man
says tenderly.

But a chill has fallen upon the girl; her brief thrill of happiness has
left a vague unrest behind it.

"I must go in now, Power. What will they say to me? I have never been
out so late before!"

"And I have never kissed you before, nor held you in my arms," he
answers almost incoherently. "Sure love like ours takes no heed of the
clock!"

"My father will take heed of it, though," the girl rejoins, smiling,
and hurrying, fast as the uneven path will let her, toward the lights
that are gleaming now from all the lower windows of her home.

Donaghmore stands on a slight hill overlooking the river on one side
and the woods of Colonel Frenche's estate on the other. It is a stone
house, with deep-set windows and stout doors, that have withstood hard
blows in their day. Save for Glen Doyle, Colonel Frenche's place, there
is no house of equal size for miles around, and several visitors have
remarked the loneliness of the situation; but to that the Blakes never
give a thought. The solid old house, which faces all the winds that
blow, is very dear to them. In its very isolation there is a charm that
any other dwelling would lack.

"Honor," the young fellow says, as they reach the house, "will you
speak a word of warning to your father and Launce? They won't listen to
me, I know. But it is not safe to speak as they have been doing lately.
This affair of poor Rooney's may show you the temper of the people. No
man was better liked, but he couldn't keep a still tongue in his head,
and he lies at death's door this night."

"And are we not to speak, Power? Have we not as much right to our
opinion as other people? There never yet was a Blake who was a rebel or
a coward!"

"There is a time to speak and a time to keep silent," he answers,
taking her face between his hands, and looking down, his dark eyes
softening, at the pretty flushed cheeks and lips just curved into a
pout. "My own love, trust me! I would not have you or yours bring a
stain upon the old name--but silence can hurt no one."

From where they stand they can hear the sounds of voices and men's
laughter and the chink of glass, which come through the open windows of
the dining-room.

"Those windows ought to be securely fastened before the dusk falls,
Honor. Your father is really too--too confident."

"What a prophet of evil you are, Power!" the girl answers lightly; but,
all the same, her heart is filled with the vague fear that has been
t