THE MYSTERY OF KILLEEN CASTLE: OR A BRANDED BROW.

North Otago Times, 8 January 1908, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE MYSTERY OF KILLEEN CASTLE: OR A BRANDED BROW.

ALL' EIGHTS RESERVED.

1 BY A. M. MID W. I. HOWL

NINTH INSTALMENT. CHAPTER XXII. . THE MIDNIGHT PROCESSION. When Evelyn reached home after rncountering Did Nomad queen, and later Hie boy Denny, she was sorely troubled in mind and very perplexed and disturbed. Had her uncle been at home she felt sho must have sought him out and demanded an explanation, ascertain if there was any truth in what she had just learned. But in this sho was doomed to disappointment. On entering tho library tho girl found it vacant, and what was more trying still to bear was the information vouchsafed by 'Lndy : Lisle that most likely her uncle would bo away the night and not return until the following day. Determining therefore, to have a few hours of quietness in which to be nlono and think over all she had lately heard, the girl again made her way to the library for a book which would act as a blind for her fit of abstraction. ,

Here, to her • exceeding astonishment, she found Norman Lisle engaged in writing letters. Declaring they could wait, and that he was only doing them to while away the time, the young man rose and begged her to take pity on his loneliness, at the same time placing a chair for her near the open French window. Why she accepted it she scarcely know, but it seemed to Evelyn that any society was acceptable just then that would prevent her from pondering over her own troubles, and the terrible story she had heard thnt day,

Norman Lisle must have noticed her abstraction, for, evidently, thinking it arose from a very different nature he said, as he found the book she wanted and handed it to her:

"Deuced dull place this to spend one's life in. Don't you think so, Evelyn ?" The girl looked at him in surprise.

"I do not find it so, Norman. I like the country, and especially the Irish people," she answered.

"I am sorry to say I cannot endorse your sentiments. Think them a horribly slow lot, and if it wasn't for one thing I would not stay, in the beastly hole another hour. Would die of ennui in n week."

"You astonish me by saying that you hate the country. Why, until recently you spent most of your time scouring the neighbourhood alone. How was that, if you dislike it so ? Where was the attraction ? " The. man's manner changed. He drew nearer to the girl, and bending eagerly towards her, said passionately :

" Evelyn, is it possible you do not know-have not already guessed my secret? Evelyn, I love you—love you dearly—madly, with every pulse and fibre of my being ! Can you not see, dearest, that you are the one attraction here ? Have you not realized that for some time I fought against my passion, did all' in my power to overcome it ? And why? lJecau.se 1 feared you did not care for me in that way. Evelyn, answer me. Is there any hope ? Can you return my affection—love me a little? 1 cannot keep silent any longer—l must speak and learn my fate at once." . .-■-"-• The girl was both amazed and nonplussed at the abruptness and sud-' denness of his avowal. It was her first direct, offer of love, for though Hugh de Lacy had let her see very plainly that lie loved her, he had not yet asked her to be his wife. Ko wonder then (hat Evelyn, was Inkpn aback for though Norman Lisle had grown very attentive oi late, the idea of his loving her had not entered her head. She deemed it only friendship on his part.

Despite the fact that she did not really like him, had boon warned apainst him, a Ming of pride in the thought that slip was loved, also the pity and sympathy that every woman feels for the man who loves her yet, whose affection she cannot return entered her heart. Turning towards him she said, gently : "I am indeed surprised as well as pained at your words, Norman. I never guessed, never expected such an avowal as this. All I can say is, that I do not think I encouraged you to hope in any way. It could never be, for I do not care for you in that way." The man went closer to her; in his eyes shone a passion the lids were powerless to veil. His whole frame trembled again with emotion, as he said hoarsely: "But I can wait. The love will come later. And surely you know, dearest, that to see you happily married is the desire of your uncle's life."

The girl rose hastily from her chair, and stood gazing out on to the terrace and lawn beyond.

''lt is impossible. I could never love you, Norman ; and as regards that wish of my uncle's you astonish me beyond measure. I did not know of it before, but in any case it cannot alter matters."

For a moment a startling change came over Norman Lisle's face. It grew black as a thunder-cloud, his teeth clicked together with ominous sound, and it was only with an effort that he smothered the oath that rose to his lips; the next he was all affability again. "Then there is some one else; another has forestalled me," he said, .in a tone not untinged with sarcasm. Evelyn was roused at this.

