A little Irish girl

CHAPTER VIII

BALLINTAGGART CAVE

Some weeks passed over uneventfully. May was almost ended, and June was coming in with its cloudless skies and long, clear twilights. Poor Norah, during those days, had many secret pangs of grief and jealousy as she watched the growing friendship between Manus and Lanty Hogan. In London she and Manus had been the closest companions, sharing all each other's possessions and amusements, but now Norah was reluctantly driven to perceive that her company no longer sufficed to content Manus, and that she could not hope to compete against Lanty's greater attractions. There were few mornings indeed on which Lanty's shock head did not make its appearance at the back door soon after breakfast, and then it would be:

"Sure now, 'tis a grand marnin' for the fishin', Masther Manus, afther the rain, an' there'll be a great rise on the trout intirely. 'Deed now, I wudn't wondher but we'd be gettin' the full o' the basket."

Or else:

"Glory be to goodness, Masther Manus, there's a schull o' mackarel in the bay, the say's shtiff wid 'em, it's jostlin' one another out o' the wather they is, an' whin we've had our divarsion wid thim theer boys, we might have a thry for a few cormorants' eggs, if yer honour had a mind for't. The say's that calm, the coracle wud float us in amongst the rocks as aisy as if 'twas a duck settin' on a horse-pond."

Norah shed a few tears in secret sometimes when she had watched her brother and his ally go off on one of these expeditions, whilst she was left behind to find what amusement she could for herself. She took herself severely to task, like a loyal little soul as she was, for grudging Manus any pleasure merely because she could have no part in it; and when Manus came home at night, bringing back his trophies and brimming over with accounts of his own and Lanty's adventures, Norah was nearly as proud and delighted as he was himself. Yet that did not hinder her from experiencing the same feelings of loneliness and desertion the next time Manus and Lanty went off fishing or sailing together.

Anstace had her doubts as to whether Lanty's constant companionship was likely to be of benefit to Manus. She spoke to Roderick on the subject, but he laughed her fears away.

"You don't expect to keep a boy of Manus's age about the house like a tame cat, do you? Nonsense, let him go about with that red-headed young scamp as much as he likes, and learn to row and fish and climb the rocks. I only wish I'd had the same chance when I was his age, I'd be twice the man that I am now."

A glance of loving admiration from Anstace said plainly that in her estimation Roderick was already perfect, and could not possibly have been improved upon. Roderick was her special brother, as Manus was Norah's. Concerning Lanty, however, she remained of the same opinion as before, though she attempted no further remonstrance.

One bright, sunny afternoon Lanty appeared at the kitchen door with an air of unusual mystery.

"Whisht, Masther Manus," he said, "there's bin spring tides this couple o' days past, an' the say's that smooth as ye'd not see't twiced in the twal' month, no, nor maybe wanst. If you an' me was to be havin' that little adventure wid the sales in Ballintaggart Cave, that we've talked of, 'twud be the day for't an' no mistake."

Manus hesitated. "I told Mr. Roderick about it, Lanty, and he said he'd come with us, whatever day we went, with his gun and try a shot. He didn't think it would be safe for you and me to tackle the seals by ourselves, with nothing but clubs."

"'Tis himself that knows, that niver was next nor nigh a sale before," Lanty muttered under his breath. Aloud he said, "An' wudn't his honour come wid us this day, it's no finer one we'll be gettin'?"

"He and Miss Anstace have driven into Ballyfin, you see, and they won't be home till evening."

"Faix thin, that's the chanst for us," said Lanty, with a knowing look. "We'll take the gun an' be off wid ourselves, unbeknownst. His honour can't say as we wasn't well armed, anyways, an' if we get killin' of a sale, I'll be bound it's not displazed he'll be, but quite contrary."

Manus still hesitated; he had some qualms as to whether he ought to venture on the enterprise in Roderick's absence, and without his leave. But a visit to Ballintaggart Cave, famed as the resort of seals, had been one of the most alluring schemes which Lanty had held out to him. Manus knew that the cave could only be visited on rare occasions—at extreme low tide, and only then when the state of the weather permitted—so that few even of the fishermen upon the coast had ever entered it, and a chance once lost might not recur again.

"All right, I'll come," he said briefly, and Lanty intimated his satisfaction by a nod.

"We'll have no need to be burnin' daylight over the job," he said. "Wanst the tide turns 'twill be hurry out an' no mistake. If ye'll be at Portkerin in half an hour, Masther Manus, wid the gun, I'll meet ye there wid the oars an' all else we'll be needin'."

Neither Lanty nor Manus had any idea that there had been a listener to their colloquy. The dairy window was close to where they stood, screened and overshadowed by a clump of tall shrubs that grew outside it, and Norah had been standing just within. She had had no intention of playing eavesdropper, but it had never occurred to her that Manus and Lanty could have anything to say to each other which it was not open to all the rest of the family to listen to. When they separated, however, and she heard Lanty's footsteps dying away outside, whilst Manus ran whistling into the house and upstairs, a sudden wild desire took possession of her. She too had heard of the wondrous, seal-tenanted cave. Why should not she be one of the party about to visit it? If she were to beg Manus to take her with him she would only meet with a contemptuous refusal, she knew that well enough; but if she were down upon the shore when they were starting, perhaps she might prevail upon them to let her go too. Deep down in Norah's heart, perhaps, besides her desire to see the cave, there was the thought that, if she were to prove herself a competent comrade upon the present occasion, Manus might not disdain her company occasionally in the future on his fishing and boating excursions. Poor Norah's aspirations were very humble; all she desired was to accompany Manus, much as a faithful dog accompanies his master, to watch him whilst he fished, or sit in the boat which he rowed, and she hoped to be able to convince him that the mere fact of being a girl did not of necessity disqualify her from such lowly participation in his pursuits.

She knew that Lanty kept his boat at Portkerin, a little cove about half a mile away, and having made her escape out of the house unseen, Norah raced thither at flying speed. A break-neck track, hardly to be called a path, trodden only by the feet of the fisherfolk, led down from the cliffs to the strip of sandy beach below, on which two or three coracles were lying, keel upwards, well above high-water mark.

When Manus and Lanty came down the track together half an hour later—Manus walking first, and feeling himself of no small consequence with Roderick's gun over his shoulder and a well-filled cartridge-pouch slung round him—their astonishment was great at finding Norah in the cove before them, a solitary little figure sitting on a block of gray stone, where the sand and the bent—the coarse sea-grass—met.

"Hullo, Norah, whatever are you doing here, sitting by yourself like a thingummy in the wilderness?" was Manus's greeting.

Norah sprang to her feet, breathlessly eager.

"I want to go to Ballintaggart Cave with you," she cried. "I heard you and Lanty settling to go, Manus; I was behind you in the dairy, and I ran all the way to be here before you. Do let me come!"

"Rubbish!" said Manus loftily. "Do you suppose you're fit to go after seals? A fine funk you'd be in when it came to going into the cave, and you'd scream if the gun were fired."

