body, 'tisn't for the like of docthors
to be settin' up to mend them."

With this piece of pessimistic philosophy, he picked up Milbanke's bags
and rug, and guided him through the small station into the open, where
the Orristown trap stood waiting in a downpour of rain.

He imparted little more information during the long drive, and Milbanke
had to sit under his dripping umbrella with as much patience as he
could muster while they ploughed forward over an execrable road.

The gateway of Orristown, when at last it was reached, looked mouldy
and forlorn in the chilly damp of the atmosphere; and as they plunged
up the avenue at the usual reckless pace, a perfect torrent of
rain-drops deluged them from the intersecting branches of the trees.
Yet despite the gloom and the discomfort, a thrill of something like
pleasure filled Milbanke as a whiff of pure, cold air brought the scent
of the sea to his nostrils, and the turn of the avenue showed the
square house, white and massive against the grey sky.

But he was given little time to indulge in the pleasure of
reminiscence, for instantly the trap drew up, the hall door was thrown
open, showing a face and figure that sent everything but the moment and
the business in hand far from his mind.

It was Clodagh who stood there waiting to greet him--Clodagh, curiously
changed and grown in the three years that had passed since their last
meeting. In place of the spirited, unformed child that he remembered,
Milbanke saw a very young girl, whose boyishness of figure had
disappeared in slight feminine curves, whose bright, fearless eyes had
softened into uncommon beauty.

With a glow of relief lighting up her face, she stepped forward as the
horse halted, and, heedless of the rain that fell on her uncovered
head, laid one hand on the shaft of the trap.

"Oh, it's good of you!--it's good of you!" she exclaimed. "We can never
forget it."

Then the colour flooded her cheeks, and her eyes filled.

"Oh, he's so bad!" she added. "It's so terrible to see him--so
terrible."

She looked up with alarm and impotence into Milbanke's face.

But it was not the guest, but old Burke who found words to calm her
fear and grief. Leaning down from his seat, he laid a rough hand on her
shoulder.

"Whist now, Miss Clodagh!" he said softly--"whist now! Sure God is
good. While there's life there's hope. Don't be believin' anythin'
else. Sure, what is he but a young man yet?"

"That's true, Burk