THE MYSTERY OF KILLEEN CASTLE OR A BRANDED BROW.

North Otago Times, 27 December 1907, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE MYSTERY OF KILLEEN CASTLE OR A BRANDED BROW.

'ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

—-» ii BY A, fl AND W. I. ROIVE J; ' e SEVENTH IXSTALMFA"T. a CHAPTER XVII.-Continued. , In his left hand the stranger car- « riccl a lights! lantern, which oc- I 1 casionallv he raised to a level with ' his head', as trough to i 11 iimiiie- the ' way Ijci'o'-'. him. I'nperceued by the j newcomer, the inspector had been " gazing upon him for at least li\c minutes, and during that period had I noticed everything in connection with this mysterious nocturnal roamer oi flie woods. "' All at once it dawned upon th" d--tective that this might be a live monk r from some neighbouring monastery ' on an errand of mercy in the sick- ' though why one so old and feeble ' should !>■.• sent passed his coiiinivhen- ' sioa-and lv would no doubt be able ' 10 direct him. Matthew look a step forward with ' the object of accosting the other, ' when suddenly the old monk s'arted; ' the lamp fell with a crash from his n-rv.Oess lingers. For a moiii-n! a | ' bright 'lame arose as i:l- oil | red ' over the dry grass and l-uw,. ihor. all at one-' the insp--i-.nr saw that a J new (!,.i;g-r v. as at hair!. lac Hie en ! of terror which had escaped the ' Other's lips had did away, lv had ' darted forward, and was stamping upon the burning grass ;n hopes o: ' extinguishing it before it spread too far. ; So angi'iv-aed in ih- ; iv-upaiion ' was the man 'of law. Hi." af'-r Hi- j first few iva'A c.f :■.; ~'.'_;.■ i>r ei- j ' f!i:-!her noli. - o l ' .'-. - , ,-■• ; .:■ '-u , v.dikh bad at '■■■■' ' ' ' ' : ' ' ' ' ' " ■ rib!: I.iaiii.-i::- and ha"'-.! : 'a here j indignation ligiiifl -«i]' « : -" i ,aV '"''''• j, his sunke;; eyes f.a-lyd wi'h fury from under their busy brows, then, i' with a cry like tha'. of a woumk-d j animal. lh' -prang '-••'"-) ''■"' |! '■'■"■i v ''- j The la-t-r was -■ no:-- .a .ad; by j, llie attack, tha' ]■•■ »a- f. M - ■■„■ time | being at th- Hi''!' l '' "•' h'. e,s-a dant, j who. having clut'-h-d him !,n:,ly by j the coat collar. was i!ragg."g him j from the snot, a' th" tii.i' d-al- | ing him heavy blows w:"n bis stall. ! I'nahle to grasp hall the oH)-r said. I and completely iny-'iiit-! liv the ac- ; Hon of his ad'.ersary. th" de'ec'tve came to the ronidnd' a i'.'iV k" waattacked by a madman. >V.\\. lor all that, the man was old and v--'-l\ i and while anxious to li'e "n'" loirs 'f the. voting det-dive refrained from exerting ids whole strength lest he should injure his antagonist. For a few monietus Uie struggle continual, th-n the siivrg-'h of me | older man began to fail ; Hie wild ' glitter died out of his »yps, and. loos-nine; his bold, he threw hims-H in wild fi'nahdohTii"!':t rton ihe ground, and gave way to lam-i-a-i t ior.s mid exc-s.-ivu weeping as he ! ro-'n-.l to and fro. ' This last n:ove on the r-ar! o! his : kite who now ai' -r:i:A ly r-tit bis hair, ih-i hi- his 5 \;.,,, y an is above hi, h.v.i oi d - ;:r. fa it'll- ivma/.d the luau-i'-iif-iaci de'-.e--live. ' '■\Vo\ woe is m-' ' I'or the las; l-.rthr. n J-a\" long Mac; iv---- 1 away and 1 am aii.ne. n-oer b. --;■- be.-.- I be n too!,-sled like this. TriMila'em .led d'ath must assuredly to.low. i V:'.'' woe!" ! '■' or a i- e,eid (-!• two f'i :>"y was ur.- ' abode in lh-' wood-, ilis'-oversd. [ ':} ne:-: beg a tliousai'-l pardons ' for trespassing and Stan.'ire you so. i II was re.it" accid-.-n'rd. 1 you. and if more'v v.dl r-'oii-o-nse you for j the loss of uiur lamp, vou are ';uit ■ j w-!:ome." ' ' | The works re-a'l-d the man to his s'li.svs. !'":.. .']■"". liiiii.--!f as high as j his (i-c-ipii slat ■ wild permit, h-, ik:ed bis j:.'cn eyi'S upon the insp->i- | lor. and aiiswira! in solemn ton-s: | "Voiirg man. d u 1 ';-■--. you Mvak i lh" truth, and 1 va- '.'.. ; r-!-a- ! y in ' )■:;,■ j'ldirm- at. In --i.r i-iovg ,-;• th- I f.r-?. til- byht of !.:•■ ~:,;-, ; ~a ,-.-:-o ' for th- be.-!, and only ig:g ranee of j your act excus-s you in mv eves " I The (let -dive saw ilia- to o.a'imi" ! th" argaair-nt would du no goo,l, so said, gently : "Perhaps, sir, as I have deprived you oi your means of guidance \on will allow me to accompany you to your destination. 1, too, am in search of the abbey." as he koiran to suspect that this was i-a -.ok - iaa - f-ssiona! b ggar gaoau-rauiiig under the garb of p-ii-ioi:. j For a mom in a suspiri'mr; look ! entered the other's eye--, lie-n. as h,- ; saw nolbing but good nature iir-1 printi-d on the frank, open Ikv-, be rcplii'd, wiih a weird smile : ''Your company and y>n;r gad 1 are of no value to in". Think you 1 have lived in the wootls alone all th-s----years to now require another's h. -Ip '.' Young man, 'tis you that are in n-el of guidance and h Op. l!-'a!;e jnursrdf to your home as quaily as possible, and leave the hermit to look after himself I" The man of law would have questioned him again, but the old latani" held up his hand d-precaiinely. His eyes were raised Iravenwards, his fare assumed an ethereal, almost prophetic light, as lie cratl : "Stranger, hold no further parl-y with me. Even now. have 1 broker. my vow of silence through thee, but 1 regret it not, for 1 see (he hand of destiny in this. Herat and terrible events are about to happen. You, who have lighted the fire of inquiry, must indeed be intended for exalted things. Whether your ellorts be for good or evil, ] know not, but 1 have warned you now, and in the hour of danger remember the hermit's words" As he finished speaking the old man extended both hands towards the detective, while his lips moved as though imploring a blessing upon his late antagonist. The inspector waited, thinking that the monk might again address him, but the latter's attitude did not change. He gave no further sign that he was aware of the other's presence, but still stood like some statue, with eyes turned tipward to the starry firmament, the light of an enthusiast shining on his emaciated face, his long, bony arms outstretched in supplication, Truly it was a remarkable sight to witness the fervent zea! of that aged octogenarian, who still stood immovable as a stone while the pale moonlight streamed down upon him, tinting his snow-white beard and locks with a silvery hue, and the background of stately trees, with their myriad leaves and rich green ' foliage, lending a most romantic and effective shading to the tableau. Without doubt a splendid model for an artist. H would be sacrilege to disturb him, ho thought i so placl hi! «om<! money beside the old man's hinrl. ihu ilgtecllve pwws hit Juur«

