“The O’Melaghlin is of the most ancient Irish, royal lineage, being directly descended from the O’Melaghlins, monarchs of Meath, whose kingdom was ravaged by Henry the Second, A. D. 1173, and given to one of his thievish followers, a disreputable carpet-bagger, called Hugh de Lacy. “The O’Melaghlin hails now from Antrim because his ancestor, Patricious O’Melaghlin, in the reign of Edward the First, 1285, married Mona, sole child and heiress of Fergus of Arghalee, and subsequently became lord of Carrick Arghalee, in right of his wife. From this illustrious pair, representing a royal and a noble family united, The O’Melaghlin is directly descended. “It would be highly impertinent in so humble an individual as myself to write of this gentleman’s merits and accomplishments. Should he honor you with his acquaintance, you will discover them for yourself. You will also hear from him in what manner you can have the distinction of serving him. “With compliments and congratulations to yourself and Mrs. Stuart on the present proud occasion, I remain, your faithful servant, WILLIAM WALLING.” “Will Walling is a scamp, and merits a kicking for his impudence,” was Stuart’s half-earnest, half-jesting mental criticism on this letter and its writer. He thought he knew the reason for Will Walling’s sneers; he thought it was more than likely that The O’Melaghlin had repelled the genial Will and “kept him at a distance.” He folded the letter, put it in his pocket, and once more offered his hand to the visitor, saying: “I am very happy to see you here, sir, and shall be very much pleased if I can serve you.” “I thank you, Wolfscliff!” exclaimed The O’Melaghlin, giving his host his territorial title as if they had been in Antrim. “I thank you, sir. You have given me the hand of a friend, and although you may not at this moment recall the fact, you have given me the hand of a kinsman! Yes, sir, I am proud to say of a kinsman!” and he gave that hand a grip that crippled it for a week. “A kinsman, O’Melaghlin!” exclaimed Cleve—he would have given great offense if he had addressed his guest as Mr. O’Melaghlin—“I am very much flattered, but I do not understand!” “Ah, then, Wolfscliff, is not your family name Stuart?” “Certainly.” “And have you not a lawful right to that name?” “Undoubtedly.” “And do you not spell it S-t-u-a-r-t?” “I do.” “Then you are my kinsman on the distaff side! Yes, there is but one root of the tree of Stuart, and that is the old royal root that grew fast in Scottish ground, and every one who lawfully bears the name of Stuart is a leaf of that same tree.” “Granted,” said Cleve, with perhaps a faint leaven of sinful pride, “granted that my ancestor seven generations back was Charles Stuart, called the Young Pretender, how should that make us kinsmen?”