“Why, I know the name and the place, but not the man. I have been to Arghalee. All except the very ground on which the ancient castle stands, and which the impoverished O’Melaghlin would not sell under any stress of fortune, forms a part of the duke’s estate. The castle is one of the show places of the neighborhood; not for its parks, plantations or picture galleries, by any means—for there are none—but for the great antiquity of the ruins. The owner was supposed to be traveling abroad. He is The O’Melaghlin in question, of course. The guidebook to the ancient castle shows the family to be lineal descendants from Roderick O’Melaghlin, monarch of Meath, and more remotely from Konn, a somewhat mythical king of prehistoric Ireland. So, you see, you will have an illustrious guest, though he may be as poor as ‘Job’s turkey.’” “No; the letter says he has made an immense fortune in the gold mines of Australia, and is coming back to live on his estate.” “When do you expect them?” “By the next steamer—for this letter was written from New York the day before they were to start.” “Ah!” said the rector. And Ran, having communicated his good news, went home to his Judy. CHAPTER XXXIX “ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL” Meanwhile, Cleve, Palma, their children, servant, and, last and loftiest, The O’Melaghlin were coming over as fast as wind and steam could bring them. They had unusually fine weather for the whole trip. They made some very pleasant acquaintances, and formed some very fast friendships among their fellow passengers, with whom they were all very popular. The eccentricities of The O’Melaghlin were endless sources of amusement to the passengers as to our own party, to whom they were also causes of frequent annoyance. For instance, O’Melaghlin always addressed Mr. Cleve Stuart as “Wolfscliff.” And not infrequently, when he had had too much wine for dinner, the chieftain would hail his friend from across the table as “O’Wolfscliff,” or speak of him to another person as “The O’Wolfscliff.” Besides this, he would reiterate, in season and out of season, his injunction that Mr. and Mrs. Cleve Stuart should preserve, inviolate, the secret of his relationship to Mike and Judy. “Moind ye don’t let on to them,” he repeated. “I am to be inthrodooced as a frind of your own, claiming, in right of you, the hospitality of Misther and Misthress Randolph Hay. And I am to have a week or tin days to observe me childer before they suspect me. That will lave me find them out as they are widout pritinces. Do ye moind?” “Oh, yes,” Stuart would reply, heartily tired, yet half amused at the man’s persistence. “And yerself will not brathe a syllable that will lave them suspict I’m anything to themselves, Misthress Stuart?” he persevered, turning to Palma. “Not a syllable, O’Melaghlin,” she answered.