omewhere near here, haven't
you a Mr Gorman, whom I am to see on business."

The landlord's face fell.

"Ay. His honour's house is across the lough yonder at Knockowen. But
you'll get little value out of him. He's a broken man."

"How broken?"

"Arrah, it's a long story. He's run with the hare and hunted with the
hounds too long, and there's no man more hated between here and the
Foyle. His life's not worth a twopenny-piece."

"Was he the man whose daughter was carried off?" I asked as innocently
as I could.

"Who told you that?" said he, with a startled look. "Not Tim. If it
had been Barry now, the scoundrel, he could have told you more of that
than any man. Ay, that's he."

"Did he ever get her back?"

"'Deed, there's no telling. He says not a word. But he hangs every
honest man that comes across him. I'd as soon swim from Fanad to Dunaff
in a nor'-westerly gale as call up at Knockowen."

"Well," said I, with a laugh, "get me a boat, for I must see him at
once, and take my chance of a hanging. Give me oars and a sail; I can
put myself over."

So once more I found myself on the familiar tack, with Knockowen a white
speck on the water-side ahead. What memories and hopes and fears
crowded my mind as I slid along before the breeze! How would his honour
receive me this time? Should I find Knockowen a trap from which I
should have to fight my way out? Should I--here I laughed grimly--spend
the night dangling at a rope's end from one of the beeches in the
avenue? Above all, should I find Miss Kit there, or any news of her?
Then I gave myself up to thinking of her, and the minutes passed
quickly, till it was time to slip my sheet and row alongside the
landing-stage.

"Halt! who goes there?" cried a voice.

"A friend," said I; "first officer of his Majesty's cutter _Gnat_, with
a message from the captain to Mr Gorman."

"Pass, friend," said the sentry, grounding his gun with a clang.

"Ah," thought I, as I walked up the well-known path, remembering the
half-hour I had been kept waiting at my last visit, "it's something to
be an officer and a gentleman after all."

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

HIS HONOUR ESCAPES HIS ENEMIES AT LAST.

It was less than a year since I had seen Knockowen. But all seemed
changed. Weeds and grass were on the paths, the flower-beds were
unkempt, the fences were broken in places, damp stains were spread over
the house front. Everywhere were signs of neglect and