"I should not," Norah retorted indignantly. "I was standing close to Roderick when he shot a magpie the other day, and I didn't scream; I didn't even put my fingers in my ears, and I don't mind going into dark places either."

"An' why shouldn't she come if she's minded for't, the darlin' young leddy?" broke in Lanty. "Afeard? Troth, not she, an' her an O'Brien born! Yis, come along, Miss Norah, an' I'll take care of ye, niver fear."

Norah repaid his championship of her cause by a look of the most rapturous gratitude. Lanty hoisted the coracle on to his back, and started off towards the sea with it, looking to the two children, as they followed him, very much like a gigantic black beetle reared upon its hind-legs. Norah essayed to make herself useful by bringing the oars, which Lanty had been obliged to lay down, along with her, but as she carried them awkwardly, crosswise in her arms, not sailor-fashion over her shoulder, she provoked some uncomplimentary remarks about the "butter-fingeredness" of girls from Manus, who stalked airily along, only carrying the gun. Manus, to say the truth, was in a somewhat ungracious mood, for it seemed to him that this visit to the seals' cave would not appear at all as tremendous a feat to have achieved if it became known that his younger sister had accompanied him. However, by the time the coracle was launched, and they were floating out upon the deep, green water, his ill-humour had evaporated, and he was laughing and chatting gaily with Lanty.

There were only seats for the two rowers in the frail little craft. Norah had to sit down flat in the stern, with her feet straight out in front of her, and her head not far above the gunwale. At first she could not help feeling some internal tremors as the coracle skimmed the sea, its very buoyancy, as it topped the waves and slid down into the hollows between them, giving it a peculiar dancing motion which was painfully suggestive of instability. It was somewhat alarming, too, to look at the tarred canvas stretched over the rude wooden framework, and to reflect that it was all that separated her from the deep sea all round, and that the smallest injury, a pin-prick even, would bring the salt water gurgling in. However, after a few minutes, finding that the coracle, bob as it might upon the waves, showed no inclination to upset, Norah's fears subsided, and she even began to enjoy the lapping of the wavelets so close beside her, and to gaze up in awe at the black cliffs that towered above their heads, and which looked so much loftier from below than when they were viewed from the top.

They hed three miles to row to the cave of Ballintaggart, and it took them the best part of an hour to accomplish it. They passed Moyross Abbey on the way, with its little glen wooded to the water's edge, and the house standing high on the cliff above. A little farther on Lanty pointed out to Norah the ironwork pier which Mr. O'Brien had constructed years before for the shipping of the ore from his mine. It jutted out into the sea, protected from the great Atlantic rollers by a long wall of rock, which seemed as though it had been specially designed by nature for a breakwater. A zigzag track had been cut out of the face of the cliff, and the trollies ran down it to discharge their loads into the holds of the ships lying at the pier below.

No ship was in waiting there now, and an ugly scowl came upon Lanty's face as he looked over at the scarped rocks and the slender framework of the pier.

"The curse o' the crows on M'Bain, an' the notions he's puttin' in th' ould masther's head," he muttered. "'Tis a cliver pair they thinks themselves, but maybe the boys might larn them that they was cliverer yet."

Norah remembered that she had overheard Roderick speaking very gravely to Anstace a few days ago about the disagreement between Mr. O'Brien and the miners, concerning the innovations introduced by the new manager. "I fear there will be bad work before all is over," he had said. No questioning on her part or Manus's could elicit anything more from Lanty, however.

"'Twasn't manin' anythin' in partic'lar he was, but just a manner o' spakin'!" he declared, and relapsed into a dogged silence.

Ballintaggart Cave, which they reached at length, was situated at the end of a narrow inlet, a fissure in the cliffs, guarded by a ridge of rocks which showed above the water like a row of jagged teeth, and round which the sea swirled and foamed. It required extreme care to guide the coracle through the narrow passage, for a touch from the rocks on either hand would have ripped the canvas open as with a knife. Once within the reef, however, they floated in calm water in a tiny natural harbour. Before them was a low, dark opening—the entrance to the cave—which was generally covered by the sea, preventing any access to the interior. Now, however, the sea had receded sufficiently to leave bare not only the mouth of the cave, but also a narrow strip of firm, white sand, which sloped to the water's edge.

Lanty leaped overboard, and dragged the coracle up this little strand by main force, lifting Norah out carefully afterwards. He stooped and examined the sand, and pointed with much exultation to tracks that led upwards into the darkness of the cave.

"Thim theer boys is at home, sure enough," he whispered. "'Twill be a poor thing an' we don't give an account o' wan or two o' thim. The tide's flowin' too," he went on, looking critically at the margin of the sand. "We'll need to hurry ourselves an' we wudn't be wantin' to swim out."

The preparations for the adventure were speedily made. Lanty produced a torch made of pieces of split bog-wood tied together and saturated with inflammable oil, and a few chips besides, similarly soaked, which he stuck in his hat, and signed to Manus to stick into his. Then, still in silence, he placed two cartridges in the breech of Manus's gun and handed it back to him.

"Kape close to me, an' don't fire till I give the word," he whispered. "Miss Norah, will ye shtop out here an' wait for us while we go in?"

But no, Norah was determined to prove her courage and go through with the adventure to the bitter end. Perhaps, if the truth had been told, she was not very willing to be left alone on that narrow strip of sand between the deep sea and the lofty cliffs that towered sheer above her. She preferred to face even the darkness of the cave, and the possibility of a rush of angry seals, so that she had at least living companionship. None the less, however, her heart beat thick and fast as she followed Lanty and Manus up to the low archway which gave access to the seals' retreat.

Lanty went first, the blazing torch in his left hand, a short bludgeon, loaded at the end with lead, in his right. There was a yard or two of slimy passage and then the cave opened out into an underground chamber of considerable extent, floored with the same white sand that composed the strand outside. Lanty stooped and examined it closely with his torch. The tracks were still visible, leading upwards into the innermost recesses of the cave. Without speaking a word he pushed Norah back till she stood in a sort of recess just within the arch by which they had entered, and lighting one of the bog-wood chips that adorned his own hat, he stuck it in hers.

"Stand ye theer, Miss Norah, an' don't stir a ha'porth," lie whispered, with his mouth close to her ear. "'Tis the doore they'll make for, an' ye're safe out o' their road. Masther Manus an' me we'll folly on."

Norah stood still as she was bidden, and watched the light of Lanty's torch growing gradually more and more distant till it showed only like a twinkling star far up within the cavern. A moment later it was gone altogether, and Norah was left alone, the strange candle in her hat throwing a feeble radiance on the yellow sea-weed that clothed the rock beside her, and on the sand at her feet. She could have screamed aloud, merely for the relief of hearing her own voice in the silence that surrounded her, but the fear of incurring Manus's contempt kept her from uttering a sound, and she stood motionless, clutching the long tangles of sea-weed in her hands as if even their cold and clammy touch gave a certain sense of comfort and support.

