tain?" inquired my companion, as he plied his whip without
ceasing.

"The Castle; you know where that is?"

"Faix I ought," was the reply. "Ain't I there at the levees. But howld
fast, your honour; the road isn't good; and there is a hole somewhere
hereabouts."

"A hole! For Heaven's sake, take care. Do you know where it is?"

"Begorra! you're in it," was the answer; and, as he spoke, the horse
went down head foremost, the car after him; away flew the driver on
one side, while I myself was shot some half-dozen yards on the other, a
perfect avalanche of trunks, boxes, and portmanteaus rattling about
my doomed head. A crashing shower of kicks, the noise of the flying
splinters, and the imprecations of the carman, were the last sounds I
heard, as a heavy imperial full of books struck me on the head, and laid
me prostrate.

Through my half-consciousness, I could still feel the rain as it fell in
sheets; the heavy plash of the sea sounded in my ears; but, somehow, a
feeling like sleepiness crept over me, and I became insensible.

CHAPTER III. THE CASTLE

When I next came to my senses, I found myself lying upon a sofa in a
large room, of which I appeared the only occupant. A confused and misty
recollection of my accident, some scattered fragments of my voyage, and
a rather aching sensation in my head, were the only impressions of which
I was well conscious. The last evening I spent at home was full in my
memory, and I could not help thinking over my poor mother's direful
anticipations in my vain endeavours to penetrate what I felt had been a
misfortune of some kind or other. The mystery was, however, too deep for
my faculties; and so, in despair of unravelling the past, I set myself
to work to decipher the present. The room, I have already said, was
large; and the ceiling, richly stuccoed and ornamented, spoke of a day
whose architecture was of a grand and massive character. The furniture,
now old and time-worn, had once been handsome, even magnificent--rich
curtains of heavy brocaded silk, with deep gold fringes, gorgeously
carved and gilded chairs, in the taste of Louis XV.; marble consoles
stood between the windows, and a mirror of gigantic proportions occupied
the chimney-breast. Years and neglect had not only done their worst, but
it was evident that the hand of devastation had also been at work. The
marbles were cracked; few of the chairs were available for use; the
massive lustre, intended to shine with a