"Tim!" she said very softly.

The old man turned quickly; then drew back.

But Clodagh held out her hand, regardless of the staring summer
visitors.

"Tim! I'm not so changed that you don't know me?"

The old man remained motionless.

"I'd know you if I was under the sod, and the sound of your voice come
anear me," he said almost solemnly.

Clodagh felt her throat tighten, as the old horny hand was slowly
extended to clasp her own.

"I'm glad to be home, Tim!" she said impulsively--"I'm glad to be
home!"

There was a delay of several minutes while the porter extricated her
luggage from the van; and during this interval, she found time to
admire the young horse, which had been bred at Orristown, and to make
friends with the Irish terrier that had been Mick's companion on the
run to Muskeere, besides asking a dozen questions concerning people and
things at Carrigmore. Then at last, the trunk was deposited under the
roomy seat of the trap; and Asshlin stepped forward to help her into
her place.

"Larry," she said, pausing with her foot on the step, "may I drive? I'd
love to drive."

Asshlin gave a ready assent, and, taking his own seat, handed her the
reins, while Burke mounted to the back of the trap.

It was wonderful to Clodagh, that first gathering up of reins rendered
hard by long service and Irish rain--that first forward start into the
strong, sea-scented air. A sudden joy filled her. She was young; the
world was a goodly place, when one studied it in this untainted
atmosphere; above all, she was possessor of the great prize--love. Far
away, in the tumult and press of the greatest city in the world, the
man she set above all others thought of her--waited for her--trusted
her.

Out of her own bright confidence, she made the sunny morning brighter,
as she drove along the well-remembered roads, halting every mile or so
to gaze at some thrice-familiar object that stood now as it had stood
in the days of her babyhood.

At last Carrigmore was reached. She saw the clustering pink-and-white
cottages of the village; the sleeping ruins guarded by the Round Tower;
the long, yellow strand and the glassy bay, on whose farther headland
stood the house of Orristown---a square white patch, to be seen for
many miles. She looked at it all long and closely.

"Oh, Larry," she said, below her breath, "how wonderfully the same it
is! Nance told me, but I couldn't imagine it. Why, there's scarcely a
weed changed!"

A