"I do not recognize your right to cross-examine me in this, Mr. Lisle. That was a strange assertion to make and I treat it with the contempt it deserves." "Forgive me; I must be mad. I did not mean to offend, but if you only would give me some hope." "It is useless to prolong this interview. I am grieved to pain you, but my answer must bo no. I will leave you now ; you will soon forget. Let us be friends still, Norman."

She moved towards the door as she spoke and her quiet and unruffled demeanour seemed to arouse all his slumbering anger. Bending a white, set face towards her, he hissed, rather than said : "I will not bo cast aside so easily. You know not the temperament of the man whose love you so lightly scorn. Surrender your heart if you like to that other who is but making a convenience of you, amusing himself for the time being, but I tell you plainly,' Hugh de Lacy will never he anything more to you than he is ht present. His name is already umplcd with another; but even were that not so do you imagine he would marry one whose people arc the bitterest foes of his race, between whom there lies a stain that can never be wiped out?"

Evelyn turned upon him indignantly-

"How dnrc you so Insult mo, sir 7 Though you are Lady Llslc's nephow that does not compel me to listen to jw vilg siflitdsrs pgniwt m #

rs not present, and in wnosc hearing you would think twice before you repeated them. You forget yourself, sir; and were there not another man in the whole world, I would not marry you, Norman Lisle." With that last parting shot she opened the door and passed haughtily out.

As her footsteps died away in the distance the young man laughed sardonically. "I am sadly afraid you did not do justice to tho part of the anxious pleading lover, my boy. Women like to hear a man pleading and begging for their favours. Bah ! I suppose I should have gone down on my knees and all the rest of that confounded sycophancy, but it is not in my line. I am no abject slave, was not built that way; and besides it has been. generally the other way about. Women have been content to shower their favours upon me. Is it likely then, that I shall take this refusal lightly ? No; her fortune is necessary, to me, therefore the girl, though a not-desired encumbrance must also be won. Norman Lisle, they say all .things come to thoso who wait. I will both wait and will watch, and I swear the. girl and her fortune will yet be mine in spite of all!"

With these amiable .and philanthropic thoughts running through his brain Norman Lisle began gaily to whistle a popular opera tune; then, having carefully returned to his pockets his unfinished letters, left the room. For the remainder of the evening Evelyn 'kept her own apartments. She had no further desire to meet any one thnt day ; in fnct so many things crowded into her brain, she had learned so much in such a short space of time that she was completely overwhelmed and puzzled.

She tried to reason it out calmly. All that the Xomnd queen had told her, together with her warning, now came back with double force. What could it mean ? Then would follow the sickening reality that she possessed not one real friend upon whom she could rely for help and advice, .'or after her late meeting with Hugh do Lacy in company with the peasant girl, and the subsequent announcement of Norman's that his name was coupled with another's, felt she could not apply to him again.

That night she did not rest, but tossed restlessly upon her pillow unable to decide what course to pursue It was after midnight when, unable to woo sleep, Evelyn arose, and hastily dressing, began to .pace the room. Going towards the window, she looked out to the landscape beyond. It was a lovely scene her eyes rested upon. Beyond her stretched the gardens, skirted by a stately park, out of which rose the pinnacles and Gothic roof of the old grey-stone crypt or mausoleum where reposed the remains- of her dead-and-gonc ancestors.

The picture was so peaceful and lovely, though the moon only crept at intervals from behind the veil of dark clouds that the girl stood entranced, ■ thinking how strangely at variance was nature just then with her own troubled mind, Even as she stood thus lost in contemplation she suddenly started back with a low exclamation of surprise as, all at once a light emanated from behind the thick grove, of trees surrounding the little chapel, Could it only be fancy on her part, or was she mad or dreaming? The lights had grown stronger; the small grey-stone chapel was now brilliantly illuminated. Could it be that the building was on fire 7 Did that also account for the weird, dickering glimmer advancing slowly, as it wen from the sea coast, and. gradually becomth'Jf more distinct each second ?

Determined to learn the cause, the girl opened the old-fashioned casement and leaned out.

Presently a wailing sound, not unlike the soughing and sobbing of the wind arose on the night air. Now high, then low, anon soft and very mournful, like the despairing cry of sqme creature in mortal agony, then loud and shrill, as though bidding defiance to its enemies. Satisfied at last that the constant light which filled the old crypt was not fire, and feeling a nervous presentiment creeping over her, the girl, more frightened than she cared to admit, was about to retire, close the window, and thus shut out the horrible sound when another noise, the unmistakable tramp of many feet was borne to her ear.

