tir from the
house.

This was the step to the opposite extreme, and it had the effect that
might be expected. His daughter's sensibilities revolted at such
severity--her prepossessions in favour of the hapless person on whose
account she was subjected to it, became more confirmed; she was determined
she would not be thwarted, that, at least, she would attempt to learn some
intelligence of Hewitt's fate, and, if possible, see him once more before
they parted for ever. While, however, she awaited an opportunity of
communicating with a faithful messenger, who had sometimes conveyed notes
from him when accident prevented their meeting, she was attacked with
illness, a smart febrile indisposition--the result, no doubt, of the
mental disquietude she had undergone--and several weeks elapsed before she
was again able to reach the little conservatory, which, opening on the
lower apartments of the mansion, constituted the utmost limits of that
domestic boundary beyond which she was not permitted to proceed.

CHAPTER IV.

It was late in a dreary night of November. The wind blew a perfect
hurricane, rushing up the thick avenue which led to the Glebe house of
Clogheen, driving before it in its fury vast clouds of withered leaves it
had collected on its way, and showering them in impotent wrath against the
doors and windows of the house, which shook and clattered as if each had
its own separate assailant. Midnight--black midnight had passed, and the
faint light of a rising moon was beginning to mingle with the disturbed
and dismal air. It was no night for mortals to forsake quiet and
comfortable beds, and, least of all, delicate female invalids; yet Katey
Tyrrel, shadowy and wan as a ghost, was standing at this hour watching the
roaring tempest from the windows of the conservatory, that looked upon the
front lawn of the dwelling. She had not, however, been long stationed
there, when the darkness of the spot in which she stood (for there was no
candle) was made still murkier by the shadow of a man who appeared
outside. Katey softly undid the Venetian door, and Hewitt stood before
her.

"Dear, dear girl! how am I to thank you?" he murmured as he pressed with
impassioned eagerness the hand she extended to him.

"Speak low--low--low!" whispered the confused and trembling maiden. "Oh,
what a night--what an hour to meet in!"

"Any where--every where--no where--no matter--with you it is paradise to
me!" ejaculated her lover with a