wildest dreams come
true sometimes. The wealthy enthusiast might fall, however, into the
hands of the professional patriot, who would bleed him to death in
behalf of paper schemes. To whom could he confide him? Honora! It had
always been Honora with him, who could do nothing without her. He did
not wish to hamper her in the last moment, as he had hampered her since
she had first planned her own life.

It was even a pleasant thought for him, to think of his faithful child
living her beautiful, quiet, convent life, after the fatigues and
pilgrimages of years, devoted to his memory, mingling his name with her
prayers, innocent of any other love than for him and her Creator. Yes,
she must be free as the air after he died. However, the sick are not
masters of their emotions. A great dread and a great anguish filled him.
Would it be his fate to lose Arthur to Ireland by consideration for
others? But he loved her so! How could he bind her in bonds at the very
moment of their bitter separation? He would not do it! He would not do
it! He fought down his own longing until he woke up in a sweat of terror
one night, and called to her loudly, fearing that he would die before he
exacted from her the last promise. He must sacrifice all for his
country, even the freedom of his child.

"Honora," he cried, "was I ever faithless to Erin? Did I ever hesitate
when it was a question of money, or life, or danger, or suffering for
her sake?"

"Never, father dear," she said, soothing him like a child.

"I have sinned now, then. For your sake I have sinned. I wished to leave
you free when I am gone, although I saw you were still necessary to
Eire. Promise me, my child, that you will delay a little after I am
gone, before entering the convent; that you will make sure beforehand
that Erin has no great need of you ... just a month or a year ... any
delay----"

"As long as you please, father," she said quietly. "Make it five years
if you will----"

"No, no," he interrupted with anguish in his throat. "I shall never
demand again from you the sacrifices of the past. What may seem just to
you will be enough. I die almost happy in leaving Arthur Dillon to carry
on with his talent and his money the schemes of which I only dreamed.
But I fear the money patriots will get hold of him and cheat him of his
enthusiasm and his money together. If you were by to let him know what
was best to be done--that is all I ask of you----"

"A year at least then,