im, and Larry was a dead shot. But this time he made a
scandalous miss, for the shot knocked a little white dust from the stone
wall a full yard at one side; and the fellow never shifted his negligent
posture or qualified his sardonic smile during the procedure.

Larry was mortified and angry.

"You'll not get off this time, my tulip!" he said with a grin,
exchanging the smoking weapon for the loaded pistol in reserve.

"What are you pistolling, Larry?" said a familiar voice close by his
elbow, and he saw his master, accompanied by a handsome young man in a
cloak.

"That villain, your honour, in the window, there."

"Why there's nobody there, Larry," said De Lacy, with a laugh, though
that was no common indulgence with him.

As Larry gazed, the figure somehow dissolved and broke up without
receding. A hanging tuft of yellow and red ivy nodded queerly in place
of the face, some broken and discoloured masonry in perspective took up
the outline and colouring of the arms and figure, and two imperfect red
and yellow lichen streaks carried on the curved tracing of the long
spindle shanks. Larry blessed himself, and drew his hand across his damp
forehead, over his bewildered eyes, and could not speak for a minute.
It was all some devilish trick; he could take his oath he saw every
feature in the fellow's face, the lace and buttons of his cloak and
doublet, and even his long finger nails and thin yellow fingers that
overhung the cross-shaft of the window, where there was now nothing but
a rusty stain left.

The young gentleman who had arrived with De Lacy, stayed that night and
shared with great apparent relish the homely fare of the family. He was
a gay and gallant Frenchman, and the beauty of the younger lady, and her
pleasantry and spirit, seemed to make his hours pass but too swiftly,
and the moment of parting sad.

When he had departed early in the morning, Ultor De Lacy had a long talk
with his elder daughter, while the younger was busy with her early dairy
task, for among their retainers this _proles generosa_ reckoned a "kind"
little Kerry cow.

He told her that he had visited France since he had been last at
Cappercullen, and how good and gracious their sovereign had been, and
how he had arranged a noble alliance for her sister Una. The young
gentleman was of high blood, and though not rich, had, nevertheless, his
acres and his _nom de terre_, besides a captain's rank in the army. He
was, in short, the very