It was late in a dreary night of November. The wind blew a perfect hurricane, rushing up the thick avenue which led to the Glebe house of Clogheen, driving before it in its fury vast clouds of withered leaves it had collected on its way, and showering them in impotent wrath against the doors and windows of the house, which shook and clattered as if each had its own separate assailant. Midnight--black midnight had passed, and the faint light of a rising moon was beginning to mingle with the disturbed and dismal air. It was no night for mortals to forsake quiet and comfortable beds, and, least of all, delicate female invalids; yet Katey Tyrrel, shadowy and wan as a ghost, was standing at this hour watching the roaring tempest from the windows of the conservatory, that looked upon the front lawn of the dwelling. She had not, however, been long stationed there, when the darkness of the spot in which she stood (for there was no candle) was made still murkier by the shadow of a man who appeared outside. Katey softly undid the Venetian door, and Hewitt stood before her. "Dear, dear girl! how am I to thank you?" he murmured as he pressed with impassioned eagerness the hand she extended to him. "Speak low--low--low!" whispered the confused and trembling maiden. "Oh, what a night--what an hour to meet in!" "Any where--every where--no where--no matter--with you it is paradise to me!" ejaculated her lover with a random delight. "How did you manage the dogs though?" "Oh--I--locked Buffer in the stables, ever so far off--and Bang--indeed _he_ is so savage I was obliged to take him a field away, to the potatoe-house;" and Katey felt her cheek blush, until she feared it would light the gloom. "High-souled, devoted being! how am I rewarded for all I have gone through! You are indeed worthy to share the existence of one like me, whose hopes have been ruined in the holiest cause that----but there is not a single minute to lose--I have horses ready beyond the avenue gate--oh, come, my Katey--'fly from a world'--etcetera. You know the song." "Fly!--dear friend--you rave--do you not know how ill I have been? Can you not see what a wretched thin fright I have become." "Nonsense, my love, you look--(for dark as it is I can see that)--a thousand times more interesting with that pale sweet face. My own life, this is no time to trifle--who could suppose you were so undecided, you so lofty-spirited, so _heroine_-like.--Oh, Katey"---- "Believe me, Hewitt, I have not strength even to mount, much less to sit a horse at present." "Then, why this meeting, my love?" "Why--why--I scarce can tell; surely it is a pleasure to meet for once, even in this way, after all we have suffered."