charged as
he is,' said she gravely.

'That is to say, if he be tracked and discovered.'

'It is what I mean.'

'Well, one has only to look out of that window, and see where we are, and
what lies around us on every side, to be tolerably easy on that score.'

And, as he spoke, he arose and walked out upon the terrace.

'What, were you here all this time?' asked he, as he saw Nina seated on the
battlement, and throwing dried leaves carelessly to the wind.

'Yes, I have been here this half-hour, perhaps longer.'

'And heard what we have been saying within there?'

'Some chance words reached me, but I did not follow them.'

'Oh, it was here you were, then, Nina!' cried Kate. 'I am ashamed to say I
did not know it.'

'We got so warm in discussing your friend's merits or demerits, that we
parted in a sort of huff,' said Nina. 'I wonder was he worth quarrelling
for?'

'What should _you_ say?' asked Dick inquiringly, as he scanned her face.

'In any other land, I might say he was--that is, that some interest might
attach to him; but here, in Ireland, you all look so much brighter, and
wittier, and more impetuous, and more out of the common than you really
are, that I give up all divination of you, and own I cannot read you at
all.'

'I hope you like the explanation,' said Kate to her brother, laughing.

'I'll tell my friend of it in the morning,' said Dick; 'and as he is a
great national champion, perhaps he'll accept it as a defiance.'

'You do not frighten me by the threat,' said Nina calmly.

Dick looked from her face to her sister's and back again to hers, to
discern if he might how much she had overheard; but he could read nothing
in her cold and impassive bearing, and he went his way in doubt and
confusion.

CHAPTER XXIX

ON A VISIT AT KILGOBBIN

Before Kearney had risen from his bed the next morning, Donogan was in his
room, his look elated and his cheek glowing with recent exercise. 'I have
had a burst of two hours' sharp walking over the bog,' cried he; 'and it
has put me in such spirits as I have not known for many a year. Do you
know, Mr. Kearney, that what with the fantastic effects of the morning
mists, as they lift themselves over these vast wastes--the glorious patches
of blue heather and purple anemone that the sun displays through the
fog--and, better than all, the springiness of a soil that sends a thrill to
the heart, like a throb of youth itself, there is no walking in the wor