Much as !io desired to ask his way, Matthew Clenry would not again dislurb the hermit, who, from his fictions, and llio words he used, caused Matthew to doubt him, while the (ear that this monk was lint one of the many professional beggars, or "travelling clerks," as they are termed, who are still to he found in many parts of Ireland arose in his mind. Pondering much over all he had heard and seen, the young man hurried on, turning occa.sionnlly to see if his late antagonist had moved from his original position ; but his last glimpse of the old hermit revealed the silent figure in the self-same attitude of prayer, still calling down blessings on the head of his benefactor, .just as it occurred to 'datthew had it so happened that, he had departed without giving him anything', the vagrant would have wished him the worst of bad luck ar.d invoked iunumccablc curses upon his devoted head.

Hut for all the devotee's display of piety, the detective was not deceived. He had no real proof, of course, that the pious monk was other than he seemed ; yet in his heart be felt sure Hut the garb of religion was only a-siime.l lo cloak oilvr things, and to obtain Hie proleciion and sympathy of the simnlv Irish peasants, to whom anything in the shape of religion is ever sacretl, while he was niii'c than convinced that the assumption ol religious enthusiasm was mere humbug, for. as lie told himS'lf, it bad been a trifle—mst a trifle—overdone.

lleneeforHi, had he but known it, •I," holy b-'-rar-monk was a marked ye"]..,,..- t'i an- had not p.-oee-ded Piui'h further on his way when, to his ~\, -loig asioaishment, on gaining a partly opcr cl-aring, I lie sound of vo ; --s-and s'raiii: t sliU-llloS" belonging to woiii-n-iVll upon his ear. Now, had it been earlier in Hie evening, the inspector would not have s-eti nnvihing peculiar in Hie fact that mo peasant women—one old e-rl ws'y. th" o-|-r young ami uret'y la, ■■:■] be engaged i'l earnest con-v-r-a'aei ; b'H not unnaturally, a •;-. i ail-on! t'.-r ii-f.uTia'ion. and, .nVge goo .'"nside-aiion the hto- •: ss ~!' the hour, it is not surprising, then, that presently we lind him ron-.-a!"d close to where the speakers s'ood. eagerly drinking in every w,vd they uttered. ■•I do love him, Mother Carey, yet my heart misgives me. What does h\ so handsome, so grand, s°e in me, a peasant girl, thai he should do a!l this for me o '' asked the younger of the two. with the faintest touch of til' brogue. "Verrah. but ye're the quare colleen, entoirely. I niver afore knowed a girl that didn't have her beauty well at h-r finger-tips, and ye, wad a fa"" an' figure a onane might "'lvv. what have ye to fear, acuslila ? Ma■,/':• th." ro.vea lha.i 'ud hop at si.eii a chance. It's a lady fur life y-'li lie. v.id a fine, handsome gintleman into'the bargain I hat worships the very ground ye tread on. Ob ! fie, ti" : An' after all the riches he's promised ye, too !" "Relieve me, I am not ungrateful, Mmlio]- Carey, though perhaps a Utile fearful at tim-'s. Now, if only th" qii--n and nil my friends could witness the ceremony, ,1 should feci l-ss nervous. And I think I owe it | to ili'Mn." ' Th" abler woman smothered an . oa'ii timl-r her breath before she ma i - a'-,sw--r : "e'e.vourner-n. don't be takin' on iiki ti.at. In a f-w days' time ye'll be a L-t.