Almost simultaneously she caught sight of a number of people advancing slowly with something in their midst from out the darkness beyond. For a moment her breath came thick and fast as the thought that there must be a shipwreck or an accident flew like lightning through her brain. Yes, surely that was the solutionit accounted for the mournful sobbing of the people. Those flickering lights were but the lanterns of the boatmen who were bringing a drowned or injured companion to the Castle as the nearest haven of refuge. But as quickly as this idea crossed her mind it was dispelled, as she saw the silent procession make, not towards the house,< but wend its way slowly and reverently towards the little crypt.

The strange figures had by this reached the open clearing fronting the mortuary chapel, and, as if it was to be, the moon suddenly emerged from behind a passing cloud, lighting up the weird scene as though it were broad day. Now, for the lirst time, the terrible significance of what she beheld burst upon Evelvn.

This was a funeral procession. What she had taken for a stretcher in reality was a coflin being home to its last resting place in the vault. And horror of horrors! could her eyes deceive her, be playing her false ? Was not that her uncle, the Knight of Killcen, who with bowed head and ghastly while face, followed as chief mourner? While (hat other—that tall stately figure who walked beside him and immediately behind the coflin and bearers, weeping and crying as though her heart would break —surely she had seen her before ? Then as the woman raised her head, and the moonlight fell full upon.her pale, tear-stained face, the girl staggered back in amazement. The man was indeed her uncle, Sir Geoffrey Fitzgerald ; his companion in grief, and evidently second mourner, no less a person than his old enemy, Judith, the Nomad queen, the avowed foe and enemy of his race.

Even as the girl watched in dumbfounded amazement, too terrified to move or cry out, once more the pitiful wailing rose upon the still night air, while slowly and solemnly the procession passed along, finally disappearing through the very portals of the sacred building itself.

CHAPTER XXIII. THE MYSTIC CEREMONY. As the mystic or supernatural bridal procession—for such they now felt convinced it was-drew near their hiding-place both Tim and Kitty gazed eagerly, though with a certain sense of reverent awe, upon the pair. For a moment it soomed to tho.carman that both tlio faces worestrangely familial';' Kitty, too, had pretty much the same Idea and was rlus spring herd (it \k etlw two

figures who kept nt a respectful distance.' behind, when suddenly the torches were extinguished, and the place plunged in darkness, with tho exception of the faint glimmer of moonlight which still streamed in fitfully through tho mullioiwd windows,' and almost roofless walls of tho old building.

In awe and terror the two lovers still kept their position, for despito Kitty's boasted courage sho was not nearly so bravo when, to uso her own expression, it came to having dealings with tho supernatural. In fact it was sho wlfo now pressed her lover to reniain where thoy were till all traces of the ghostly visitants had vanished from the spbt. This Tim was quite willing to do, and it was not till the wedding party were lost to 1 view, and the old monk had nlso followed in their footsteps, that the trembling girl nt length consented to leave her hiding-place, and, assisted by her lover's strong arm, hastened with all speed from the haunted abbey, It certainly would be some time ero cither of them put foot near that spot. The girl's anxiety to see the ghost'had quite disappeared, and in its stead remained a strange, nervous premonition thnt she was never intended to be a bride—or, at least, not the wife of Tim Brogan. Tho fact that the weird, spectral ceremony she had witnessed represented living people she knew seemed an indication that something terrible—a great calamity was about to overtake her and those immediately concerned, while without a shadow of a doubt it was a warning to her and Tim not to become man and wife.

No wonder, then, with such thoughts as these running riot through her mind, and a presentiment of evil hanging over her, that Kitty's manner changed towards her lover, and she became more distant and cold, likewise rather cranky and snappy.

For some time Tim ignored this, putting it down to the fact that she had received a terrible shock that night, and by the aid of a little coaxing sho would soon get all right again.

"Yerrah, Kitty, darlint, nn' what ails you, at all, at all ? Shurc, it's nivcr tnkin' heed an' frcttin' over what wo saw in the abbey ? It's a pity we' wint near it at all, at all. Bcdad, it was givin' it a wide berth we should have been. But what wid us has their spirit marriago to do, anyway, avic ?" Kitty burst into tears. "Oh, it's terrible bad luck that'll folly us now, Tim ! Begorra, I've often heerd tell as how lovers that see spirits and'ghosts, a fairy weddin' or annythin' in the shape av % supernatural should niver get married fur it's the height av bad luck that will attend thim if they do." Tim's face fell at this, "Faix what's that yer sayin' Kitty avournoen ? Take bnck those words, me darlint; ye don't mane as how you'd give me up. It's not broakln' me heart an' your own, acushla, for some silly old superstition, loike that you'd be ? "

But Kitty refused to be comforted, and only wept the more. "Tim, Tim," she wailed. "It's all comin' thrue what me mint cut fur me in those cards. Yerrah, 'twas a dreadful bad fortune an' heaps av throuble she foretold for us both,"

"Be jabcrs, but that was kind av her nn no mistake! " returned Tim, drily. "An' shurc enough she said as how we two 'ud nlver come together ; but that if we did, it 'ud be nil throuble and sorrow, nn' tljat a fair-headed man 'ud come betune us."