Lanty and Manus meanwhile were making their way slowly and with much difficulty up into the interior of the cave. The firm, white sand with which it was floored at its mouth soon gave place to rocky debris and great boulders, over which they had to clamber, as best they could, by the uncertain light of the torch. As they proceeded, the cave gradually narrowed till it formed a mere passage a hundred yards or more in length, and so low that they had to bend nearly double to avoid striking their heads against the roof. It was necessary to advance with extreme caution here, since they might at any moment encounter a charge of infuriated seals, for seals, though in general most peaceful and inoffensive animals, yet become savage if they are brought to bay.

The passage opened out, as Lanty, who had visited the cave once before, knew, into a circular rocky chamber known as the "Seals' Parlour", and here at last they found their quarry. A large male seal, but fortunately for them only one, the rest of the herd having made their way out again before their visit, was lying at his ease upon a slab of rock. He gazed for a moment with a calm, sage air of wonderment at his unexpected and unwelcome visitors, then with a heavy flop he slipped from his couch and made, with an awkward, shuffling gait, for the passage they had just come by, the only way of escape to the sea.

"Fire, Masther Manus, fire!" shouted Lanty, and Manus, bringing his gun up to his shoulder and aiming as well as his excitement would permit, pulled the trigger. There was a flash, a deafening bang and cloud of smoke, and before the noise had died away the seal charged straight for Manus, between whose legs it sought to pass. Manus was swept off his feet by the rush, and fell right before the seal, which gripped him fiercely by the arm as he lay.

So close were boy and animal together that it was impossible to strike at one without risk of injuring the other. Lanty, all the same, seeing the extremity of Manus's danger, whirled his club round his head and brought it down with such terrific force that the seal rolled, over, dead, with its skull shattered like an egg-shell. Manus scrambled to his feet again, hugely frightened but unhurt; the seal happily had only caught the sleeve of his jacket, but the long rent which its tusks had made showed plainly what the result would have been if they had closed upon the flesh of his arm.

"Glory be to goodness, Masther Manus, but that might ha' been the mischief's own job!" panted Lanty, breathless between terror and the exertion that he had just made; "but sure what matther, so that the ould ruffin hasn't ye desthroyed."

"Oh, I'm all right!" said Manus proudly, beginning to feel himself something of a hero as he looked at his fallen foe. "All the same I should have been in Queer Street only for you, Lanty. And now, however are we going to get the brute along?"

This, indeed, seemed a task not very easy to accomplish, for the seal was nearly as heavy as a well-grown sheep, and considerably longer, whilst its slippery, glossy hide made it extremely difficult to catch hold of. Lanty, however, giving the torch to Manus, went vigorously to work to convey it back over the rough road by which they had come, alternately dragging and shoving the heavy carcass over the rocks which impeded their course.

To Norah, meanwhile, the leaden moments had seemed like hours as they crawled along, and she waited vainly to hear the sound of voices or catch a glimmer of the returning torch. All sorts of horrible fancies began to crowd into her brain. What if Manus and Lanty had encountered a whole host of furious seals or even more ferocious sea-monsters—for who could tell what terrible shapes and creatures might dwell far up in the inmost recesses of the cave? They might be lying wounded or dying somewhere far underground, where no one had ever penetrated before, or perhaps they had lost their way in those subterranean windings and passages, and were vainly trying to retrace their steps. What if she were to be left there whilst the tide came slowly creeping up over the strip of sand outside, and closed the arch by which they had entered, prisoning her and the others within!

With trembling hands Norah groped upwards. The rock was covered with sea-weed far above her head, as far as she could reach. To that height, then, the tide must rise when it was at its fullest, and Norah, in her terror at making this discovery, would have screamed aloud, forgetful of Manus's disdain, for already she pictured herself shut in in the dark cave and drowning inch by inch as the water rose slowly around her.

An iron grip, however, seemed to be upon her throat, compressing it and preventing her from uttering a sound. It was an unreasoning panic after all, begotten of the darkness and the solitude, since the way of escape was at any rate still open, and Lanty's coracle floated safely in the little basin outside, and it was ended in another minute by a sharp ringing sound, the shot fired by Manus in the Seals' Parlour, which pealed and reverberated from rock to rock till the cavern seemed alive with echoes.

A pause followed, during which Norah held her breath to listen, and then there came a shout, very faint and far away indeed, but none the less cheering and reassuring, especially as it was followed by another and another, for Manus, now that the necessity for silence and caution was at an end, was endeavouring, by a series of joyous halloos, to apprise her of their whereabouts and the victory which they had achieved. Manus and Lanty were alive then, they were coming back to her, and Norah all at once became ashamed of her foolish fears of a minute or two before, and realized that after all she could not have been left so very long by herself.

She had to wait a considerable time longer, however, before the first gleam of the torch reappeared in view; but when it did, rather than bear the suspense any longer, she started off to meet her brother and his companion, stumbling as best she could in the darkness over the fallen rocks and boulders, and guided by the lights which were growing larger and more distinct every moment.

"Hullo, so there you are!" cried Manus jubilantly. "We've got something to show you that'll make you open your eyes. Look here, what do you think of that?"

And he held the torch aloft to let its light fall on the dead seal with its long tusks and dark velvety hide.

Norah instinctively shrank from contact with the slimy carcass, which emitted a strong and by no means agreeable odour, and contented herself with gazing at it with awe and admiration from a respectful distance.

"Did you shoot it?" she enquired of her brother.

"Well, no," Manus admitted. "I fired at him, but I'm not sure that I hit him. I didn't kill him at any rate, for he made for me and knocked me over. I'd have been done for if Lanty hadn't come down on him with his club. There, that's something like a whack!"

And Manus pointed to the seal's battered skull.

"Oh, Manus, he might have killed you!" said Norah, horror-stricken.

"Well, he might, but you see he didn't; he only tore my coat," Manus returned philosophically, displaying the jagged rent which the seal's tusks had made.

In his secret soul he felt himself no small hero at bearing off such traces of the conflict, and was already figuring to himself with much pride how high this adventure would raise him in the estimation of the other boys on his return to school. Bodkin Major, who came from Galway, and hunted in the Christmas holidays, had hitherto been regarded as the Nimrod of the school, and a fox's brush, which had been presented to him for keeping up with special gallantry during one most notable run, had been the envy and admiration of all his school-fellows. But Manus felt, with much inward elation, that beside the slaughter of the seal deep in the bowels of the rocks, even Bodkin Major's fox-hunting exploits would fade into nothingness.

The wavelets were lapping almost up to the mouth of the cave when they emerged from under the low arch, winking and blinking as their eyes once more encountered the full light of day. Manus, who had been torch-bearer on the return journey, tossed the bog-wood torch, which had burnt down almost to the handgrip, hissing into the sea, whilst Lanty, not without considerable difficulty, hoisted the seal into the coracle.

