The Eumenides galloped in full cry after my lady. Their quarry was run down, scrambled up and staggered on again--was near the end of the run now. When Shane, apple of his mother's eye, gave the last unconscious stab, she bore it without wincing, and sat up and attempted a wintry smile, as he had bidden her. The goblet which, through her strength of character, she had been able to push aside during many years, was held at her lips by a ruthless hand, and must be drained. There was no help for it. She must go and grovel before the hated Gillin, and pray her in mercy to remove the obnoxious Norah. There was nothing else for it. Schemes had miscarried, plots had fallen through. What a sorry spectacle is a harried mortal in the death-grip of the hags of AtÉ!

Even a year's absence at Glas-aitch-É had not blurred the memory of Norah in the heart of the young prodigal. Gillin still beguiled him to the Little House--the knavish, cruel woman! What steadiness of purpose she had shown all through her relentless course! And now she was waiting in her den with cool assurance to consummate her fiendish work. What a terrible thing to have to bow down and implore mercy from this common, vulgar wretch! Would she even now, with her rival at her feet, be merciful? Or would she, with the inherent ungenerosity of a low nature, spurn and deride the victim? Be that as it might, the ordeal must be assayed. It was no use to shake the fist at serene heaven in the impotence of rage. That would in nowise mend matters, and was silly besides. My lady resolved at last to take her cup and drink the draught, since there was no avoiding it. For several days she waited, hoping against hope for a means of escape. None came. She accepted the position, put on her hood, and sallied forth on the self-same afternoon upon which Terence decided to speak out to Shane.

Madam Gillin, in her amazement, swept down the jam-pots which she was stowing in a cupboard when Norah tore breathless up the stairs to announce that a leedy was coming up the walk who was no other than the Countess of Glandore.

'Holy Mother!' she ejaculated. The moment was come then--at last! and the two were to speak out, face to face. It could only be on one subject--an unpleasant interview. What could induce the countess now to strike her colours, and come of her own accord, who for years had declined to acknowledge her neighbour's existence? The haughty countess must be hard pressed indeed to humble herself in this wise. Peeping through shutter-chinks, she beheld the stately figure of my lady--as straight as an arrow, shrouded in a silken wrapper, moving slowly towards her door, and screamed out orders to Jug to get out her best gown instantly, and place some wine on the parlour table.

My lady was kept waiting for fully half an hour, while the mistress of the Little House was arranging her war-paint, during which time she had leisure to glance round the adornments of the chamber--bright, big, showy, glowing and rubicund, blatant with varnished newness--so different from the cobwebbed dignity of the black oak and tapestry at the Abbey. The ceiling was painted in the Italian style, with clouds on cerulean ether like bits of cotton-wool. The floor was thickly carpeted, the windows heavily curtained--for the judges, when they came to carouse with their gay hostess, liked what was snug and cosy. Over the chimney-piece were two portraits, side by side, at which my lady frowned--the late Lord Glandore and Norah. The woman was evidently shameless, to place my lord's portrait so en evidence. This long delay was, no doubt, a premeditated insult. The original of the second portrait, conscious that it was rude of her mamma to be so long in dressing, skimmed down the stairs and banged open the door to make a good-humoured apology, but closed it quickly and retreated--the aspect of the old lady was so forbidding as she stood upright in the centre of the floor, with thin nose pinched and bent brows scowling. If the squireens of Letterkenny had been frightened by the gorgon's stony face when she strove to be gracious, how much more awful did she appear now, when grilling on the coals of humiliation.

By-and-by, with a prodigious rattle, Madam Gillin swam in and curtseyed. If there was to be a passage of arms, she was determined not to be taken at a disadvantage. Fortune had denied her the grand air which goes with blue blood and coronets, but she was resolved to make up for the want of it by a display of external magnificence. Though warm and moist with the exertion of plunging into grandeur at so short a notice, she looked mighty fine in her best red satin, made very tight and short, with a Roman emperor in cameo grinning on the high waistband, and another nodding from her hair. The ruddy tint of her mature charms vied with the ruby of the satin and the redness of the turban, and came by no means badly out of the conflict.