The carman drew himself up, then looking calmly and roguishly at his •swrothcavt'SßW-.-ihßfnuatinglj^:'' " '"' "An' yer aunt said that ? Bcdad, an' it's the considerate woman sho is entoirely. An' maybe, as she wint so far she tould ye also who the fair man was she had in her eye fur ye?" "No, thin, she didn't. She only said as how ye were 'a terrible rollin stone Tim Brogan, an' that you'd nivcr have a penny in yer pocket widout it burning a hole there. She axed me, too, why ye left the railway, an' said ye'd stick at nothin', not even stay in Amcrky • when yo got a chance of makin' yer fortune," sobbed Kitty. "Begorrn, that's a lie on the fnce of it! " replied Tim hotly. "I niver had a chance av any fortin ; an' shure, whin I got to Ameriky an' took a walk up New York itself, an' •saw how the place was that full of people all rushin' here an' there, hither and thither like so many pigs set loose at a fair, says I to myself, "Tim Brogan, this is no place fur the loikes av ye or any dacent man. Wislia, the paple here—God help thim -haven't emit for thimselves, or if so, why should they all be in such a dispcrate hurry ?

"It was as good as a day at the races any time; an' bedad, when I stopped wan av the bouchals an' axed him was it a fair day, an' in which direction lay the market, the poor gossoon stared at me as if I'd twenty heads, an' sidlin' off quite skeered-loiko, he replied, 'I guess, stranger, there ain't no flics on me,' an' I nivcr hecrd tell av a market hereabouts. Yer out in ycr reckoning I calkorlatc, an' it's the stores ye want. First turnin' on the right past Sixty-scventh-strcct will bring yo into Broadway then four blocks along ye'll meet a big building. Ye can't miss it, fur it's a regular skyscraper.' "Well, this completely bowled me over as the sayin goes. 'Hoult on, youngster,' cries 1; 'take it aisy, Share the world 'll be afther ye.' But the gossoon rushed oft' like a streak av lightning fur fear, I'd be axin' him more questions; ari' thin a terrible lonely feeling came over' mo, agra. 'Tim,' says I, ' 'twould be a quarc country this to live in entirely, much loss bring any daccnt colleen to, Why, Kitty, nsthore, ye be dead in a wake, an' share it's a grass widdy I'd be thin, nllanah." Kitty had partly dried her tearlduring Tim's story, and now she said, stiffly:

"Why couldn't I live there as well as others, Tim Rrogan ? Jly aunt says as it's a free country, an' the l'ortins made there are great." "Faix, she's right there, anyhow, It's a free country in every sinse of the word. Faith, ye arc free to starve there any day as meself found out afore many hours were over me, passin' hundreds av paple, an' not wan av thira havin' the dacency to ax a man if he had a mouth on him. Bedaflr it's a dhry welcome if a free wan they do bo'givin' ye there, anyhow." Kitty began to look sympathetic. "An' ye niver dropped across wan av yer own out beyant there, Tim? Shure, they say Ned Burns is a great man cntoircly, an' that Pat ijlonovan is rollin' in money. He'll bo senator or President at the White House wan av these days." "Portlier more loikely. They an' the lift boy are big fellows out yonder, I can assure ye, Kitty." "Are they now ? You surprise me, Tim. An' be the same token, why didn't ye thry fur something av that sort yorsclf instead av comln' home again in a few days ?" inquired Kitty half crossly, "Bogorra, bckaso I'm not such a fool as I look, nvQurnocDi ati" can see as far through a stono wall as any man llvln'. It didn't take mo ipp? m m vp 'Awi.ty l m tell

you, big as I it is. It soon dawned upon mo that all tho.fortlns wan hears of hero wero llko Paddy Nolan's great castles, all av thim built in the air, Far-oil cows have long horns, ncushla, an' it doesn't stand to sinso if Pat Donovan was. rollin' in wealth that ho'd lot his old mother- still live in tbo ramshackle, tumble-down mud cabin boyant."