"Bedad, Miss Norah," said the latter, when they had taken their seats in the canvas-covered bark once more, and he was shoving off with his oar, "ye've bate the whoule world out. Sure ye're the first leddy that iver wint sale-huntin' in Ballintaggart Cave, an' 'tis like ye'll be the last."

CHAPTER IX

THE GHOST IN THE MONK'S WALK

The row home proved to be a long and toilsome one. The dead seal in the bottom of the coracle added no little to its weight, and the wind, which had freshened considerably whilst they were in the cave, was full in their teeth. Added to this, both Lanty and Manus were tired after their exertions, and Norah, who tried taking an oar once or twice to relieve her brother, did not prove a very efficient aid, as indeed could hardly be expected of her, seeing that it was the first time that she had handled that implement of navigation. Their progress accordingly was but slow, and the sun had sunk into the sea, leaving a wondrous rose-red glow behind it, before they rounded Drinane Head, the great black promontory which forms one of the extremities of the bay within which both Moyross and Kilshane lay. Norah was beginning to speculate rather uncomfortably as to whether Roderick and Anstace were likely to have got back from Ballyfin yet, and what they would think of Manus's and her own prolonged absence, when a sudden hail came across the water from the shadows that were beginning to gather under the cliffs, and the next moment a large boat, pulled by four rowers, shot out of the gloom and lay-to beside them.

A most animated and voluble colloquy took place between Lanty and its crew, but as it was carried on wholly in Irish it was, of course, quite unintelligible to the children. However, it was plain from the manner in which Lanty pointed to the dead seal and gesticulated, that he was giving them a graphic account of the slaughter in the cave, and the men, catching hold of the gunwale of the coracle, peered over at the slain sea-monster and evinced their astonishment and admiration by uncouth and guttural exclamations. The steersman, a wild-looking, red-bearded man, doffed his battered head-gear to Norah and Manus, saying in English:

"'Tis meself an' ivery mother's son here is proud an' glad to see yer honours this day. No need to be tellin' that ye come of the ould fightin' O'Briens, for 'tis their sperrit that's in yez both, young masther an' little darlin' miss. An' I say," and here he raised his voice and waved his hat, "God's blessin' on Moyross Abbey, an' on the blue sky over it, an' on thim that should be in it an' will be there yit some day, plaze God."

After this, however, the conversation relapsed into Irish, and now it was the men in the other boat who were becoming vociferous, and were apparently, as far as Norah and Manus could gather from their gestures, urging something upon Lanty which he, with a glance towards the children, seemed to raise objection to. Further vehement utterances on the part of the strangers followed and became more rapid and excited as Lanty still seemed to hold back; hands were pointed towards the cave below Moyross Abbey and then back towards the great headland that reared its heather-covered summit behind them.

"Thau," Lanty called out at last, in evident consent, for "thau", as Norah and Manus had both already learnt, signifies "Yes" in Irish, and the strangers, satisfied as it would appear, dipped their oars once more and speedily disappeared from sight.

The glow had almost faded away by this time, only a few gold and purple cloudlets still caught the light of the sun and marked where it had gone down. Norah shivered, everything seemed to have become chilly and gray all of a sudden.

"Sure 'twon't be long now till we have ye ashore, Miss Norah," Lanty said encouragingly. "I was thinkin', Masther Manus," he went on, turning his head to address Manus, who was pulling the bow oar, "that 'tis hard set we'd be to pull to Portkerin an' the wind blowin' us back ivery shtroke. If we was to put in at Moyross, it's just there close forenenst, two good miles nearer, we cud run the coracle in handy, an' you an' Miss Norah wud be home in no time at all."

Neither Manus nor Norah relished this suggestion. They were both sure that Roderick would be very seriously annoyed if he heard that they had come home through the Moyross demesne, seeing that their uncle had not so far condescended to take the least notice of their existence, and the path from the shore, as they had heard, led past the abbey ruins and in front of the house.

"And what matther for that?" returned Lanty. "Hasn't ivery sowl that plazed gone up an' down the Monk's Walk since there was monks in it, aye, an' before too; an' who'd have the betther right to set foot in Moyross nor yerself an' Miss Norah?"

Manus attempted some further remonstrance, but in vain. It was evident that Lanty was determined to effect a landing in the little cove below Moyross Abbey and nowhere else.

"'Tisn't like that Miss Ella or ould Browne"—so he disrespectfully termed the controller of the Moyross household—"wud be trapezin' about in the black night, an' if the masther's never set his eyes on you nor on Miss Norah sure he wudn't know ye if he was to meet ye itself."

And in a few minutes more the sand was grating beneath the keel of the coracle as it ran in upon the beach.

Lanty jumped overboard and hauled the coracle up out of the water, lifting Norah out, and then dislodging the seal by the summary method of turning the boat over and shooting the slain monster out upon the strand. Within the cove all was shadow, but behind them the water still reflected the clear light of the sky, and the little waves, as they broke at their feet, were bright with a strange phosphoric radiance.

With Manus's aid Lanty dragged the body of the seal up above high-water mark, wedging it in securely among some stones. He said a few words low and energetically to Manus, and before Norah well understood what he was about, he had hurried down to the water's edge again. Launching his tiny craft once more he pushed off, and pulled vigorously in the direction from which they had just come, his track marked by phosphoric flashes each time the oars were dipped in the sea.

"Manus, he surely hasn't gone and left us here alone!" exclaimed Norah, as she looked with alarm at the dark wood which came down almost to the shore, and up through which they had to make their way.

"Well, and what does it matter if he has? He says the path is as plain as a pikestaff, we can't possibly mistake it, and when we get up above we'll come out upon the avenue."

"It's so dark in there," faltered Norah, as she reluctantly followed Manus towards the shade of the overhanging trees, "and you know, Manus, they say—at least Bride does" (Bride was Lanty's sister, the little handmaiden who had been imported into Kilshane to take Biddy's place)—"that the Black Monk goes up and down here sometimes at night. He was a wicked monk who lived long ago, and he did such dreadful things that he can't stay in his grave near the old abbey—people have seen him, they have really, Manus."

"And you believed all that stuff?" Manus returned derisively. "Well, I've got my gun and a cartridge in it, and if any Mr. Ghosts come bothering, they'll get the worst of it, I can tell them."

Perhaps, in spite of his bold words Manus did feel a slight nervous tremor as he and Norah plunged into the thick darkness under the trees, and began slowly to mount the narrow path that wound up through the little glen. Manus went first, his gun over his shoulder, stumbling up the uneven track as best he could, and Norah followed as close to him as the steepness of the path would allow. Upwards and upwards they went, Manus sometimes feeling his way with his hand up the rocky steps of which Roderick had spoken, or else edging carefully, foot by foot, along the rough path.

