art of the convent scheme."

"I begin to see," I said; "I'm to be sick."

"And who," said he, "would you rather see in your suffering than an
angel like Norah?"

"I'd rather see Lucy," I said.

"Well, well, you're a constant creature. I have a little place over here
near Stromore, as you know; but you mustn't be ill there; you must go to
the hotel." He paused and looked at me.

"Go on," I said.

"And being very low," he continued, very slowly, "you'll speak to Biddy
about it."

"Who's Biddy?" I asked.

"Mahony's daughter; he runs the hotel. And you'll say that you'd like to
see someone--a woman for choice--as you have something weighing on your
mind; and then you might drop Miss O'Callaghan's name. Now Biddy was
Norah's maid for a time, and what more natural than that she should
suggest bringing her old mistress to the poor sick guest?"

"You're a rogue," I said.

"Then Norah will come to you," he went on, "and I shall be in the next
room, and after a time you'll speak of me, and then--"

"We must wait for the rest," I said, "But what will your cousin, Mrs.
O'Callaghan, be doing all the time?"

"She'll be talking to Mahony about the price of oats downstairs."

"This is a very charming plan," I said, "but will it work? And do you
think me humbug enough to mix myself up in such an affair?"

"You're humbug enough for anything," he said, "but have you the nerve?"

"It doesn't need much nerve," I said.

"You haven't seen Norah," he replied.

"Well, I'll risk it; I came over here to help you, and I may as well do
it, little as the job suits me."

"Oh," he laughed, "it'll be grand to see my cousin Mrs. O'Callaghan's
face!"

It was important to our plan that St. Alleyne and I should not seem to
be together, so he gave me final instructions before we reached Stromore
Station. "You must get the bedroom over the door," he said, "because
there's a sitting-room next to it, and we must have them both."

"Suppose it's already occupied?" I said.

[Illustration: "WE SWUNG UP THE ROAD FROM THE STATION."]

"You don't know Stromore in the winter," he said; "there won't be a soul
in the place, and Mahony will kneel at your feet."

"I hope he won't," I said, "because I might feel inclined to kick him."

"Kick Mahony!" he cried, "the man's six feet two, and as strong as an
ox. You'd better begin to be sick almost at once, hadn't you?"

"I feel bad enough," I said.

We shook hands in the carriage as the train p