Kitty eyes woro gradually bolng opened,

"So you met none av tho Clare bhoys thnt arc doln' so well out thero ?" sho.nskcd. "Nc'r a wan that was rollin' in riches, but a few poor craythurs hangin round the docks an' wharves lookin' fur work, Bcdad it was a 'Ccad millo failthc I' those poor exiles gave us, an' no mistake. Their hearts were full, an' whin I axed thim to dhrlnk to tho success av ould Ireland an' forthuno to meself in tho now counthry faith, they out an' tould mo all.

" "I'nlto mir advice, good man,' says they, W if it's yer fortin yo've come lo seek, tho best thing ye can do while yo've a penny in yer pocket is to spind it in getlin' homo again, Shure, if ourselves had tho manes, it's not in this inhospitable country we'd stay, where there is nothin' but hurry scurry tho whole livelong day, an' part av the night, too, if wan wants to earn a crust at all.'

"An' is that tho way wid it out there ? " inquired Kitty, in surprise. "Bogorrn, thin, it is. Faix, tho counthry is overcrowded they tell me."

"Think, av that now I What'll they do at all,, whin more people land there? The placo'll be packed cntoirely, xm' lots more emigrants lavin' here this week. An' bo the same token, Tim Hickey an' his sister are havin' a 'live wake' afore they start. Couldn't you tell thim, Tim, (hat thero isn't any more room in Ameriky an' they'll soon be crushin' wan another into tho say?" The , carman darted a suspiciousglance at his sweetheart, but seeing the girl was in earnest, answered unhesitatingly; "Well,'ye see, 'twould do no good, anyhow, nsthoro; they udn't helave till they see fur thimsclves as I did. iHegnrra it isn't every wan has the insight a place up in a few hours, then shake its dust off their feet an' walk home bo the next boat as I did, thanks to God But it is practising an ullaloo fur a funeral, ye aro? Come, alannoh, I'll sing ye a nato little song to brighten ye up.

"Whist, ye divils,, now can't ye bo aisy, like a cat when she's lickin' tho cranio, An' I'll givo ye a song jist to plaze ye, about meself, Dermot M'Slmne ? Ye'll own when I tell ye mo story, I'm a genius adornin' mo race, For though I've no brass in mo pockets, be me sowl, I've got , lots in mo face."

"Bad scan to ye, don't I know that same 1 But it strikes mo yo used precious little av it when yo wero out there beyant," returned Kitty.

"Yerrah, it's a dale bettor I'vo dono fur meself an' the cause, too. Shure, jt's elbow room wo have in the ould counthry, anyhow, an' it's shure av a bite an' a sup wo aro, likewise a few feet of holy consecrated ground in which to lay our weary bones when tho time arrives. Dedad, but it's a grate work I've on hand now, asthore, an' it should pay well in the long run." "Pay well I New work ! Yerrah, it's not tellin' mo yo are lavin' the squire's employment ye are! Yer nivcr thinkin' av changin' again?" cried Kitty, in alarm. .".Faith nor it's not talk'fn'",' of ordinary employment I am now. Since my return from Ameriky I've joined the Anti-Emigration League. I'm an agent of theirs." "I suppose they'll pay you well for that ? " said practical Kitty. Tim looked tho disgust ho felt, "Faix, it's surprised at ye I am, Kitty Murphy. Shure, ye'ro not patriotic at nil, at all. Ne'r a penny will I get from th' society, an' " drawing himself up and casting a look of withering scorn upon her—"d'ye think I'd stoop so low as to take it aithcr ? Isn't it fur the good av the counthry, I'm doin' it? It's honorary agent I am,"

Kitty was silent. She wan thinking what her aunt would say to Tim's reasons for coming back from America, also what she would think of his honorary position, and this caused her to sigh deeply.

"Come, mo darlint. Eedad, it's no use cryin' over spilt milk, an' if it's still frcltin' over those spirits, an' their marriage ye arc, why the best thing I can do is to give ye-another token, don't plaze interrupt till I've at least finished the chorus.