"I say, Norah, there hasn't been much to be afraid of after all," observed Manus in his loud, cheerful voice. "Your friend, the Black Monk, doesn't seem to be on the prowl to-night, perhaps—"

The words died upon his lips, for at that moment they turned the corner of the last zigzag and came in sight of the abbey ruins, their outline clearly discernible against the pale sky. Before them on the path, one arm uplifted threateningly, as if to warn them back, stood a tall white figure, taller, as it seemed to Norah and Manus, than any living man could be. They both came to a dead halt, and stood as though they had been rooted to the ground, staring with dilated eyes at the motionless form which barred their way. Norah's heart was sending the blood up in suffocating thuds into her throat, she caught Manus's jacket, and clung to it with the grasp of despair.

Manus's courage did not forsake him altogether; perhaps the knowledge that there was no retreat, and that the path behind them only led down to the sea-shore, helped to brace his nerves.

"Look here!" he called out in accents which sounded strange and eerie in the darkness; "if you think that we don't know that you're someone dressed up, trying to frighten us, you're very much mistaken. I've my gun with me, and it's loaded, and if you don't clear out of that double-quick, I'll shoot you."

Manus's voice quavered a little towards the end, as if, for all his bold words, his teeth had had a certain inclination to chatter in his head.

No answer was returned, only in the silence a little breeze crept sobbing through the tree-tops, and the figure seemed to lower its arm for an instant and then to raise it again more threateningly than before.

Manus had his gun presented by this time, his cheek against the stock, and his finger on the trigger.

"I give you fair warning, if you're not out of that before I count three, I'll fire. Now then: One, two—"

Manus never could be quite sure in his own mind afterwards whether he had really intended to carry out his threat, or whether it had been that his hand had trembled so, as he faced that white menacing form, that he had jerked the trigger involuntarily. Be that as it may, even as he said "Three!" there was a crash and flare of light. Norah and Manus both held their breath, for if what Manus had said was true, and it was some practical joker who had waylaid them, it was impossible at such close quarters for Manus to have missed his aim.

There was no cry, no sound, however, and as the smoke cleared away, the white figure stood before them for a moment, erect as ever, then seemed to lean forward as though about to rush upon them, and the children waited to see no more, but turned and fled headlong down the path which they had climbed with such difficulty.

How they got to the bottom they never knew, they scrambled and plunged down-wards, regardless of their footing and unheeding how they bumped and bruised themselves against stones and against the trunks of the trees. They came to a halt at last in a little clearing a hundred yards or so above the shore, and there they stood, panting and breathless, partly with the haste they had made and partly with terror, as helpless and disconsolate a pair as could have been found in the length and breadth of the land. Manus had abandoned all attempt at keeping up a show of bravery; he had his arm round Norah, and Norah had hers round him, and they clung to each other so close that they could feel the beating of each other's hearts, and each other's breath hot upon their cheeks. That warm, close contact seemed to give them some little sense of comfort and protection, but in truth their position was a most pitiable one. Behind them there was only the strip of lonely beach and the sea, and they must either wait where they were all the night through, till daylight came, or mount the path again and face that dread white shape once more; and even whilst they stood clinging to each other, they were straining their eyes into the darkness, terrified lest they should see it loom out as it moved downwards in pursuit of them.

Manus's shot, however, had not been without effect. It had evidently been heard at the house, for voices now became audible—eager, excited voices, all speaking at once—and a light could be seen moving up above amongst the trees. Manus's spirits began to revive a little.

"Come, Norah, come along," he whispered, though his tongue was so dry that he could only form the words with difficulty. "There are people up there now, and they—those sort of things, you know,—don't appear except when one's alone. And if we did see anything we could call out. Come on, quick! and let us get up through the wood before whoever's up there goes away and leaves us alone again."

Norah was willing enough, and holding each other's hands tight they climbed up the steep path once more, not uttering a word, and treading softly, as though they feared to disturb the ghostly apparition which might be lurking somewhere still amongst the trees.

The windings of the track had brought them immediately below the spot where the tall, spectral form had barred their path, and where the search-party with their lantern were now gathered. They could hear a shrill voice scolding angrily above their heads, and mingled with it the sound of crying. Instinctively they stopped short to listen.

"Don't tell me any such nonsense, you idle, good for-nothing girl!" And though Manus and Norah had only heard Miss Browne's voice once before, on the occasion of her brief visit to Kilshane, neither of them had any difficulty in recognizing the high, thin tones as hers. "How would anyone have known that the table-cloth was hanging up here if you had not been in league with the vile, cowardly wretches? One of the very best table-cloths, too; you took good care of that!"

"Och thin, ma'am, the saints in heaven knows 'twas niver a thought of harm was in me mind;" broke in another voice, its utterance interrupted by frequent sobs. "Run off of me feet I was this blessed day to git the washin' done, an' that cloth, the wan thing I kep' back to give it an exthry rinsin', seein' 'twas stained wid wine an' all sorts. An' I jist run down a weeny minnit to the shore to see was me feyther's boat in, an' him away to the fishin' before cockshout, an' I thrown that cloth up on the three as I wint by, the way 'twud dhry, an' be handy to fetch in the marnin'. Och wirra, wirra, to think 'tis clane desthroyed, an' it the beautifullest table-cloth iver was!"

And the voice broke down in hopeless weeping.

"And how often have I given orders that the washing is not to be hung out anywhere except upon the bleach-green that's intended for it?" Miss Browne's voice was shrill with indignation. "It is all of a piece with those hateful, slatternly Irish ways that nothing will cure any of you of. Of course you would rather hang the clothes up here on the trees, you would spread them on the rosebushes in the garden, or on the door-steps if you only could, rather than take them where there are clothes-lines and everything you require provided for you!—Not so far away? Don't tell me any such nonsense! I don't find that you're so anxious to save your time in general."

Stealthily and cautiously, whilst this dialogue was proceeding, the children crept on up the path, and by moving in amongst the trees and treading with the utmost care, lest by chance the snapping of a dry twig under their feet should betray their whereabouts, they were able to gain a view of the group gathered on the pathway, whilst they themselves were completely shrouded in the darkness.

Foremost, tall and erect, stood the English coachman with a stable-lamp in his hand, which he flashed about, here and there, letting the light fall on the stems of the trees on either hand, and making the spaces between them appear all the blacker by contrast. He did not seem to relish his position particularly, thinking, no doubt, that the light shed on the party from his lantern made them an easy mark for any miscreant who might still be lurking in the wood; and a knot of frightened maids, who were huddled together higher up on the path, their white caps and aprons just making them visible in the gloom, seemed to be of his opinion and to be afraid of venturing further. Miss Browne's anger and vexation were too great to let her give a thought to possible danger, and with one corner of the table-cloth in her hand, and the rest of it lying in folds at her feet, she was scolding the luckless laundry-maid, who stood before her holding her apron to her eyes. Ella was standing beside Miss Browne, and she interposed now, but in so low a tone that Manus and Norah could not hear what she said.

"Nonsense, my dear, you would find an excuse for anyone, no matter what they did," Miss Browne returned sharply. "I tell you, it was a plot, a vile plot, got up to annoy me, no doubt, because I am English and because I have persuaded Mr. O'Brien only to have English servants in the house. Perhaps it was intended as a hint that if I did not take care I might be served in the same fashion as the table-cloth."

