the end of his long journey had been met by failure. Again and again he
endeavoured to remember if he had seen his landlord, and what reply he
had received; but except a vague sense of disappointment, he could fix
on nothing. It was only as he drew near the great mansion once more,
that he could thoroughly recollect all that had happened; and then,
the truth flashed on his mind, and he felt all the bitterness of his
misfortune. I need not dwell on this theme. The poor man turned again
homeward; why, he could not well have answered, had any been cruel
enough to ask him. The hope that buoyed him up before, now spent and
exhausted, his step was slow and his heart heavy, while his mind, racked
with anxieties and dreads, increased his bodily debility, and made each
mile of the way seem ten.

On the fourth day of his journey--wet through from morning till late in
the evening--he was seized with a shivering-fit, followed soon after by
symptoms of fever. The people in whose house he had taken shelter for
the night, had him at once conveyed to the infirmary, where for eight
weeks he lay dangerously ill; a relapse of his malady, on the day before
he was to be pronounced convalescent, occurred, and the third month was
nigh its close, ere Owen left the hospital.

It was more than a week ere he could proceed on his journey, which
he did at last, moving only a few miles each day, and halting before
nightfall. Thus wearily plodding on, he reached Liverpool at last, and
about the middle of January arrived in his native country once more.

His strength regained, his bodily vigour restored, he had made a long
day's journey to reach home, and it was about ten o'clock of a bright
and starry night that he crossed the mountains that lie between
Ballinrobe and Maam. To Owen, the separation from his home seemed like
a thing of years long; and his heart was full to bursting as each
well-remembered spot appeared, bringing back a thousand associations of
his former life. As he strode along he stopped frequently to look down
towards the village, where, in each light that twinkled, he could
mark the different cabins of his old friends. At length, the long low
farmhouse of the Joyces came into view--he could trace it by the line
of light that glittered from every window--and from this, Owen could not
easily tear himself away. Muttering a heartfelt prayer for those beneath
that roof, he at last moved on, and near midnight gained the little glen
wh