as before;
and the only very pressing evil were the bills, the renewal of which,
demanded a considerable sum of ready money. That this one misfortune
should occasion a gloom, the accumulated griefs of former days had not
done, he could not understand; but, by long musing on the matter, and
deep reflection, he at last came to the conviction, that such was the
case, and that Mark's sorrow was the greater, from seeing how near they
were to a more favourable issue to their affairs, and yet how fatally
debarred from such a consummation by this one disastrous circumstance.

The drowning hand grasps not the straw with more avidity than does
the harassed and wearied mind, agitated by doubts, and worn out with
conjectures, seize upon some one apparent solution to a difficulty that
has long oppressed it, and, for the very moment, convert every passing
circumstance into an argument for its truthfulness. The O'Donoghue now
saw, or believed he saw, why Mark would never accompany the others in
their visits to the "Lodge"--nor be present when any of the Travers
family came to the castle; he immediately accounted for his son's
rejection of the proffered civilities, by that wounded pride which made
him feel his present position so painfully, and, as the future head of
the house, grieve over a state so unbecoming to its former fortunes.

"The poor fellow," said he, "is too high-spirited to be a guest to those
he cannot be a host. Noble boy! the old blood flows strongly in _your_
veins, at least."

How to combat this evil, now became his sole thought. He mused over
it by day--he dreamed of it by night. Hour by hour he endured the
harassing tortures of a poverty, whose struggles were all abortive, and
whose repulses came without ceasing. Each plan he thought of, was met by
obstacles innumerable; and when, worn out with unprofitable schemes,
he had resolved on abandoning the subject for ever, the sight of Mark's
wasted cheek and sunken eye rallied him again to an effort, which, each
time, he vowed should be the last.

The old, and often successful remedies to rally him from his low
spirits, his father possessed no longer--the indulgence of some caprice,
some momentary fancy for a horse or a hound--a boat or a fishing-rod.

He felt, besides, that his grief, whatever it was, lay too deep for such
surface measures as these, and he pondered long and anxiously over the
matter. Nor had he one to share his sorrow, or assist him with advice.