With a dramatic gesture Miss Browne spread the luckless piece of damask out in full view, and as the light of the stable-lamp fell on it, Manus and Norah could see, even from the distance at which they stood, sundry large circular holes where the charge of Manus's gun had pierced, not the impalpable form of a ghost, but the warp and woof of one of their uncle's table-cloths!

"But if they imagine that they will frighten me by any such proceeding they are greatly mistaken," Miss Browne went on, raising her voice with the evident intention of being heard by anyone who might be still within earshot. "I shall stand my ground, and continue to do as I think right, without paying the least attention to miserable creatures who prowl about in the dark to shoot holes in table-cloths."

"Then, begging pardon, ma'am," interposed the coachman, whose uneasiness had clearly not decreased during Miss Browne's last words, and who was peering apprehensively at the trunks and branches of the trees as the yellow glare of the lamp fell on them, "if standing your ground means setting ourselves up as figgerheads, for parties as is sitting behind bushes with guns to fire at, I says, the sooner we're out of this the better. I don't yield to no man with a hoss, let him kick his worst, likewise rear or buck, but when it comes to these Irish ways of taking shots from no one knows where, then I ain't got no mind for it."

And with a last twirl of his lantern he set off determinedly up the path towards the house, leaving nothing for Miss Browne and Ella and the maids but to follow him.

Manus and Norah were left behind in the darkness of the wood. In honour, no doubt, they ought to have come forward and acknowledged that they were the culprits who, by mistake, had damaged the Moyross table-linen. Shyness, however, and a sense of the humiliation which it would be to confess before the whole of the Moyross household that they had mistaken a harmless table-cloth, hanging upon a tree to dry, for a ghost, and had fired at it, held them back, and so they waited till the steps and voices had died away, and the last gleam of the lantern had disappeared. Then only did they venture on, silently and cautiously. All their fears of supernatural appearances had melted away, and the ruined arches of the old abbey bore quite a friendly aspect as they skirted past them, keeping as far from the house and its lawns and gravel-walks as possible. They struck the avenue some distance farther down, and walked rapidly along it, in momentary dread of being called upon to stand and answer who they were and what had brought them there. Nothing of the sort occurred, however. They passed unchallenged out of the gates, and drew a long breath of relief when they found themselves on the public road once more.

Then only did they venture to speak to each other of their recent adventure, and they could not but admit that they had cut somewhat ignominious figures in the frantic terror with which they had fled from that weird, white object which had loomed up on them in the loneliness of the Monk's Walk. Manus, in particular, felt himself getting hot all over at the thought of how everyone would laugh if the story of his firing at the table-cloth should be known, and what, oh what! if any ill wind should blow it to the ears of Bodkin Major over in Galway! Would there be any end to the ridicule he would have to endure at school? Even the glory of having taken part in the slaughter of the seal seemed but a trifling set-off in comparison. Then, too, Roderick, who, as it was, would most probably be annoyed by their staying out so late, would certainly be extremely angry about the whole business and at their having come home through the Moyross demesne. These and other considerations induced Manus to observe to his sister as they were trudging homewards:

"I say, Norah, there's no good in our telling Roderick and Anstace anything about our coming up by the Monk's Walk and all that affair. We'd look such a pair of thundering idiots, and Roderick's sure to be horribly angry at our having gone that way at all. He'll pitch into us pretty well, I expect, as it is, for staying out so late, but he'll never think of asking what way we came back; and we needn't say anything if he doesn't."

"But why shouldn't we, Manus? There wasn't any harm really in our landing down there when it was blowing hard and we were so late; and I always tell Anstace everything."

"Oh yes, that's all right for a girl, of course," said Manus loftily, "but when a fellow's been to school it's different. He doesn't think it necessary to run and tell everything as if he was a small kid. And there's another thing, Norah; if we said anything about it, Roderick and Anstace would begin asking where Lanty was, and why he didn't come back with us."

"And why didn't he?" in tones which made it clear that Norah still resented his desertion of them.

"Oh, well, you see,"—Manus was becoming rather embarrassed,—"he'd promised to meet those other chaps in the boat up on Drinane Head, so he was going to get ashore at the iron pier and go up past the mine by the tramway that the trucks come down by—he can get out upon the Head that way. He'll be back ever so early in the morning, before daybreak, and bring the seal round to Portkerin, so we can take Roderick and Anstace down after breakfast to-morrow to see him before he's cut up. Lanty's going to get the oil out of him; he says there's a whole winter's burning, as he calls it, in him, and I'm going to have the head to keep."

"But what are he and the other men going to do up on Drinane Head in the dark? Are they going to stay there all night?" asked Norah in not unnatural amazement as she turned to look back towards the great promontory, which could be dimly descried rearing its rugged head against the sky, and which certainly did not seem to hold out much promise of comfortable quarters for the night.

"Oh, there's some sort of house up there, and they've things to do," mysteriously. "Lanty's going to take me there some day. He tells me almost everything, because he knows I'm safe; no fear of my blabbing or letting things out."

And Manus drew himself erect with the proud consciousness of being Lanty's confidant and the trusted repository of his secrets.

"I'm not going to blab either," said Norah in an aggrieved tone, feeling Manus's remarks in some sort a reflection on herself.

The children were luckier than they expected, and perhaps than they deserved. They found the house empty when they got back, and no one in it, upstairs or down. Roderick and Anstace had not yet returned from Ballyfin, and Bride, the little maid, had availed herself of the absence of the whole family to slip over and spend an evening at her father's fireside. The sight of their supper laid out and waiting for them in the parlour first brought to Manus and Norah's minds how many hours it was past the usual time of their evening meal, to which in the many and varied excitements of the evening neither of them had hitherto given a thought. Even now, when they saw food laid ready for them, they did not feel any very ravenous desire to partake of it. They sat down, however, at the table, and Manus found his appetite return to him in wondrous fashion when once he began to attack the eatables; whilst Norah, who had not yet recovered from the shock which the apparition in the Monk's Walk had given her, could make little more than a feint of eating.

Their supper was just finished when the sound of wheels upon the avenue proclaimed Roderick and Anstace's return. The children rushed out to the hall-door to meet them, and there were questions and answers and explanations on both sides.

Roderick and Anstace had been late leaving Ballyfin, it seemed, and half-way home the horse had cast a shoe. The nearest smithy was two miles distant, and they had had to proceed thither at a walk, Connor leading the horse. When the forge was reached there was further delay, for the smith had not expected any customers at that late hour and had let his fire out, and they had to wait till it was rekindled, so that nearly a couple of hours had elapsed before they were able to resume their journey.