-af lady, have plenty av :kk ids. an' not miss those ye are ' !,:v!n' lv hind. It is not comin' to •'." old vaniihce me lady will be il-bi °" ' Aral;, don't. Mo'her Carey ; ye make m■■ f" i awful. Shurc, I'll niver forget yer kindness to me, a poor, ba-ly orphan. It will be yerseli | that mad" the whole match : and, oh. ! you are sure it will lie all right a- ' bo'g Ihe wed.do.g' 1 1-1 will be a pf.-p rly married bride, the real wife di-." old crone threw up her hands in horror. ; '■Sa',.-s al'v" ' What has rome to ye at all ? A rale wif" is it—a pro- ' per 1 ride ? Til- Lord b-'une us an' jail harm, what's put that into yer h"nd, aeuslila ?" j "l-'akx. I dur.no, Mother Carey; ! bn- th- w, igl,: av the world seems 1 upon i". ■ this night. I dunno if other i biid.-s feet i ik ,, j ( | o] ),„, a p.rrible j ptv-vn'Mtv id of evil hangs over in". , Tha' is why I sough! you out. I I i'. ■ 1 ilk" running away." j For a moiiput a startled, anxious I "-oi- -s.ion b-e's-.-l into the woman's i i-v '• ; lad it red for" as quickly as :it ra: i•. as 'he aa-w■•:• -d. .g"n'!y : "Sli-re. ye 'iiba't b" cloin' anyj thitig so foolish, avic, throwia'away lb" chan-e of a lifetime'.' .My, but girls don't brow when they are well off nowadays. Js it i.ivnkin' the good man's heart, an' spoiling his life ye'll lie, nlannah ?" "No, no, but it's all so strange; ne'r a friend av me own at the wedding, an' lo be married by a strange friar at midivght, too, an' not in our own lilll" chap"! 1" "11. gorra. big it'' the quai'e rol- | i""ti y- a.i'" enlnii'cly to he loMin' ! i-!; no-ions i;e| in i n yer puny he ad. 1 hi', lb'l-e. 1 Slippose'all lirid'-elect S j tern nervous at tin last, (let home lo ri-a now, mavoara-en. an' have wen av M.ith-r Carey's little love (-.oiio'is to drive dull care away from those bright e.\is. What will his honour say at all. at all. if the roses have \aiii-lud from yer cheeks? Asihore. r);,-ig- up an' smib again. Tomorrow widi lie ih" '.appi"sV (biy av .', ilvr (kinvks !i--. vh.n sh- h ts Of v ;'p "■-.-:■• li.e colleen av ll"l' 11-'arl

"Tie-ii ;■ ■ iir-- -kur ■ lo l urn tin '.' Y" won't dl-at ' in". Mother t'ar-y'' Ye'll v.i",s. ih" civnio-y via-self •>" "H-; 1 -!,!. an' I will, avic ! I'll be t!i re. ipver fear—te"SiOf an' tr." sop. lailv, an' ma; Ib-aw sb-v-r down 'l'lvn' th" v.i-e',-h-.l old 'iag tnnvd and prcss-d h-r ri'ikti'-stainid lips to tli" pure, unsullied ones of th- n.aidon beside her, ill a kiss worse than that of Judas, so vile and black was its tr-a'-b'-iT and deceit. It was only as the girl disappeared in the distance, and lb" woman gave vent to a low, mocking laugh, that the detective realized the terrible import of all he had just heard, the full truth burst upon him. The girl bad gone now, and he knew neither her name nor address ; yet if he would save her there remained one loophole open to him. lie could have a watch placed on the actions of that diabolical creature, that worse than fiend in human form, and by this means yet- preserve the girl from an outrage worse than death itself to one of her race. CITAPTFJt XVIII. TIM'S VISIT TO THE FAIR'AND WHAT CAME OF IT. The day following the ball at Killed) Castle, for various reasons best known to himself and Master Hugh, Tim Drogan deemed it advisable that the less the squire saw of him the better. Needless to say, a stormy half-hour had ensued after the departure of the Nomad t/ueen. The squire, in a white heat of rage, declared that all hia servants, as well as his own family, were leagued o« gainst him, and demanded a full, and unvarnished account o( why ho had help-rid to dottlvo hlru from the still

