st look upon her.
Our eyes met; I cannot say what it was, but in a moment the whole current
of my thoughts was changed; her look was bent upon me beaming with softness
and affection, her hand gently pressed my own, and her lips murmured my
name.

The door burst open at this moment, and Sir George Dashwood appeared. Lucy
turned one fleeting look upon her father, and fell fainting into my arms.

"God bless you, my boy!" said the old general, as he hurriedly wiped a tear
from his eye; "I am now, indeed, a happy father."

[Illustration: THE WELCOME HOME.]

CHAPTER LV.

CONCLUSION.

* * * * *

The sun had set about half an hour. Already were the dusky shadows blending
with the faint twilight, as on a lovely July evening we entered the little
village of Portumna,--we, I say; for Lucy was beside me. For the last few
miles of the way I had spoken little; thoughts of the many times I had
travelled that same road, in how many moods, occupied my mind; and
although, as we flew rapidly along, some well-known face would every now
and then present itself, I had but time for the recognition ere we were
past. Arousing myself from my revery, I was pointing out to Lucy certain
well-known spots in the landscape, and directing her attention to places
with the names of which she had been for some time familiar, when suddenly
a loud shout rent the air, and the next moment the carriage was surrounded
by hundreds of country people, some of whom brandished blazing pine
torches; others carried rude banners in their hands,--but all testified
the most fervent joy as they bade us welcome. The horses were speedily
unharnessed, and their places occupied by a crowd of every age and sex,
who hurried us along through the straggling street of the village, now a
perfect blaze of bonfires.

Mounds of turf, bog-fir, and tar-barrels sent up their ruddy blaze, while
hundreds of wild, but happy faces, flitted around and through them,--now
dancing merrily in chorus; now plunging madly into the midst of the fire,
and scattering the red embers on every side. Pipers were there too, mounted
upon cars or turf-kishes; even the very roof-tops rang out their merry
notes; the ensigns of the little fishing-craft waved in the breeze, and
seemed to feel the general joy around them; while over the door of the
village inn stood a brilliantly lighted transparency, representing the head
of the O'Malleys holding a very scantily-rob