s like the forms of a dream, unreal and impossible.

So intently had he pursued these various reasonings, that he utterly
forgot everything of his late interview with Tom Keane; and when the
remembrance did flash upon him, the effect was almost stunning. The
crime would now be useless, so far as regarded Linton's own advantage.
Mary Leicester could never be his wife; why, then, involve himself,
however remotely, in a deed as profitless as it was perilous? No time
should be lost about this. He must see Keane immediately, and dissuade
him from the attempt. It would be easy to assure him that the whole
was a misconception,--a mistake of meaning. It was not necessary to
convince, it was enough to avert the act; but this must be done at once.

So reflecting, Linton took his way to the gate-lodge, which lay a
considerable distance off. The space afforded much time for thought, and
he was one whose thoughts travelled fast. His plans were all matured and
easy of accomplishment. After seeing Keane, he would address a few
lines to Tiernay, requesting an interview on the following morning. That
night, he resolved, should be his last at Tubbermore; the masquerade
had, as may be conjectured, few charms for one whose mind was charged
with heavier cares, but still it would give him an occasion to
whisper about his scandal on Lady Kilgoff, and, later on, give him the
opportunity of searching Cashel's papers for that document he wished to
obtain.

On reaching the gate-lodge, under pretence of lighting his cigar
he entered the house, where, in all the squalid misery of their un
tractable habits, Keane's wife sat, surrounded by her ragged children.

[Illustration: 274]

"Tom is at work, I suppose?" said he, carelessly.

"No, yer honer; he went out early this morning to look after a little
place for us, as the master is goin' to turn us out."

"I 'm sorry for that," said he, compassionately; "land is dear, and hard
to be got now-a-days. Why don't he go to America?"

"Indeed an' I don't know, sir. They say it's the asy place to gain a
livin'; fine pay, and little to do for it."

Linton smiled at an encomium for whose accuracy he would not have
vouched, and then tried to ascertain, in the same careless fashion,
in what direction Keane had gone; but the woman could not tell. She
believed it was by the high road, but could not be certain, since he had
left the house shortly after daybreak.

Linton sauntered out in deep thought. It w