When arrayed in the garments of ceremony, Madam Gillin, despite the stoutness of her figure, could be extremely dignified. With a second curtsey and a sweep round of the left foot, she bade the visitor welcome to her poor home, and pointed a mittened forefinger at a chair.

'It's honoured that I am entirely, by your leedyship's condescension,' she said, wagging the turban affably. 'Might I offer some sherry-wine, or would your leedyship prefer clart? or a dhrop of prime poteen? The judges, bless you, prefer clart. Sure, Jug'll bring a cake in a jiffy, for drink's bad on an empty stomach.'

The countess responded by a freezing bow. How hard it was to begin! Yet, having come, she must needs speak out. This ungenerous foe was exaggerating her own defects with intention, in order to make the task more difficult; was pretending to believe that her neighbour had 'dropped in' by a friendly impulse, just to scrape a tardy acquaintance over a glass of wine. The next words of the enemy showed that it was so.

'Your leedyship's sons are quite old cronies here,' she remarked. 'They often honour my tipple, and find it good; faith, it's the same as their dear papa used to like, poor fellow!' Here she nodded solemnly at the portrait, lest my lady should not have noticed it. 'And fine boys they are, though the eldest is a bit skittish. Your leedyship has reason to be proud of them--specially the younger.'

It was as the countess expected. The woman was brutal and pitiless and devoid of shame. Each word, each movement, was an outrage, a barb hurled with studied purpose. Nothing could come of an interview begun upon these lines; it would be better to cut it short, ere self-control was lost. My lady had not moved from her position on the centre of the floor, not choosing to notice the invitation to be seated. Gathering her wrapper close, with a haughty movement of white fingers, she said abruptly, as she turned to go:

'Woman! I have lowered myself in order to conjure you to consider what you do. You have harmed me, Mrs. Gillin, as much as you could ever since I first set eyes on you, although I never did you hurt. You robbed me of my husband, and flaunted your prize all over Dublin, and I bore my cross without a word, because one may not touch pitch without being one's self defiled. You encouraged my second son in his folly; pushed him down the incline till you nearly brought him to the gallows; and now you are determined, if you can, to bring young Glandore to ruin. You are a devil--not a woman! Hate me, if you will, for I would prefer your hatred to your friendship; but surely you cannot hate him, or you would not hang his portrait there. Even if he did you any wrong, of which I am ignorant, forbear to wreak vengeance on his children. I never understood your motives. What can you gain by compassing all this mischief?'

'Whom did yon say I wished to bring to ruin?' sneered the scarlet lady, unabashed.

The pale face of the countess flushed crimson, and she proceeded as if the words stuck in her throat:

'This hideous marriage must be prevented; you know why as well as I do. Think of the wreck to which you would bring these innocent lives. Remember, at least, that the girl is your own child, poor thing. Feel pity for her, if you can summon none for the other.'

'I have as much pity for my child as you for yours!' Madam Gillin retorted, with meaning. 'When his neck was in danger, you never stirred a finger-nail.'

My lady stopped at the door to make one more effort.

'You have deliberately brought those two together, though I have strained every nerve to keep them apart. Dare you stand by and see them married?'

'If the childer like each other, faix, it's not me as'll spoil the fun!' returned her tormentor.

My lady groaned and made as if she would speak again, but Mrs. Gillin's fat back was turned; she was improving the position of the cameos, by means of a mirror on the wall.

Lady Glandore adjusted her hood on her white hair, and moved swiftly, with bowed head, away from the Little House; while Madam Gillin, detaching her gorgeous turban, turned quickly round with a grin, so soon as she was fairly gone, and watched her from behind a shutter. The good lady was troubled in her mind, and stood staring down the walk, as the grin faded, long after the muffled figure had departed. At length she clapped the errant comb into its place upon her head, and murmured:

'I'm a devil, not a woman, am I? Sure that cap fits best on your own pate. Rather than speak out, you'd let that lad be whipped off to Fort George, would you? Just as you would have let him be hanged--mother without a heart! It's Lucifer's pride ye have, every ha'porth of it. Well, my lips have been closed long enough.' Then, nodding to the picture over the chimney-piece, she added aloud: 'Have I kept my word with ye? Ye wished it all set right, bad man, when Satan pinched ye. Who was it that was always bidding ye to see to it yourself, and ye wouldn't? And her pride is as great as yours. Never fear; it shall be set right by me; for I like the boy for himself as well as for my oath. Before the sun's set I'll go to Ely Place and tell my Lord Clare something that'll astonish him.'