fliifc free from the keen gaze mid supposed evil eye of the red-hair*! woman, however, Tim's courage began to revive.

"Arrah, it's niver tnkin" the word ftv a witch loike Unit agin yer own flesh' mi' blood, ye'd be, Jli.sthor T'e l.acy? Well, it's sorry fur ye 1 am. Share the world an' county Clare, knows her fur a ni"ddliu', i'.iterl'eril'.g baggage, and delights me.l-.in' mischief octane families, Ikulad, I've been! often as how, wlum she can't squeeze a man io death, it's diversion av this sort she's aft her. The Lord deliver us from her !"

"Confound it ! Stop that jargon, you omadhaun, and just answer me straight ; though 1 don't exp.-d yon could do that same to save your lite. Is my son at home in bed, or is he still at that ball given by my enemy the Knight of Killed! ?"

"Jlusha, an' how 'ud I know, yer honour, what divilment a young ginHeman 'ud be afther while we're out? Share, yer honour's self was a bright spark, anyhow, in yer time. I mind well me father savin' as how there was no end to yer pranks an' his, sor. Ho ye mind the night av the apples ?"

The squire laughed. "You are a cunning rascal, Tim, but j on are right for all that. 1 was wild in my time, bid if it is true dial my son visits that house, the avowo.l enemy of our race. I will never forgive him. Hut this is nothing to you, Tim', and here am I blaming you for what maybe you know nothing about, though I have my doubts."

When some !in;e biter Tim slipped into his young raster's room h" was acre, ally surprised to lind that individual He-re h'foro him. On ascertaining all that had happened, the young man thought it wiser to give Tim Hi" promised holiday, and thus kep him out of th" squire's way until the air cleared of the sulphur which would certainly break forth on 111.- morrow.

Thus it is we find Tim departing early fnr the fnir at Knnistymon, in li-ipns hi" pm-iing lliciv a fair colleen. Kilty Murphy, whom lie Icnrn'-d previously, had lmsiness in the same town.

It w;«; indeed a rd-h-ller day in Ihe can-win's 1 if.-. .Vv.-r b.-rot- had he so much'money to s[ii'trl, for Master Hugh had paid his devotion liliorally, and in rig-lit ro.vnl manner was Tim prepared to spend the money. It was not every day he came to the town with a pretty colleen to treat was his excuse when Kilty remonstrated with him on the subject of extravagance.

They had done Iho rounds of Ihe fair a couple of limns, had seen nil the penny shows, and fine, dashing theatres, as well as other tents and places of amusements. A innprnificcnt travelling circus, in which lions, tigers, elephants, and other wild animals figured in procession, followed by beautiful Indies in dopant velvet riding-habits, fairies in while gossamer and tinsel, while funny clowns with curious head-dress, pantaloons, and harlequins paraded outside Ihe huge tent situated near the market square ; and from between the crowds of busy spectators the stall owners lining the streets, each proclaimed the supr-riority of his or her wares in voices that reminded one of the tower of Babel. The noise was deafening ; for above the din of the stall-keepers praising their goods and the occasional hanging of a few of the market women, was heard the lusty voices of the farmers, as they bargained for the sale of their livestock'. Add to this the lowing of cattle, the shrill neighing of horses, the grunting and the snorting of the pigs, the cackling of fowl, the quacking, of ducks and cyese and all will help to show the reader that an Irish fair is a very lively place indeed.

]i Is not to be thought either that amid fill this hubbub and confusion the Irishman is forgetful of I lis wants of Ihe inner man, or that ho does not know how to enjoy himself as well as make a trnod harcrnin.

Xo. Fanner Murphy may hold forth (in ilia line point!, of his old milch cow. d'""lnrin<; "she is the bonniest lu-mvnp at I lie fair, has a quick rye fur her food, an' the mate on her 'ud more nor fill many Christmas tubs," but this weighs little with the prospective buyer. It. took a great amount of coaxing and persuasion on the part of Kitty to induce Tim to relinguish the society of his friends and return with her at an early hour. She, however, as we have been informed before, was a person of considerable will power, and she eventually managed to get her own way. They had traversed some distance along the country roads, both very happy and content in each other's society, for, being clone, the girl had no objections to receive the amorous at lent ions of her beloved, which she would have decidedly rejected had others l>cen present.

