of intention. Then he bowed and they returned it, and the two pairs
gave place to one another with ceremony, Colonel John and Ulick passing
out through the garden wicket, while the strangers moved on towards the
walk which looked over the lake. Here they began to pace up and down.

With his hand on the house door Uncle Ulick made a last attempt. "For
God's sake, be easy and go," he muttered, his voice unsteady, his eyes
fixed on the other's, as if he would read his mind. "Leave us to our
fate! You cannot save us--you see what you see, you know what it means.
And for what I know, you know the man. You'll but make our end the
blacker."

"And the girl?"

Uncle Ulick tossed his hands in the air. "God help her!" he said.

"Shall not we too help her?"

"We cannot."

"It may be. Still, let us do our duty," Colonel John replied. He was
very grave. Things were worse, the plot was thicker, than he had
feared.

Uncle Ulick groaned. "You'll not be bidden?" he said.

"Not by an angel," Colonel John answered steadfastly. "And I've seen
none this morning, but only a good man whose one fault in life is to
answer to all men 'Sure, and I will!'"

Uncle Ulick started as if the words stung him. "You make a jest of it!"
he said. "Heaven send we do not sorrow for your wilfulness. For my
part, I've small hope of that same." He opened the door, and, turning
his back upon his companion, went heavily, and without any attempt at
concealment, past the pantry and up the stairs to his room. Colonel
John heard him slip the bolt, and, bearing a heavy heart himself, he
knew that the big man was gone to his prayers.

To answer "Yes" to all comers and all demands is doubtless, in the
language of Uncle Ulick, a mighty convenience, and a great softener of
the angles of life. But a time comes to the most easy when he must
answer "No," or go open-eyed to ruin. Then he finds that from long
disuse the word will not shape itself; or if uttered, it is taken for
naught. That time had come for Uncle Ulick. Years ago his age and
experience had sufficed to curb the hot blood about him. But he had
been too easy to dictate while he might; he had let the reins fall from
his hands; and to-day he must go the young folks' way--ay, go, seeing
all too plainly the end of it.

It was not his fate only. Many good men in the '15 and the '45, ay, and
in the war of La Vendee, went out against their better judgment, borne
along by the energy of more vehement spirits