Then Manus, with a modest air of self-consciousness, told of their afternoon's exploit and of the killing of the seal in Ballintaggart Cave. Roderick looked rather grave at first on hearing of Manus having set off on such an expedition without leave and with no other companion than Lanty, and still graver on learning that Norah had been of the party. However, his displeasure was not of long duration, and though he gave Manus an admonition against the repetition of any such rash feats, he promised to accompany him in the morning to inspect the trophy in Portkerin, and, to Manus's great satisfaction, he asked no awkward questions as to the hour or manner of their return, taking it for granted that they had all landed at the same place where they had embarked. Norah's pale face did not escape Anstace's solicitous gaze, but she supposed it to be the result of excitement and over-fatigue, and ordered her to bed without delay, to which refuge indeed Norah was not sorry to betake herself.

CHAPTER X

CAPTAIN LESTER, R.M.

"Did you hear what happened last night?" said Anstace when she came into the breakfast-room next morning. "The whole neighbourhood is in excitement, and Biddy has been up in the kitchen to tell me about it. A table-cloth which had been left hanging up on one of the trees in the Monk's Walk had a charge of shot fired through it, and it is all riddled with holes."

"And what is the object of that piece of marksmanship supposed to be?" enquired Roderick as he took his seat at the table.

"Well, no one seems exactly to know; but the general impression is that it is a sort of warning to Uncle Nicholas, in place of the usual threatening letter with a skull and cross-bones on it—an intimation that something worse may happen if he does not dismiss M'Bain and give way to the men's demands."

"It looks as if a bad spirit was getting up in the country," observed Roderick thoughtfully.

"I am afraid it does; and I could see that Biddy was secretly delighted, though she did not want to betray it to me. 'Maybe the boys wud sarve th' ould masther a worse turn yet if he doesn't mind himself,' she said. Uncle Nicholas was out last night, it seems, when the outrage occurred, there were only Ella and Miss Browne at home; but he is furious about it, and says that if the people think he is to be frightened by tricks of that sort they are very much mistaken, and that if the offenders can be discovered he will show them no mercy."

Manus and Norah had not ventured to lift their eyes from their plates during this conversation. Fortunately for them neither Roderick nor Anstace noticed this very unusual silence on their part, as in general they were by no means backward in giving their opinion on any topic that might be under discussion.

Norah had come down to breakfast listless and heavy-eyed, and evinced a nervous tendency to start at the least noise. Anstace, too, testified that she had been awakened in the night by unaccountable sounds proceeding from the little room of which Norah had lately, at her own earnest request, been put in possession, and going in to see what was the matter, had found her little sister crying out and struggling under the bed-clothes in the throes of some unpleasantly vivid dream. Roderick declared curtly that it was clear seal-hunting did not suit Norah, and issued an absolute prohibition against her accompanying Manus and Lanty upon any other expedition unless he himself were of the party. Poor Norah, who knew that her troubled night was in no way owing to the seal-hunt but to the fright of encountering the supposed ghost, had perforce to submit to the mandate.

"If you will be a goose what else can you expect?" was all the consolation Manus had to give her when she lamented herself to him after breakfast.

Norah brisked up, however, considerably under the effects of the bright sunshine and the strong sea-wind, as a little later they all four walked across the fields to Portkerin to inspect the seal. Manus looked eagerly this way and that to descry the body of his late adversary as they came down the narrow track into the little horse-shoe-shaped bay.

"Hallo, old chap, don't you know where you left him last night?" was Roderick's enquiry.

"Oh yes, but Lanty thought he'd have to haul him over somewhere else—somewhere better suited for cutting him up, you know," Manus muttered confusedly, carefully avoiding meeting Norah's eye.

It was Anstace who caught sight of the seal at last, lying on a large flat rock in the shadow of the cliff. He was indubitably a monster of his kind, and his proportions could be better seen now than when he had been lying in the bottom of the coracle. Roderick paced the rock beside him carefully, and pronounced him to be full five feet in length. Manus's only and most poignant regret was that he could not be stuffed whole as he was. He consoled himself, however, with the reflection that, even if this could have been done, it would have been quite impossible for him to carry the stuffed monster back amongst his baggage to exhibit to the boys at school.

Lanty came down the path at that moment carrying a huge three-legged iron pot, a formidable looking knife, and all the other implements necessary for flaying the seal and depriving the carcass of the thick coating of blubber which intervenes between the skin and the flesh, and contains the valuable seal-oil. Lanty's eyes were bloodshot, and he looked pallid and dishevelled, as if his night upon Drinane Head had not been beneficial to him.

Anstace and Norah, who had no desire to witness the skinning and boiling-down process, took their leave, and Roderick, too, had soon had enough of the operation. Manus, however, remained to the last, and was able to report, when he came home to dinner, that the yield of oil had been highly satisfactory. He had brought the seal's head with him, tied up in Lanty's red pocket-handkerchief, and in answer to Anstace's enquiries as to what he intended to do with it, explained that he was going to preserve the skull by a method, much in vogue amongst the boys at his school, for obtaining skeletons of bats, field-mice, and other small animals, namely, by placing it in a vessel of water and leaving it to macerate there till the flesh dropped off the bones.

As the process was not likely to be a very agreeable one, Anstace begged that the vessel with the seal's head might be placed at a considerable distance from the house, but to this Manus objected that wandering cats or dogs might find his treasure and carry it off to devour it. Finally, on Roderick's suggestion that the roof of the house offered a secure and yet sufficiently remote repository, the head was carried up thither, and left between the chimney-stacks for the sun and winds to bleach it.

The affair of the table-cloth made a considerable stir in the country, and an investigation was made upon the spot in the hope of discovering some clue to the perpetrators of the outrage. A force of police were occupied for a day or two in beating the underwood and examining every square inch of ground near the Monk's Walk. They found nothing to reward them for their labours, however, and little by little interest in the matter died away. Most people thought with Anstace that the outrage was a consequence of the dispute between Mr. O'Brien and the miners, and probably an attempt to intimidate him into dismissing the unpopular Scotch manager. There could be no doubt, however, that it had failed of its effect. Age might have enfeebled Mr. O'Brien's bodily powers, but it had failed to rob him of his energy and determination. To sullen threats that if the men were not suffered to work in the old, easy-going fashion to which they had been used they would not work at all, he responded by closing down the mine and summarily dismissing all hands.

"If they don't know who is master of the Moyross mine they had better learn," he was reported to have said grimly.

M'Bain, not less resolute, had hinted that, if a few weeks' idling did not bring the miners to their senses, there would be no difficulty in finding others to take their places. Mr. Lynch shook his head over it all in the drawing-room at Kilshane.

"We've a bad winter before us, I fear," he said, gloomily.

Meanwhile, what remained of the summer was passing over, and August was nearing its end. Dr. Ford, the principal of Manus's school, wrote to Roderick that all needful repairs and alterations having been carried out to the satisfaction of a high sanitary authority, he hoped to see his pupils reassemble early in September. Manus groaned at the thought of his glorious holiday-time being so near its close, and of the boating and fishing and other outdoor enjoyments having to be exchanged for Latin and algebra, and the routine of school life. Lanty had been much less about Kilshane of late, but Manus seemed to understand his comings and goings very well, and evinced no surprise thereat.