Tim was so happy, nnrt in such good humour with himself and the world in general that he did not notice the way his sweetheart had brought him until almost on the ruins of the old abbey. On turning a bend in the road this fact was very forcibly brought before his mind, and what made matters worse, and caused him to start back in horror, was that, the old building contained a light—a flickering, indistinct gleam e.t first, that grew gradually larger and brighter as they advanced.

Placing his arm protect ingly nround his companion's waist, Tim would have fled with her from the spot, hut Kitty did not belong tn the 'lass of timid, nervous young damsels. ]n language more forcible than polite, she told him "to have done v.id such foolin' and leave her alone. Not to plaze ye nor all the men in Christendom am I going to turn back, an' more nor half the journey over." she declared.

"(llory lie in ironilnoss ! Is it lnve nv yer sens"S y ( -r takin' ? Is it pas-r-ipir Ivr.' 10 I- Kilt In' ill" rvil spirits that haunt this place ye'd he ? Oh, Kitty. aMli<ii-i\ fur the love ye bear me. an' i'i the name av all that's hnly, he itdvh'il an' nunc hack afore we're hoth ltmrtheivd aim l !"

"Venali, don't b" so simple, man ; it is neither kilt nor murtherwl we'll lie. Hut I've often hard toll nv this self-same ghost., an' as I've me doubt ahont his spiritual side, 1 intend tor sec fur nicsclf, Ye may come or stay just as ye plaze, Tim lirugan." J lor lover groaned.

"llegorra, was there iver such an obstinate colleen? Yc'll maybe lie the death av both av us, Kitty Murphy ; but, shurc, an' it's martyred in a good cause I'd be, anyhow. I may have th<j terror nv the world over me, astliorc, but divil a fear av mo desertin' yc, Kitty."

The girl assured her lover that it was only what she expected from her own, bravo Tim, and then, to that worthy's unutterable horror, boldly advanced to that part of the old building from which emanated the faint glimmer of light. Cautiously the two crept nearer, Tim, though shivering and trembling in every limb, following closely in the wake of his 'stronger-nerved sweetheart. In through the now dismantled doorway they stole, under ruined archways, and traversing what had formerly been stately halls andvcloistcrs, but which were now but remnants of their former glory, Tim's heart stood still with superstitious fear and terror as ho saw the girl still press on,, despite tho fantastic shadows which fell ovor and finon across their puthi find which lh,o pals !M9Rli|Mj rtWJßllf tft

through (he cracks mid crevices, thi-i-w into greater relief, making every carved buttress mid pjllnr np'pour twice their norinnl size and assume weird anil ghost-like appearances.

Tliey Imd' silently, covered moro than'linlf the ruins without" seeming to get any nearer tho mysterious light which still drew lliem onwards, when suddenly Kitty came to an abrupt halt, nl the same time gripping her lover tightly by the arm. "Hist, h ; st, aslhore I I hear voices! Do you not hear them also ?" Tim did, with the result that ho would have once moro run fu' it; but this the girl would not hear of,

"Ycrrnh, what is there to bo nfeard of ? I niver heerd tell that spirits could be holdin' private conversations ; tin' take mo word fur it, there is more divilment in this than spiritualism. I wouldn't be at all astonished if we larned something to our mutual advantage this night," was Kitty's comment, as she laid a detaining hand on Tim's arm, The light had by this timo grown brighter, and the hushed and muffled voices came more distinct each second, as they cautiously advanced ; then somehow, despite her vmuitod courage, the girl's heart began to fail her as the slow, monotonous rumble, not unlike the solemn chant or dirge of the Gregorian order, fell upon her ears.

Was her lover right after all, and were these really the spirits of the dend-and-gone monks returned to tho earth to fulfil some part of a once-neplectr-d ofliet' ?

They had reached the entrance to the ruinivl chop,'!, which, despite the fact that it, like the rest of the old building, had been sacked and was almost bereft, of furniture, still bore traces of its former grandeur and exalted ollice. On each side of the sanctuary were the remains of many smaller altars, niches for statues, and the canopied stalls for the abbot and oilier dignitaries of the abbey, mid high up over them again the remains of a fine old stainedglnss niiillinned window, facing the east. Through this the pale moonlight stream'*!, lighting up the old chap"! as though it were broad day. and setting forth in vivid colouring 'despite years of ruin and deeav, the 'figures of "the .Saviour and His apostles, followed by the holy women and the multitude to which they wore preaching."

The view of the two lovers were somewhat impeded by the door through which they were peering being covered by a thick drapery ot ivy, which they were compelled to part before Raining any real view ot what lay beyond.

As the encumbrance was noiselessly drawn aside, the watchers held their breath in wonder and amazement, not unmixed with awe and terror.