'Tell him what, mamma?' asked Norah, who was dying to learn what had taken place.

'Never mind, child!' grunted madam, as she squeezed the impudent young lady's peachen cheek. 'What d'ye think that stiff old bag-o'-bones said just now? That I didn't love my girl; and that I'd do her wanton harm.'

'She lied!' retorted prompt Norah.

'Faith, ye're right!' agreed her mother, with a smacking kiss. 'Order round the shay, and come and help me to take off my toggery.'

My lady sped rapidly away. The ordeal--short and sharp--more bitter even than she dreamed--was over; the draught was swallowed--in vain. Gillin's taunts had shrivelled her soul like branding-irons. It behoved her to arrange her features before returning to the Abbey, lest some one should detect the troubled aspect of the chatelaine and make guesses at its cause, which might possibly come near the truth. As courage failed and resolution waned, her secret struggled the harder to come forth. With the self-consciousness of guilt she seemed to feel it emblazoned on her forehead, where all who ran might read.

Instead of returning by the grand drive which was but at the distance of a stone's-throw, she followed the main road, skirted the wall that bounded her rival's grounds, and re-entered Strogue from the back, by the wooden postern which gave access to the rosary.

The thrusts of the full-blown champion in red satin were few; but they went home, and smarted still. My lady's ears tingled yet as she walked between the tall beech hedges. We are conscious often of doing wrong, but decline to look upon our fault, and coax ourselves to disbelieve in its existence by persistently turning our attention to more pleasing objects. But when another individual, whose human voice we can't shut out, brays forth the story of the sin with trumpet clearness, we seem to wake up as to a new appreciation of its enormity, which comes like a fresh revelation of turpitude. Thus was it with my lady in this instance. She was well aware that her treatment of Terence, from the beginning, was below the level of just solicitude; that latterly, though his position as a traitor awaiting punishment had weighed her down, yet she had acquiesced, with a weakness which was itself a fault, in the prejudged sentence, and had been prepared to hear that the scrag-boy's work was done without attempting personally to move in the matter. Conscience whispered once or twice that by virtue of her rank she ought to force admittance to the Castle. Nay! that she ought to have hurried long ago to London, and have wrested her boy's life from the King's clemency; have dogged his Majesty to Weymouth; have stormed him in retirement; and have even tossed the sprats that he was frying into the flames if he took refuge in his wonted obstinacy. In a hazy way she knew all this full well. She knew, indistinctly, that the scrag-boy had become to her warped soul a harbinger of peace; and afraid of seeing too much on the glass which conscience held, had shut her eyes and breathed on it till the Present should become Past, and thereby irretrievable. But Gillin's words could not be shut out after so simple a fashion. She had hinted a few moments since, with scathing irony, that even if she sacrificed her own child in cold blood on the altar of Nemesis, her conduct would be no worse than my lady's had been to her second son. And my lady's conscience echoed the speech with loud applause. She looked now straight into her own heart, and was appalled at what she saw there; she hearkened to the upbraidings of the monitor, and admitted that his reproaches were deserved--that even the travail of an embittered life was not an atonement sufficient for its crime.

It is an awful moment when a nature built on pride begins to crumble. The crash follows swiftly on the warning. Extremes tumble together; the loftier the edifice the more complete its collapse. The upbraidings of the monitor--harsh, unrelenting, awfully distinct--dinned in my lady's ears as she paced with muffled head between the hedges of the rosary. Presently she heard a murmur. No! That was not conscience. Those were human voices--the voices of her sons--arguing in a high key. Great heavens! they were quarrelling.

With a stealthy step, holding her mantle in close folds lest its rustle should betray the presence of an eavesdropper, she stole along under the lofty hedge.

