, and how to procure them, has been the one object of my life."

"Even should your secret come to light," I ventured to say, "surely there is enough for every one in the bowels of the earth."

"There may be," Niall cried wildly—"oh, there may be; but no one must know of it till I have got my portion! Besides, as all gold-seekers know, the gold is as uncertain as a fickle woman. Sometimes in a stream there is but a little, or there will be much in one portion of the river's bed and none at all in the other."

"Did Roderick know?" I asked.

"Never. I was but beginning my search when he went away. I would not have told him in any case. He would have wanted to share our good fortune with every one."

"Winifred knows?"

"Yes, she knows. I could trust her with my secret."

He fell into deep abstraction; and I, watching him, could scarcely realize that this quiet, thoughtful man was the same wild being who had terrified me during the storm. It showed me the fearful power of gold over the human heart, and how it was capable of changing an ordinary gentleman of studious habits into the semblance of a wild beast. He roused himself all at once to say:

"You spoke of some plan of yours for the child?"

"My plan for Winifred," I said boldly, though with some inward fear, "was to take her away with me to America, and put her at a convent school, where she should be educated as befits her station in life."

His face grew dark as I spoke, and he flashed upon me one of his old suspicious glances.

"You wanted to take her to America! How am I to know that you are not, after all, an agent sent by Roderick or by some of the mother's people?"

"You have only my word for it," I said, slightly drawing myself up. "I can offer no other proof."

"I suppose it is all right," he replied, with another keen look and a deep sigh; "if not, then has misfortune indeed overtaken me."

This was said as if to himself; and presently, raising his voice, he asked:

"Pray what do they teach at these convent schools?"

"They teach their pupils to be Christian ladies," I answered warmly.

He was silent again for a moment or two, then he went on:

"I have grounded her in all her studies, and if she continues with me she will be thoroughly well instructed in many branches. But there are some things I can not teach her. I know that all too well."

"And those are precisely what the child would learn at a convent school," I put in eagerly.

"Think for a moment," he exclaimed vehemently, "what such a parting would mean to me! I am old. I might never see her again. Even if I can rely on your good faith once you are out of my sight, I will forever stand in fear of some evil befalling her, some mischance which would upset all my plans."

"I thought you intended to take her to America yourself?" I said.

"Yes; to find her father, and to persuade him to come back with us to his native land."

"But he might refuse."

"That would be unlikely, unless he was married again. In that case, I would bring Winifred back to be lady of the castle."

I sat thoughtful, musing over this plan, which seemed like a dream of romance. But Niall's voice broke in on my musings:

"Should I let the child go with you, it is on condition that she does not see Roderick until I give my consent; and should I want her back here in the meantime, she must come."

"She is not to see her father?"

"No, no! She must go direct to the school, and Roderick must not know of her presence there."

"It seems hard!" I murmured.

"Hard! But does he deserve better?" said Niall. "For whatever cause, he has left Winifred to my care and that of Mrs. Meehan all these years."

"That is true," I responded; "and I accept the conditions."

"It will be the saddest moment of my life when I see my little lady depart," Niall exclaimed; and already his face was drawn and haggard and his voice husky at the prospect. "But should my dream be realized, she will acquire the manner, the accomplishments, the graces which our Wicklow hills can not furnish. You are right; she must go."

I was at once touched and astonished at his ready compliance with my wishes. I had feared it might be a tedious task to overcome his objections. But the clear mind of the man had at once perceived the advantages of my plan.

"You see, I am putting entire trust in you. I am confiding Winifred to you. I have already told you my secret."

"You shall never have cause to regret either," I cried warmly. "And as for the conditions, they shall be put down in writing, and Winifred shall be restored to you when and where you desire."

"What will these hills be like without her!" he exclaimed, rising and going to the window.

There was again that wildness in tone and manner as of a mind which had become somewhat unsettled by the strange, wandering life he had led, with its fever of suspense and excitement.

"What will the greensward be like, child of my heart, when your foot no more shall press it? What will the hills be like when your eyes—asthore machree!—shall not look upon them? And the Glen of the Dargle shall have lost its charm when you are not there, its spirit!"

He tossed his arms above his head and rushed wildly from the cabin. I waited for a time; but as he did not return, I slowly followed the homeward path, content with what I had accomplished for one day, but wondering much at the strange revelations which Niall had made.

Before I reached home I suddenly met Winifred. Her face was clouded, and at first she scarcely noticed me.

"What is the matter with Niall?" she asked. "I met him and he would not look at me. I called his name, but he ran away and would not speak."

"He will tell you all in good time," I answered soothingly.

"It is you!" she said, looking at me keenly, with a glance like that of her kinsman. "You have been vexing him: saying something that he did not like."

"We must all have things said to us that we do not like, when it is for our good," I remarked gravely.

"I wish you had never come here! I wish you would go away!" Winifred exclaimed, stamping her little foot till it stuck in the soft earth.

"See, how useless is ill-temper!" I said; for I was rather annoyed by her petulance. "You have spoiled your pretty shoe. And as for going away, when I go, you will go too."

She turned pale, then trembled and stammered out a question or two:

"I—go—with you? Where?"

"All the way to America."

"To America!" said Winifred, in an amazement which seemed blended with fear or emotion of some sort.

"Yes; over the great sea," I went on, "where you will see many new and beautiful things."

"But I don't want to see them!" she replied, with an energy that startled me.

"That is not a nice way to put it, dear," I said gently. "I hope, indeed, you will be a very good girl and give me as little trouble as possible. You will have to leave your wilful ways in the mountains with the sprites."

"Niall will never allow it!" she cried, with childish triumph.

"Niall has just said 'Yes.' So I give you a month to prepare," I declared firmly. I had determined to exert my authority from that moment forward, as it was necessary that I should.

"Niall has said 'Yes'!" she repeated, drawing a sharp breath and speaking as one in a dream. Her lip quivered; two tears shone in her eyes, but she would not let them fall. Turning on me instead, with a curious tone of command, she asked:

"Who are you?"

"A friend."

"An enemy, I think!" said Winifred, and with that she turned sharply away and was soon hidden in the brushwood. But I heard her only a few moments afterward, sobbing aloud and calling, as Niall had done, on Nature:

"I can't leave the hills and the streams and the valleys! I can't leave Wicklow and the Dargle and the castle, and dear Granny and Moira and Barney and Niall! Oh, it would break my heart!"

She sobbed again for a few moments; then her voice rang out defiantly:

"I will not go! I will hide in the hills, as the O'Byrnes did in the wars. I will live in a cave like them and not go to that hateful America."

I went back to the inn, resolving to try to win the child over to my ideas as I had done her uncle. I foresaw many difficulties in the way; and as I sat down on the wooden bench outside the door I began to wonder if my idea was, after all, a mistaken one. The air was very fresh and pure after the storm; the verdure of that Emerald Isle, so fondly remembered by its exiled sons and daughters, was rich and glowing after the rain; and the hills were shrouded in a golden haze, darkening into purple near the summit. I sat and listened to a thrush singing in the lilac bush near which I had seen Winifred sitting on the morning of our visit to the castle, till a strange peace stole over me and I lost all my fears.