Wore they mad or dreaming? Was what their eyes rested upon a supernatural vision, or were those shadowy forms real men and women ?

Torches placed in niches on the walls cast a dim glow on all around, and llie moonlight falling in a subdued stream on the aisle and tossclatwl pavement threw n sort of hallowed light about, casting.into broad relief a number of figures grouped together at the foot of the chancel steps.

Standing in front of this group, and with his back to the large altar book in hand as though officiating, was a tall, gnunt-looking figure in the rough monastic habit of the Franciscans; at the feet of tho friar knelt two people, a young man and n girl. Clothed all in white, with the silver moonlicams playing softly on her bowed head and lingering on her shoulders, causing her white face to appear almost ethereal, and her dark, wavy hair to be crowned as though by a saintly nurcola of light, was it any wonder the two horrified, frightened spectators gazed upon her spellbound, firmly believing that what they beheld was some mystic ceremony, its participants spirits from the unseen world, doomed hero in the silence and dead of night to expiate some past sin by going through tho ceremony of marriage either wilfully neglected or wrongfully performed during llvir part lily career'? Even as these thoughts and more passed like lightning through their minds, the terrified beholders held their breath and clutched frantically at each other as, evidently the ceremony over, instead of disappearing as they quite expected spectres woidd the party turned and, headed by the bridal couple walked slowly and solemnly down the aisle, CHAPTER XIX, JUDITH, THE NOMAD QUEEN, As tho words fell from the lips of the strange creature In fierce, angry gasps, an unaccountable dread crept over Evelyn as she realized what she had clone, the danger incurred, in coming alone to this deserted spot. All the stories, real and imaginary, which she had heard related of the Nomad queen came hack to her mind with startling vividness, and for a few moments after the torrent of words had escaped her lips she could not summon enough courage to reply. At length Evelyn ventured to raise her eyes to those of the woman bofore her, and as she did so It seemed to her that the other's whole expression softened, and a sad, far-away look replaced that of anger. This gave the girl heart, and raising her voice, she said, sadly :

"Believe me, mndatn, I came not in enmity, but in friendship. Once before you warned me on my arrival here, and I have since learned that you were the companion-nay more the bosom friend—of my poor, dear grandmother, Lady Fitzgerald. Surely, if this is true, if I have been informed aright, you will tell me what I came here to learn—the story of my father's life. Hut, madam, I know not how to address you."

"I am Judith, the Nomad queen. And what would you know from me? It is not a subject on which 1 like (0 linger, the remembrance and pain is too vivid and real," the woman cried, hotly.

"1 am sorry to distress you, but would fain know how my father came by his sudden and untimely death, which left me, his only child, a worse than orphan," asked Evelyn. The queen staggered back, the old, frightened look came again into her eyes, her face went deathly pale as she shrieked rather than spoke the words :

"His only child ! Who told you that ? Why do you use those words ? Has the Knight of Killcen put them into your mouth, told you to say them to me ?"

Then, as if forgetting the girl's presence, she continued, as if to herself : "Great Heavens! Ran it, be that ho suspects the truth ? Does he, can he know ? And yet— No, no jit is not possible! The 'lllack Knight' may be crafty and cunning, but he Is not yet n match for the Norimd queen. Judith will bo more than a match for him," Evelyn saw in a moment that something she had said had disturbed the woman, and though not catching all she murmured, heard enough to convince her that the other feared that sho was sent thoro by her undo. "Indeed, you need not mistrust me, I know not how I hnvo offended, but only came hero (or new of my poor doad father, Judith,"

The queen paced feverishly up wid top a(w ttnwi In mm mcdi,^,

tion, At length she mode answer

"I believe you, child. These words, then, were your own ? Sir (Ip.offroy did not prompt you to use them to me i"

"Oh, no. But what do you mean ? Surely I am Maurice Fitzgerald's only child, or was—was there another ?"-opgerly, The woman turned upon her coldly. "You came not, I suppose, to ply me with foolish questions? Girl seek not to discover what does not concern you. The time Is not yet ripe when I may divulge to you the secrets ol the past." "Why should 1 not lenrr: the truth? Think you, Judith, that this air of mystery surrounding the Castle is pleasant to me? I have tried every means in my power to learn something from my uncle about my own birth, yet day by day he puts me oil, will tell me nothing. Judith, what is this sin of which yon speak ? Why is every man's hand turned against the Squire, of ICillecn ?"

"That, my child, is not for me to reveal yet; his own acts must find him out. Judith is not the one to accuse him, cither here or hereafter. Hut your journey, child, will not be in vain; you shall learn something of what puzzles you. Follow ine, and you shall sec some of tho reasons which makes Sir Geoffrey Fitzgerald's name abhorred and hated, why ho is looked upon as a tyrant, shunned by the self-same people who"iiwbygone days honoured and revered the name of Fitzgerald much as they detest it now."