Shane was in his hunting-suit. He was surrounded by his hounds. They sniffed about and rolled on the damp grass, making their toilet in dog fashion, to clean their muddy backs. Eblana and Aileach sat on their hams gazing at their master with wistful heads poised on one side. Shane stood facing his mother, who marked that the muscles of his face were twitching, while his limbs shook with passion. Terence had his back to her--a tall, quiet figure, distinct against a faded sky which was faint with the glare of a departed sun. His broad, square shoulders stood out distinctly from a light background of misty hedge, of blotted, translucent pink, and pale yellow, and blue-green, across which streamed a troop of darkling phantoms--crows cawing off to roost.

Shane's hunting-whip sawed the air, as he passed it from one nervous hand to the other. He was always so ready with his whip. It seemed as much as he could do to withhold its sinuous thong from off his brother. Terence was speaking. My lady held her breath to listen.

'I speak to you as from the grave,' he said. 'My life is done. A week or two at most, and my place will be vacant--my shadow will darken the threshold of my ancestors no more. Take care, my brother! When you look on my empty seat let the sad memory of me be precious on your hearth, untarnished by regret. You are the head of the house. Do not forget the responsibilities to which you are born. Look at the tapestry in the drawing-room, and follow the example of your fathers. Do your duty by them; be without fear and without reproach. Do not earn for yourself among the family pictures an empty frame from which posterity shall have wrenched the portrait.'

'Peace! I will not bear your prosing!' hissed the young earl. 'You are no better than a felon. You've wrecked yourself through your own folly, and now would inflict your broken-backed morality on me. I told you once you were no better than a "half-mounted." Ye're not so good. As for your insolent advice, that for it! I'll tell you this much, to set your mind at rest. I've made it up with my Lord Cornwallis by explaining that the mistake was due to you. I've pledged my own vote to Government, and all the influence that I can bring to bear. Two of the boroughs I hold will be disfranchised, in return for which I am to have money down.'

'Oh, remember!' broke in Terence. 'That it's blood-money, which carries a curse with it. That it will come out of Irish coffers. By a refinement of barbarity it is Erin who will have to pay the ruffians who will slay her!'

'Pooh!' retorted Shane, with a finger-snap. 'Whatever your worship's views may be, I will vote for union--there! Not that it can signify to yon one way or t'other, so soon as you have been carted off to Scotland.'

'Then after this,' returned Terence, with hot reproach, 'you should quarter an auctioneer's hammer with the arms of old Sir Amorey; since, like a superannuated chest of drawers, you are to be knocked down to the lowest bidder!'

My lady could endure the spectacle no longer of her two sons threatening each other in the gloaming with swollen veins, face close to face. With a ghostly sigh which startled the disputants she hurried towards the house. The brothers searched but found no one, and cast uneasy glances at each other. What was it? Could it be the banshee--messenger of ill?

Terence, regretting his sharp speech, strode with abrupt strides away, lest he might be provoked to still more regretable discourse, across the little flower-plot, past the sun-dial, through the hall, to his own chamber, wherein he locked himself, among the guns and fishing-rods; while Shane, who was athirst, followed more slowly, like a shepherd with his flock, and turned into the dining-room in search of drink.

Now Miss Wolfe, whose bedroom, it will be remembered, overlooked the flower-plot, and was opposite to the dining-room, was sitting at her window awaiting Terence's return with tidings of a successful ambassage. Of course Shane would be persuaded to see the error of his ways, and agree not to vote with Government. She was no little surprised to behold my lady, usually so majestic, hurry in a scared manner through the golden grille; then Terence; then Shane with all his hounds about him. Something was afoot; what could have happened? All three seemed strangely troubled. No! It was but a coincidence exaggerated by the distorted fancy of a convalescent into something serious. She was about to close the curtains when she was further astonished by seeing my lady rush into the dining-room with frantic gestures and fall prostrate on the ground before her son. She saw Lord Glandore turn round and try to raise his mother, but she only wrung her hands and wept, while her lips moved quickly. Two lighted candles were on the table; the winter evening was shadowing in with a blue glamour; the small flower-plot was packed with hounds that sniffed about with uneasy muzzles, for Shane had slammed-to the golden grille after him and forgotten them.

