beyed, depressed for the moment by contact with that
hidden poverty of the proud and well-born, that is one of the most
pathetic factors in the scheme of Irish social life. She had longed
ardently to make some suggestion, some offer of help, to this bright,
spirited boy, who was wasting the best years God had given him in
coping with an estate that could never be made to pay, and attending
upon an invalid who hovered perpetually on the borderland of shadows;
but a native comprehension of the position held her dumb. An offer of
help made on the moment of his confidence would set an irrevocable
barrier between them in the very dawning of their renewed friendship.

So she had talked to him of the crops, of the fishing, of the Orristown
live-stock, while the boat carried them back across the bay. And the
sail homeward under the scudding clouds, while the little boat danced
and dipped to the buffeting of the waves, had erased the passing gloom;
and now, as they climbed the steep pathway and passed across the fields
to the house, Clodagh's heart was beating high in her own egotistical
joy at the mere fact of life.

She laughed out of sheer pleasure, as they passed round the house and
four or five dogs rushed forth from the hall to greet them; and
stooping impulsively, she drew Mick close to her and kissed his rough
head.

"Larry, do you remember how you won him from me long ago, and how nobly
you gave him back? I have never forgotten it." She smiled
affectionately at her tall young cousin; and, freeing Mick, led the way
into the house.

On the shabby hall table, where the silver sconces stood as of old, lay
a small heap of letters; and with an exclamation of pleasure, Clodagh
ran forward and picked them up, passing them hastily in review.

There was a thick, important-looking one from Nance. And--yes! the
first letter from Gore--the letter she had been waiting for!

For an instant her face fell. It felt thin and disappointing, as she
held the envelope between her fingers. But almost at once her face
cleared. After all, men had not as much time as women for the writing
of letters! And this had been written on the day of her departure! She
looked at the postmark: "London--10.30." Of course he had only had time
to scribble a line. How good and thoughtful of him even to have sent
that line! She turned and looked at Larry, her face radiant once more.

"Larry," she said, "will you tell Burke that we'll dine in half an
hour,