"Mo ancestors shure they were famous an' at Donnybrook gained a great name, Me aunt she sold famous good whisky, an' I'm famous for drinkin' that same. I'm famous, like Master Adonis, with his head full av nothin but curls At crnckin' the heads av the bhoys—ay, an' brcakin' the hearts of the girls. CHORUS. "In rainy or sunshiny weather I'm full of good humour an' Joy; • Then take me in parts all together, be my sowl, I'm the broth av a bhoy,"

"Shure, nn' as it is such a finj opinion of your own qualifications ye have it's.a wondhcr ye didn't bring over wid ye one of those American heiresses who seem to bo goin' ahoggin' fur any one to pick up," returned Kitty, half-saucily. "Begorra, not me. I'm not such a traitor to me own land, and, besides, if what I've heerd tell is correct, faith if hangia' wid diamonds they'd be dear at the price. Besides acushla, didn't I know that a certain little colleen was waitin' and prayin' anxiously fur mo in the ould spot? Como, cheer up, alannah, an' we'll tell Father Nolan all about it, likewise Masther Hugh; and fnith it is betther fur us to bo takin' advice from clever, intelligent paple than bo listening to the croakin' av a silly old woman who tolls fortunes from cards and reads the future in tho lay-cups. An' be jabcrs, if his rivcrence did not spake agin.those self-same practices from the altar, an".says he, 'Shuro it's tho dlvil's work an' yc'ro not to take.notice av drames, charms, or any such-like foolery, fur it's agin tho Commandments.' So come along avournccn, chaso dull care away be jokin' wid me in the last two verses of me song

"A great architect was me father as ivcr walked over the say, Shuro, he built Teddy Murphy's mud cabin, an' didn't he likewise build me ? He built him a nate little pig-sty, which made all' the Connaught bhoys stare: An' he built, too, some very lino cas' tics, but they were all av thim built in tho air,"

"Bcdad, but I'm afther thinkin'that's as far as our own castles will go, Tim," remarked Kitty, with an assumption of angor; but the twinklo In her oyo as she said It reassured Uio carman, and It did tint mho a great amount of persuasion on lilh part to got her to consent to refer Ui« wrttw to "fin rhiiwawj w' M«^>

ther Hugh," who would, of a surety know what 'tho warning really meant and whoso advico, according to Tim, was simply infallible. Completely restored now to goodhumour sho declared that Tim was tho finest singer round tho countrysido, and joined lustily in tho last verso and chorus, which ran as follows :

"I'd scorn to be rudo to a lady,' .though Miss Fortune an' I can't agrco; 1 flew ovor on wings from Green Erin do you see anything green aboutrrio? An' whilo wid this stock av good spirits at caro shuro mo lingers I'd snap, Fur I'm as rich as n Jow wldout, money, an' as freo as a rat in a trap, CHORUS. "In rainy or sunshiny weather I'm full av good humour an' joy: Then tako me in parts all together, be my sowl, I'm a broth av a bhoy.'-'. CHAPTER XXIV. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF NORAH CLANCY. Tho morning following the interview with his father, Hugh de Lacy left homo in anything but a placid frame of mind. In fact, so great had been tho young man's abstraction since, that Tim, despite his own anxiety to unburden his mind regarding his adventure of the previous evening as well as explain his sweetheart's scruples in tho matter, refrained from mentioning it.

Hugh was the bearer of a messago from his father to Matthew Cleary,, and ho also wished to consult the latter himself; but the young man scarcely knew which ho desired most —tho detection of the murderer, the bringing homo of tho crime to Sir Geoffrey Fitzgerald, of tho discovery that the Knight of Killccn was innocent of his brother's death. For the sake cf that sweet and. as yet unspoiled , flower whom ho now acknowledged he loved with all the fervour and strength of a young man's devotion and could scarcely wish to bring trouble and disgrace upon her head, for, he reasoned, it was always the innocent who suffered most in cases of this kind; and, again, oven . though the murder of her father was, avenged, it would bo a terrible blow to Evelyn to learn that tho death of hiin she loved, whoso memory, she so cherished, was connived at, and accomplished by his own brother, the untlo she wished to love and respect. It was a terriblo predicament for him to bo placed in—tho thought of causing pain to her ho loved—indeod agony; yet what could ho do ? Tho young man's mind was torn with conflicting emotions—his heart rent with grief for her on one side, whilo on the other his own love of kindred, the thoughts of the injuries and wrongs sustained by his family at these people's hands, was as bitter as wormwood to his proud nature. Ho must—hAnour demanded that ho should—vindicato his poor helpless, aunt's character. She must be avenged at least, If not righted in tho eyes of the world, No woman of their race, a daughter of tho proud, haughty line of the Do Lacys, must be suffered to bow down and groan under tho weight of an accusation so vile, so utterly repugnant to every true woman. It was a terriblo stain upon their hitherto untarnished escutcheon to think that they, whoso ancestors wore formerly the Lords of Meath, to whom Henry 11. had bequeathed the broad acres and entire appurtenances of that kingdom, . who. on the female side claimed to havo Royal °loo(l in their veins, because although oi Norman extraction, their predecessor, ■ the g&eat Hugh do Lacy, had married an Irish princess, daughter of King Roderick O'Connor, should have a stigma like this cast upon them. The De Lacys were now, as the saying is, more Irish than the Irish themselves. Was It a matter for wonder, then, that a family who could trace back their pedigree in such a glorious mannei'-who through' intermarriage with the De Burghs, Lords of Connaught, boasted that the proudest nnd purest blood in Ireland circulated in their veins-re-sented this ? Hugh's blood boiled again, and lie longed to efface the insult, wipe out the slur cast upon their name by tho man who was once their friend, the family who in former times had shared in their triumphs as well as defeats until the name of De Lacy was scarcely mentioned except in connection with that of Fitzgerald. It was a poor return certainly, a baso and cowardly way of repaying past favours and friendship ; and the moro the young man pondered over it the worse it appeared in his eyes, Had it been other times, the feud could have been easily settled at the point of the sword, but that was impossible in theso days of the prosaic nineteenth century, so it only made the young man's thirst for revengo all the stronger and keener.