Laying her hand gently on the girl's arm, this strange woman led her to the brow of a bill, and pointing dramatically towards the strange camp already described, said, solemnly :

"Behold your uncle's work I Gathered together in those rude louts and burrowing like rats in the holes and caves of the rocks and earth, with no roof to shelter them but the starry firmament, no place wherin to lay their weary heads, are the once prosperous farmers of the ICillecn estate. They who were formerly respected mid lawabiding citizens are now despised and looked down upon ns vagrants, nomads, and wanderers ; yet a more loyal, trustworthy, mid generous people it would be hard to find. They love and servo me, their queen, with a devotion few of your crowned heads can boast, and to be in trouble to be poor, sick, or suffering, is tho surest passport to my people's heart. They may rob the rich, serve themselves to their game and poultry, but they are ever the friends of tho poor and needy, whom they never send awny empty handed."

"And may I not visit your camp, Judith ? Will you not receive and welcome mo as one who, as a benefactor, a friend, would dearly like to assist your people?" The queen drew herself up stiffly.' "V!c desire no benefits or assistance from any, let alone from those connected with the 'House of Doom,' " she returned, scornfully ; then, seeing the look of pained surprise on Evelyn's face, hastened to add : "Forgive me, child ; that wns not meant for you. But enough of this. The time will come, and that sooner than you Imagine, when the heiress of the Fitzgeralds may require help and protection, too, from my people. When that hour arrives, and not till then, remember you will find a hearty welcome and warm friends in the Nomad camp. Then, and then only, may you enter there." "And how can you tell that I shall ever need the friendship of which you speak ?"■ demanded Evelyn in surprise.

The woman omitted a low, scornful laugh.

"As well ask, child, how tho queen of the Nomads can read the future by the planets, or toll when the storm approaches. I would fain tell you more, warn you of coming dangers, but Fate has decreed it otherwise. What is to be nothing can prevent. Your destiny is written in the book ot time; neither you nor I can alter it, Child" —and the queen bent her dark eyes upon the fair, wondering face beside her—"l bid you beware of treachery. Trust neither the Lisles nor your uncle, Sir Geoffrey. His was the hand that deprived his brother Maurice of life."

Then growing more excited still, the strange creature advanced slowly to the very brink of the cliffs, and there, standing framed as it were on the edge of tho abyss, pointed to a huge boulder a little further along, as she exclaimed, in a low, harsh voice:

"Yes, there is the very, spot—the place tho murder was committed, where sixteen years ago Sir Geoffrey hurled his brother, your father, to his death I" As the last terrible denunciation fell from the speaker's lips, Evelyn uttered a cry of horror and shrank back and covered her face with her hands, as if to blot out from both mind and eye the picture which the woman's words had conjured up. It was some moments ere she recovered sufficiently to look up again. When she did so, it was to find, to her great chagrin and disappointment that she was once more alone. In tho distance she could discern tho graceful figure of the Nomad queen, as, light and agile as some young girl, she made her way down the steep declivity leading to her home.

A feeling of terrible disappointment took possession of Evelyn as she realized how impossiblo it was for her to follow ond cither make this strange woman prove her words, or else retract the awful accusation she had made against her kinsman, The very thought of it being true caused a revulsion of feeling to leap up in her heart. Surely, she told herself, there must be some mistake; it could not be correct. Her uncle—her own dear father's brother—n murderer ? No, no, she could not, would not credit it. A Fitzgerald, a fratricide ? No ! It might be an accident, anything, but that.

The shock had been a severe one, (ho blow (ilmosl more than she could slnml: mul as, white-faced awl trembling, (he girl made her way hack to the Castle, it was like one in a (ranee she moved along. She could not think ; her brain was on fire, her mind a chnos. She had expected to learn somehow ,ot some secret skeleton in her uncle's past, but, oh, the truth was far worse than anything she had anticipated ! Her uncle a murderer, and the victim—oh, Heaven !—the victim her own father. Truly, indeed, she had been terribly repaid for her curiosity ; and then—oh, dreadful thought !-how could she face her relative, live and sleep under the same roof with him, knowing what she did ? She was still undecided what courseto pursue, how,act for the best, when suddenly as she, walked along she descried In the distance- a well-known form making his way towards her, accompanied by a woman,

Her heart gave a joyous bound as she recognized her lover's stalwart figure,,and a thrill of comfort passed through her frame as she knew that here, at least, she would find consolation. Even as those thoughts passed through her mind the feeling of delight vanished as she beheld the man pause abruptly In his walk, bond his head toward his companion, then both deliberately turn, and retraco their steps,

./For a moment astonishment was her only sensation; thon chagrin, disappointment, and annoyance filled hor breast as for tho flnt time her eyes rested on Hugh's companion, and, she reftllN thW'w woman, m

.•wither old or plain, but Icfkr/ ft very protty girl, and undoubtedly a must entertaining talker, judging from the manner in which Hugh nodded and laughed sevcrnl ti-jies, and tho animutcd way in v.llch the two continued their convcrsnt'on.