What were they talking about down there?--only some burning question could engross them thus. It was more than the curiosity of a daughter of Eve might resist. Snatching up a cloak Doreen stole downstairs, out into the garden, hushing the dogs in a whisper that their noisy greetings might not betray her presence.

My lady's subdued words came dimly to her through the glass. She cowered close to the window, nursing Eblana's head in her lap with furtive pats, for that pampered beast was importunate in his demonstrative caresses, and whined a protest against neglect. What my lady said sent a sharp thrill through Miss Wolfe. Forgetting all caution in astonishment, she rose and pressed her scared face against the pane, but mother and son were too fully occupied to heed any but themselves, as my lady poured forth at last the pent-up gall which had poisoned a life of promise, and her helpless first-born sat in a stupor, thunderstruck.

'Do not curse your old mother!' my lady implored, with a humility which jarred upon his nerves. 'Have pity on her that she should have to tell her shame. I would gladly have gone to the tomb as your father did, carrying my secret--I would have hugged it close for your sake. But the hand of God is heavy on me--it will out! You must know the truth--alas, alas!--even if you curse me! It was not my fault--indeed it was not--it was all your father's; and he went to his rest, whilst I remained to bear the penalty. He carried me off; you know that much. He was a member of the abduction-club. Placing me in a coach with a scarf about my mouth, he threatened me with a pistol if I should let down the glass and scream. Then I was borne away to Ennishowen, to the islet of Glas-aitch-É. Oh, Shane! I endured the pang of living there again for your sake--do not judge me harshly! We dwelt there a year, then returned to Dublin to assume our position in society. We were married in the blue bedroom by the parson of Letterkenny; but, Shane, it was not my fault! Your father was fierce as you are--you are his image, but more unstable. I was as an infant under his iron will; how could I resist him? The parson of Letterkenny married us--the night before we came back to Dublin.'

My lady buried her face in her thin hands and sobbed, while Shane looked on. He could not comprehend.

Finding that her son said no kind word to ease the bitter task, his mother went on in a hoarse voice--even and unbroken now by sobs--with eyes fixed doggedly upon the ground.

'I implored him--oh! how I implored him--again and again, I did indeed--to send for the parson before your birth. He was reckless. At length he seemed touched by my distress, and sent. The parson was laid up with gout, but promised to be with us on the morrow. Then--it was too late--and my lord put it off again, saying that it didn't matter, and that nobody would know. I hoped that he was right, and was comforted. When, six years later, Terence was born, the case was altered. We both saw it--alas! too late; he felt it as much as I. But after all, you were the first-born--a ceremony delayed could not alter that. It was not fair that you should suffer for what was but an act of negligence. We discussed the matter anxiously, and my lord decided to bury the secret. No one would suspect, or think to examine the date of the register, if we agreed to hold our peace. We never spoke of it--never--but we saw it in each other's eyes; and from that moment I lost his love--he was always looking with regret on Terence in a way which maddened me, while I clung to you. You were the child of sorrow. I suffered much for you on that accursed island; and then that--that woman cast her meshes over him. My lord changed his mind before he died--desired me to noise the tale abroad to all the world. I could not--my pride revolted--and my love for you. None knew the secret except one--that harlot!--my lord was faithless in that as in all other things!'

My lady's voice died away, as a host of grim recollections crowded on her memory. Presently she looked up in alarm, for Shane had made no comment. The cicatrice upon his brow stood out. She put forth her hands; he seized her by the wrists and flung her down. Without resistance she sank moaning backwards on the floor. Turning on his seat, he poured out a tumblerful of wine and drank it off; then--the whole truth breaking at last upon his slow intellect--he tore his hair, growling, and smote himself upon the head, and staggered round the room with reeling steps. Doreen did not try to hide herself, she was transfixed with wonder; yet though she showed like a vision in hoar-frost, impressed upon the casement, he saw her not. He was only aware that there was another Lord Glandore--who would return his contumely with interest--that his own portion was beggary and a bend-sinister. No wonder if the phantom of this new prospect churned and curdled his besotted brain.

