have won the game."

"Won the game! How?--where?"

"Check!"

"How tauntingly he says it now," said Kate, while her eyes sparkled
brilliantly. "There is too much of the conqueror in all that."

Frederick's glance met hers at the instant, and her cheek coloured
deeply.

Who knows the source of such emotions, or of how much pleasure and pain
they are made up! "And yet, I have not won," said he, in a low voice.

"Then, be it a drawn battle," said Kate. "You can afford to be generous,
and I can't bear being beaten--that's the truth of it."

"If I could but win!" muttered Travers, as he rose from the table; and
whether she overheard the words, and that they conveyed more than a
mere allusion to the game, she turned hastily away, and approached the
window.

"Is that snow-ball your horse, Captain Travers?" said she, with a wicked
smile.

"My father's favourite cob, by Jove!" exclaimed Frederick; and, as if
suddenly aroused to the memory of his lengthy visit, made his 'adieus'
with more confusion than was exactly suitable to a fashionable
Guardsman--and departed.

"I like him," said Herbert, as he looked out of the window after him.
"Don't you, cousin Kate?"

But cousin Kate did not reply.

CHAPTER XX. TEMPTATION IN A WEAK HOUR

When Mark O'Donoghue left the room, his passion had become almost
ungovernable--the entrance of his cousin Kate had but dammed up the
current of his anger--and, during the few moments he still remained
afterwards, his temper was fiercely tried by witnessing the courtesy of
her manner to the stranger, and the apparent intimacy which subsisted
between them. "I ought to have known it," was the expression he muttered
over and over to himself--"I ought to have known it! That fellow's gay
jacket and plumed hat are dearer to her woman's heart, than the rude
devotion of such as I am. Curses be on them, they carry persecution
through every thing--house, home, country, rank, wealth, station--ay,
the very affection of our kindred they grudge us! Was slavery ever like
this?" And with these bitter words, the offspring of bitterer thoughts,
he strode down the causeway, and reached the high road. The snow was
falling fast--a chilling north wind drove the thin flakes along--but he
heeded it not. The fire of anger that burned within his bosom defied all
sense of winter's cold; and with a throbbing brow, and fevered hand, he
went, turning from time to time to look up at the old castle, whence he
e