It was in vain Hankes cried to him to wait,--to stop for only an instant,--that he, too, was ready to go,--not to leave him and desert him there,--that he knew not where to turn him, nor could ever retrace his way,--already the man was lost to view and hearing, and all the vain entreaties were uttered to the winds. As for Sybella, her perilous pathway gave her quite enough to do not to bestow a thought upon her companion; nor, indeed, had she much recollection of him till the old groom overtook her on the sandy beach, and recounted to her, not without a certain touch of humor, Mr. Hankes's terror and despair. “It was cruel to leave him, Ned,” said she, trying to repress a smile at the old man's narrative. “I think you must go back, and leave me to pursue my way alone.” “Sorra one o' me will go back to the likes of him. 'T is for your own self, and ne'er another, I'd be riskin' my neck in the same spot,” said he, resolutely. “But what's to become of him, Ned? He knows nothing of the country; he 'll not find his way back to Glengariff.” “Let him alone; devil a harm he 'll come to. 'T is chaps like that never comes to mischief. He 'll wander about there till day breaks, and maybe find his way to Duffs Mill, or, at all events, the boy with the letter-bag from Caherclough is sure to see him.” Even had this last assurance failed to satisfy Sybella, it was so utterly hopeless a task to overrule old Ned's resolve that she said no more, but rode on in silence. Not so Ned; the theme afforded him an opportunity for reflecting on English character and habits which was not to be lost. “I 'd like to see your brother John turn back and leave a young lady that way,” said he, recurring to the youth whose earliest years he had watched over.