'He'll hate me and take my property and title!' he muttered through his teeth again and again, in querulous cadence. 'What's to become of me--what's to become of me? I might as well be shot as beggared.'

My lady rose from the floor, haggard and gaunt, and passed her long fingers through her hair. The selfish cruelty of him for whose sake she had gone through the torture was better for her than kindness would have been. A little sympathy and she would have become hysterical. Like a sharp fillip, it strung her nerves. That from which she had shrunk so long was here in all its accumulated fulness. Well! it was part of a penance; so much was past that the remainder could matter little.

'Not so,' she said mournfully; and Shane, clinging to a reed, returned to his seat and drew her towards him.

'The secret may rest where it is,' she continued, placing a loving hand upon his head. 'No one living knows of it save you and I and--and that woman. If she meant to speak, she would have spoken long since. It may come out some day, and Terence will claim what the law will call his own, and possibly revenge himself on you for having kept him unwittingly from its enjoyment. But you shall not be brought to beggary. Alas! my deary, you are unfitted to battle with the world. Two things must be done--and done at once--betide afterwards what may. You must marry Doreen. She is an heiress, and the only one available. Your own mode of life has kept others from your path, though you might have chosen among hundreds. Her father would be glad, I know, and she is too much broken by recent afflictions to offer resistance when strong pressure is brought to bear on her.'

'Government has offered me forty-five thousand pounds for my vote and influence in the coming contest,' Lord Glandore observed presently, with a sinister smile. 'It is imminent. If Croppy can only be kept in the dark till then!'

My lady bent down and kissed him, while lines of anxious thought gathered round her mouth. She was in the slough--up to the neck--out of which it was impossible to struggle. Under happier auspices she would have recoiled from the suggestion of cold-blooded barter. But helpless Shane's position must be assured by hook or crook while there was yet time. It struck his mother that Gillin--when she should discover that her outrageous designs for Norah were foiled--might blab the secret as a last shaft of vengeance. She determined that for the present, at least, the odious creature must be humoured for prudence' sake. It was with a dreary sort of satisfaction that she found her turbulent favourite was become suddenly so malleable. What signified the unsullied shields of departed Crosbies? Unblemished honour will not renew exhausted tissues. It is well for those to prate who have never been tempted. Shane, like the rest, must sell his mess of pottage at the best market--his so long as it was not claimed. Then the idea flashed upon my lady as she meditated, 'Terence is marked out for an arch-traitor. He was not convicted--yet is he sentenced. If his claims were to be admitted now, his property (as that of one attainted) would be forfeit to the state! Better far that Shane should keep it.' Scruples were manifestly absurd. A brilliant suggestion of the devil this--which went far to reconcile my lady to existing circumstances.

There was silence between mother and son. The thoughts of both were best left unspoken. Both were absorbed in their own dreams. Eblana's cold muzzle awoke Doreen from her reverie. She glided up the steps into the hall, crept with caution past the door of the dining-room, made for the young men's wing, where, in his own nest, Terence was brooding in despondency over his blank future.

He had nothing wherewith to reproach himself. Nothing! Of that he was quite certain. It had been his duty to lay the question of union clearly before his brother, who, as head of the house, must adjudicate thereon upon his own judgment. The responsibility lay with him. Whichever way he chose to act, no dishonour could accrue to the younger from his decision, so long as he, Terence, had first registered his private protest. Shane had been most insulting--had stooped even to mock at his brother's deplorable condition. But that was of no moment. When we stand upon life's brink we can afford to contemn the foolish lapping of the waves. It mattered not a rush what Shane might say or think. Yet that scene in the rosary was not one of the rainbow-hued visions which were to fresco into warmth the cold walls of his prison-cell at Fort George. Knowing his brother's temper, it would have been more wise not to kick against the pricks. Perhaps, situated as Terence was, he would have done better not to speak at all--but it is difficult in the prime of life and manhood to accept at once your position as a corpse.