Manus's return to school was only a week off when Lady Louisa Butler, who on a former occasion had driven over to make the O'Briens' acquaintance, sent a friendly invitation to Roderick and Anstace to dine and sleep at her house upon a certain evening when she hoped to have a few friends to meet them.

"My dear, you must on no account refuse," said kindly Mrs. Lynch, whom Anstace had consulted; "Lady Louisa's little parties are always delightful, and she is sure to have people whom you would like to know, and who will be interested in you for your father's sake."

So a note of acceptance was written, and then the question of ways and means had to be considered, as Dromore, Lady Louisa's place, was fourteen Irish miles distant. Biddy, though dismissed from active service with the O'Briens, kept herself posted up in all the family affairs by frequent visits to the kitchen, and was always ready to tender advice on knotty points. She was urgent that the old chariot in the coach-house, in which Miss Ansey had been wont to take her drives in state, should be brought out from its retirement for the occasion.

"An' what wud the O'Briens be dhrivin' in, to mate all the quality o' the county, if 'twasn't their own ekeepage?" she demanded indignantly. "Shure it's not on a common jauntin' car, that any shoneen wid a shillin' in his pocket could pay for as well as yerself, that ye'd have Miss Anstace sottin', Masther Roderick?"

"I've no doubt that Miss Anstace and I would create a sensation amongst the quality if we arrived in the family equipage, Biddy," Roderick answered with much gravity, though there was a twinkle in his eyes, as he surveyed the crazy, antiquated chariot which had been drawn out into the grass-grown yard for inspection.

Cobwebs festooned it inside and out, the iron-work was red with rust, and the lining of the interior mouldy with damp, and perforated by moths. It was hung so high from the ground that it had to be entered by a flight of steps, let down and fastened up from the outside. Roderick shook his head as he turned away with a laugh.

"No, Biddy; I'm afraid that however humiliating it may be to Miss Anstace and me, there is nothing for it but for us to make our first appearance amongst the aristocracy of Clare upon a hack car."

A ragged, shoeless boy came running into the yard at that moment and thrust a note into Roderick's hand.

"Captin Lester's complimints, yer honour, an' I was to give that to you at wanst."

Roderick opened the note and then called to Anstace, who, the carriage-parade being at an end, was going back into the house.

"Hullo, Anstace; what do you say to entertaining a guest? Are your household resources up to the mark?"

"A guest! Roderick! who?"

"Lester, the resident magistrate. You haven't met him, but he's a capital fellow; you're sure to like him. Here's what he says—I suppose it's no harm for the children to hear it."

For Norah and Manus, with eyes brimming with curiosity, had drawn near to listen, leaving it to Biddy and Bride, with the assistance of Captain Lester's messenger, to push the ancestral chariot back to slumber once more within the dilapidated coach-house.

Dear O'Brien,—the note ran,—Should I be taking a great liberty if I asked you and Miss O'Brien to give me a shake-down at Kilshane to-morrow night? There is to be a seizure effected in your neighbourhood the following day, and in the present state of the country it would be idle to attempt it except immediately after daybreak. I should, therefore, be saved a long night-drive by sleeping at your house, and this must be my excuse for troubling you.

Yours, &c.
        CHARLES LESTER.

P.S. I know I can trust you to keep the object of my visit secret, otherwise its purpose would be rendered nugatory.

"Well, Anstace, what do you say?" looking at her with the open note still in his hand.

"I don't really know," Anstace returned dubiously. "Bride is a good little girl, but she has not got many ideas yet about cooking or attending at table, or anything of that sort, and a man like Captain Lester is accustomed to having everything comfortable and well done."

"Oh, nonsense! Lester's not that sort of fellow at all. Give him a good plain dinner and he'll be quite satisfied. I should think a man would prefer any sort of dinner at all to having to drive over from Ballyfin at one o'clock in the morning You can get Biddy in to help, you know, if necessary."

Anstace smiled a little at the latter suggestion, but she saw that Roderick was anxious for the invitation to be given, and if Roderick wished for anything it was certain that Anstace would gratify him if it was within her power to do so.

"Oh yes, ask him by all means," she said pleasantly, "and we'll do the best we can for him. He knows we're not millionaires, so he won't expect too much."

"It fits in first-rate, too," said Roderick, reading the letter over again. "If he'd wanted to come the next night we couldn't have had him, as that's the evening we're going to Lady Louisa's. Now remember, you two," to Norah and Manus, "not a word of this to anyone." And he walked off into the house to write his answer to the note.

Manus and Norah were in quite a tumult of expectation next evening. Captain Lester was the first visitor who had passed a night under the roof at Kilshane, and to their minds a resident magistrate, to whom the peace of the district was committed, and who could incarcerate offenders and order the constabulary hither and thither, was a very tremendous personage to be brought in contact with. Captain Lester, on his arrival, did not appear the least awe-inspiring however; he was a big, sandy-haired, good-humoured looking man, with a loud voice and cheery manner, and Anstace owned to herself, with a sigh of relief, that she would not mind so very much if Bride did commit a few blunders during the course of the dinner.

This was just as well, since Bride, although Anstace had spent a good part of the day in drilling her and rehearsing to her what she would have to do, evinced a capacity for making mistakes which was absolutely marvellous. Manus and Norah were partaking of late dinner for the first time in their lives, and Manus grew purple in the face in his efforts to choke down his laughter, as poor Bride, blushing to the roots of her hair in her bashfulness, went floundering round the table, setting down plates where dishes should have been, and knocking over glasses. It was only by an agonized frown, which Bride fortunately caught just in time, that Anstace brought to her mind that it was the mustard and not the powdered sugar which was to be handed round with the roast-beef. All her signals, however, failed to prevent the cauliflower from being presented to the guests as a course all by itself, while the dish of croquettes, which Anstace had prepared herself, with the expenditure of much time and trouble, as an entrée, appeared later on in the company of the potatoes. Besides which, Bride persistently left the door open whenever she went out to the kitchen, where Biddy was assisting to the best of her ability, so that scraps of conversation, not intended to be heard in the dining-room, were only too audible to the party seated at table.

"Bride, will I pull the tart out o' the oven yit, 'tis the beautifullest brown that iver ye see? Gorra, but it's hot; it has the fingers burnt off of me!—Och, but the captin's the fine lump of a man, an' I'll be bound he's not takin' his two oyes out o' Miss Anstace this minit. I'll jist shlip to the doore an' have a look at her, the darlin', sottin' at the head of her table, as swate as a flower, an' as shtately as a queen."

This was too much for Manus, who from his seat opposite the door had a full sight of Biddy trying to post herself where she could command the best view of the room, and he winked knowingly at her. Biddy, much discomfited at being detected, retreated backwards on some crockery which Bride, notwithstanding all Anstace's injunctions to the contrary, had set down in her hurry on the floor of the hall, and there arose a terrible outcry.