Had Oe giil in her lover's company been either plain or old, it is do"»'tful whether Evelyn »oukl have noticed the in .idait or viewed it from the same standpoint; but when that girl was execoding'y beautiful and, moreover, possessed a most fascinating way, as well as one of the sweetest wid most dulcet of voices, things somehow assumed a very different aspect.

The fact or seeing her lover in the comoany of another, and that other having every appearance of being highly interesting to him, when sho herself was lonely and in need of his advice, was not nt nil conductive to disarm any girl's jealousy. Then, again, the terrible shock her feelings had just undergone made Evelyn more lonely and wretched than under ordinary circumstances it might havo done,

Seeing her lover bending so eagerly over Norah Clancy, the beautiful peasant girl, was the last drop that filled her cup of bitterness to overflowing. She could not face him now, learn what his conduct meant, The iron In her heart had sunk too deeply. She scarcely stopped to nslc herself was there any explanation possible, only know that she had given her whole heart freely, unreservedly, to this handsome young Irishman, only to discover that she had mode a vast mistake—lhnt he, too, had failed her, wns lavishing the love and affection she thought only hers on another. A pain like the stab of n knife shot through her frame, her blood coursed more quickly through her veins, and in hot, indignant anger she turned and struck across the moors. Diving into a valley which hid her from view of the two still so engrossed in conversation that they were not aware of her cto proximity. Evelyn hurried on silently and sadly, bearing in her heart a terrible burden of grief and pain.

The girl had almost reached home, was indeed in the private park, when she came upon a small boy, whom she instantly recognized as the Nomad, Denny, busily engaged in snaring raUbits. The desire for a Uttlo human companionship more than anything else prompted her to stand and watch him setting his traps. "Sir Geoffrey Fitzgerald, then, allows you to poach on his preserves?" she inquired, presently.

The boy raised his head, and for some moments the beauty and patrician appearance, of the child dumbfounded Evelyn. She had seen him before, but not at close quarters, and now to her idea he strangely resembled some one she knew or had known in the past. He appeared to be about fourteen or fifteen years of age, and there was a haughtiness of bearing, a kind of Innate polish nbout him, astonishing in one of his station.

It was some time before he replied, and then it was not an answer to the question put to him. "Lady, it seems to mo that I once before knew you ; your face is somehow familiar. Can It bo I know you long ago ? D ! d you aver play with me when I was. a little baby-before I came to the camp I mean ?" Evelyn smiled, then shook her head sadly.

"No; I never played with little boys to my knowledge. My first recollections are of being taken away from a lady who loved mo very much Wo both cried a great deal, ond I was then sent to a big school, where I saw lots of little girls, .but never went back to the lady who loved me so." "Why-why didn't you ? I would have done so had I been you," replied the boy. "I could not, dear. You see th-v told mo the dear lady was very sick, and I was removed from her charge on that account. Later I discovered she was my own mother, but only when too late. She was gone then." "How you must hate them ! I know I would !" cried tho boy, passionately. "I'm like granny, I'd never forgive, or overlook an injury. She doesn't, you know. Revenge is sweot, thoy say, and to none more so than the people of our tribe; and because of It all the Nomads have taken a vow to be avenged a hundredfold on those that wrong any of their members." The boy spoko fiercely, his eyes lighted up again with a wild, vengeful light; and seeing that ho was so excited, Evelyn contrived to turn the conversation into other channels. "Tell inc about yourself, dear. Have you any companions, brothers, or sisters ? Are you happy in the Nomad camp ? And does your grandmother always live with them ?" Tho youth regarded her in amazement for a few minutes, "No ! I'm Denny, and have no one but Norah. Wo were always together and happy, until that swell of a fellow came between us, Rut, shuro, I don't mind losing her if the colleen herself 'ud bo happy ; but at limes mo heart misgives, an' I'm nfeard for her. Hut Norah herself asked me not to betray her secret, an' I won't,nohow ; but, for all that, lot tho ginlleman look after it that he trates her well, fur, begorra, I 'tidn't bo in his shoes fur a thousand pounds were he to behave badly to her. It was bettor for him had ho nivcr lioen born than raise the anger av the Nomatls agin him. I'd track the villain to earth meself, that Injured her, an' the vengeance av granny 'ud follow him fur ever." "And who might (he gentleman be who is in such danger of incurring your people's resentment'?" asked Evclyti, with a strange quickening at her heart. The boy looked at her for some time in silence ; at length he made answer : "I should like to toll ye, miss, but T cannot. Herself bound me to secrecy. Desides, granny never trusts a Fitzgerald," "And your grandmother, boy, who is she 1" The youth again seemed surprised. "I am Denny, grandson of Judith, queen of the Nomads," he answered, proudly. To be Continued.