The handle of his door was turned and shaken. It was an agitated hand that shook it--a woman's hand--for his hearing, sharpened by excitement, detected the sough of silk, the unsteady grope of fingers fumbling above a handle's usual place. His heart beat fast. Was the yearning of his soul to be gratified? Was it his mother, who, so cold and forbidding hitherto, had selected the long wintry interval previous to the last meal of the day to come and whisper with kisses of how she loved and pitied him?

He turned the key. To his surprise Doreen, who entered swiftly, double-locked the door, and, tossing away her mantle, stood before him with a smile upon her lips, which he had supposed was gone for ever. Her bosom heaved as she held out her two brown hands to him.

'Terence, it's you who are Lord Glandore!' she panted. 'Shane repulsed you when you spoke to him. I know it! He is ready to accept their blood-money; he is scheming basely for it at this moment; but he shall be exposed in time. It is your duty to turn the bastard out!'

Terence deemed that his star had left its course; for she stood, like a distracted dark Ophelia, on the verge of laughter and of tears; dashing the drops from her cheek with one hand, while the other crept shyly into her cousin's and remained there.

She told him quickly all she had heard and seen--all that was made plain by the light of what she heard and saw. She told him, with disdainful lip, of how her cousin had repulsed the whitehaired suppliant; how he had whined, complaining; how his mother, fortified by that engrossing love--transfigured, ennobled by it despite her sin--had risen from her knees like a queen to comfort him.

Terence listened--one leg crossed over the other to support his elbow, while his chin rested on his hand--and instead of joining in her exultant joy, he only grew more gloomy. What was this will-o'-the-wisp that railed in such foolish fashion? At him whose heart was dead, whose career was done, upon whom the gate of a lifelong prison was about to close, who was too weary to be very sorry for his own undoing? Silly will-o'-the-wisp, who, clad in siren-guise, thought thus to lure him back to love of life! He listened to Doreen's narrative in moody thought, plucking no consolation thence. It was a poignant subject of regret that her usually incisive common-sense should be bewitched by this vulgar tempter. After all, a woman's judgment may never be relied on. It must be his office, then, to rebuke her folly, and show where his true duty lay.

A great love, indeed--a sublime love! A love which is a crown of glory, but which was in this instance a wreath doomed to be wasted on the sterile rock. Shane cared for no one but himself. Was inclined even to spurn this love--nay, had dared brutally to repulse it, because it could not accomplish impossibilities. Not a drop from the precious phial had ever leaked out for Terence--not a single drop. And he would have prized it so! Yet was his duty carved plainly out; and with the gaze of one who belongs to another world, he saw it--through foliage and matted briars--with clear vision.

'It appears that I might perhaps save our name,' he said slowly, while he nursed his knee, 'from being mixed up with those of the recreants. What is the price? Reflect, dear Doreen! If we were not beyond the influence of mundane hopes and longings, would you advise me to act thus? Would you----'

'Can there be any doubt?' cried impetuous Doreen, with flashing eyes. 'Did we not agree this very afternoon that Shane must be worked on not to disgrace his lineage. Now it is in your hands. Surely you could not----'

'Hush, hush, my dearest!' Terence responded gently. 'Remember that we are to lay up no store of evil memories! At Fort George I am to think of you as the star that has guided my thoughts upward. Reflect calmly now! In order that Shane--poor misguided fellow!--may not drag us into the ranks of the Iscariots, I should have to make good my rights before the world. To accomplish that, I should have to brand with obloquy my mother's fair fame, which in the world's eyes is spotless. Should I thus keep untarnished the honour of the Crosbies? No! The question of Ireland's fate is in God's keeping, not in ours. His decrees seem hard to our purblind vision, yet must we bow to them. Forget what you discovered. Let this be as though it had never been.'

The girl's colour went and came; she looked earnestly at her cousin, as with prosaic action he nursed his knee.

'You are right,' she murmured at length. 'Do you know, my love, that I dared to despise you once? I said you could never be a hero!'

'Hero!' Terence echoed, with a laugh. 'I have looked into the other world too closely to care now for this. We have passed through the fire, Doreen, have we not? and bear its traces on our flesh. God grant that it has purged away the worser part from both of us!'