He would unmask this villain, como what might, even though he broke his own heart, spoiled his life In the attempt; for, of course, once ho exposed her unclo's perfidy and crime, it was not to be expected that Evelyn would view him with favour. Indeed, more likely she would hate him —hate him with a fierce, unquenchable hatred—for thus bringing the family skeleton to light, dragging an honoured name,, ono as old and proud as his own into the very dust, Hugh do Lacy was, however, a true member of the stock from which he sprang, and much as ho might suffer by the move he contemplated, he was determined to carry it through. Justice must be done at all costs, and oh, if it were only possible for retribution to overtake, tho guilty, and still save his darling, his innocent, peerless Evelyn, from partaking in the suHcring. His heart cried out that it was not fair, that she had not sinned, therefore should not suffer; but on the other hand there was no possible escape that ho could see, no way out of tho difficulty, and in justice to both the living and the dead, Hugh decided tho criminal must bo unearthed even at the risk of two broken hearts—his own and JJvclyn's. All this time the squire's son had been walking briskly along. Ho preferred it to cither riding or cycling when in'a -troubled state of mind, when suddenly, bo became aware that someone was calling him by name: "Hugh ! Hugh I "

He turned in astonishment to see a dark, slender figure engaged in digging what Hugh took to be so many holes in a meadow not far from where he stood. So. great had been his abstraction that though at any other time he could not have failed to see her, die would have passed on • unconscious of her presence had not the well-known voico sounded distinctly on his ear, "Frances I Aunt Frances!" he cried, in surprlso, going towards her. "Dear aunt, whatever brings 1 you hero 1" ho continued, as in bewilderment ho turned from the spado she hold in her soft white hand to-tho holes at which she had been at work, For an instant a light such as Hugh nover romomborod having seen In ihoßo dull oyes bofore lighted up her Two, as, walking nearer him, she suldt In a whisper i "Mill i II? wM\ tyt m

finite havo cars. I carao to search foi'-to find my papers. You-you know what I refer toj dear boy; but -but you—you won't betray me ? It only makes Lawrence sad and angry when I mention it. You aro not cross, Hugh ? ,You-you will help mo in my search. They nro here—buried I tell you. I hid them somewhero here." ■

Sho polntotl dramatically' as she spoke to a large trco round which sho had been digging, then continued "I know I did; but it was so long ago now I cannot recall. tho exact spot. But you won't tell, will you, dear? Else they might come and search—they who want them, you i know."

The pale gcntlo faco was raised so pleadingly to his, the eyes bore such [an expression that Hugh was com[plotely taken aback. Surely, if insane on all other. topics his aunt spoke rationally and sensibly now. Thero were no traces of madness in that face, no wild look about tho eyes; only pain and sorrow-a look of hopeless misery and despair. Could it bo possible that what sho said was truo? Her papers, Did such tilings really oxist, and, if so, what olso could they be but a marriage certificate" What other did women prize so? Heavens if this were but true, if it 'were only pessiblo, what sorrow and pain, what misery and disgrace might havo been avoided—could even now, though late in the day, be removed But even as this hope entered his. breast Frances herself dispelled it by her next words and wild, excited manner, Her eyes filled with tears her voice trembled again with fear and loathing as, clinging to him, sho cried, wildly:

"Don't lot thcin know I was hero. They don't credit what I say—believe me a lunatic, a dishonoured woman. None, not oven my own flesh and blopd, will listen. They say I rave, pity mo, and think I dishonoured my nnmo and race. It is false, false, and I will yet provo it so ! If I am mad, 'tis their conduct has driven me so. What woman could hnvc endured what I have dono and lived through it? Hugh, they aro cruel, cruel! They tore mother and child asundor, robbed mo of my boy, my beautiful son, then treat it as fancy when I call for him. Is not that sufficient to have turned any woman's brain; coming as it did on top of my other terrlblo shock, tho murder of him I loved ? " Hero Frances broko down completely, and, burying her face in her hands, sobbed aloud. Hugh was stunned; never before had ho heard his aunt speak so much of her troubles. In' fact ho understood but dimly that sho had lost her reason when a girl through,tho death of her lover. Liko many other family matters ho had taken it for granted, always kind and,considerate to his unfortunate relative, yot never doubting that her intellect was weak her mind gone beyond ■ all recall. Now, with the new hone that, after all, perhaps the family might hnvc misjudged, blamed her in the wrong, came tho idea that sho spoke moro plainly and sensibly that he thought her capable of; but, on the other hand, as well as, her strange excitement causing him to doubt her once moro, was the fact that sho had declared they had stolon her child, deliberately separated her son from her.

Could this bo trtio, or was it but another fancied grievance of hers—a chimera of her weakj distorted brain ? But even as this thought occurred to him another also rose before his mind. Ills father had undoubtedly said that Franceo became a, mother,.and.that to hide her disgrace and save (ho family honour ho had tried to keep it secret. A strange, uncomfortable feeling camo over him as he remembered nothing further had been said on the subject; his parent had made no allusion to whether tho baby had'lived or died. Now he recollected tho shock had Ik en so severo, tho revelations so great, that it had quite driven all minor details from his mind. Ho had never once asked what had liecome of the child, taking it for granted that owing to tho fright received by tho mother, and her subsequent delicate health, that tho poor little mite had died. >

Yes, that must bo so. Nothing would compel the squire to separate the mother nwl child,- ho felt certain. Ho knew that his father could bo both passionato and very severe, when occasion merited, loth to forgive- such an injury dealt him and his. Yet ho did not think him capable of such an act as that,

Then again, Frances's own words and rambling statements, coupled with her strango conduct caused him to doubt her words. Had she not, 100, acted like a mad woman at the ball, rushing into tlio midst of the assembled company and publicly declaring Evelyn to be the daughter of the man who had caused' her own shame and downfall.

All these thoughts and more passed like lightning through Hugh do Lacy s brain, and in much less timo than it takes to write it ho had turned once more to his unfortunate relative.

"Aunt," he said, gently, "come with mo, dear. This is no occupation for a lady, you know. What will people say, think, when they seo you digging like this ? " Frances gazed at.him steadily for som6 seconds. Then a little cry of pain and anguish escaped her, and she drew quickly awny from him. "You too, believe what I said is false—that I imagine, made it all Up! " she cried, fiercely. "I had hoped for sympathy, help, from you, but now that hopo • has" vanished. There is none, then, to credit my story; all judge mo as guilty." Here n sob broke from her pale lips, her bosom heaved, her slight frame shook again with the violence of her emotion.

I Hugh was greatly touched, mid gojing towards gcr, placed his nrm gently round her, at the same time trying to comfort her with the followI ing words: j "Dear Aunt Frances, do not think I for a nioment that I do not sympathize with you in your deep trouble. I fed indeed, deeply sorry and I would willingly do all in my power ito assist you. But the part you arc (adopting will'never do. It will only make you ill, overtax your frail : strength too much, if you persist in this searching alono and unaided." The woman. laid her head like a tired child upon the broad shoulder [ of her nephew, "Hugh," she replied, gently, "who else Is there to do it? I am alone, not even my own brother will extend a helping hand. He scouts the idea that the certificate exists, refuses my request to have the field dug up to i find it, But I will succeed yet; It must, it shall bo found. Tho world | will one day rccognizo me as a wlfo, my brother acknowledge ho was wrong In his Judgment, that I have brought no .disgrace on tho namo ot De Lacy, that I was, after all, an honest woman, Then, oh, then, perhaps ho will restore to mo my lost one, give mo back my child." . , To be Continued.