“Will you take seats in the carriage now? My servants are here with the break and a van to bring your people and luggage,” said Ran. Cleve bowed and handed Palma to a back seat, and The O’Melaghlin to a place beside her. Then he took a front seat, where Ran joined him, and the barouche started for Haymore Hall. The drive through the beautiful country, now in the glory of early summer, charmed both Cleve and Palma. “It is a boundless Garden of Eden!” exclaimed the latter. But beauty and glory in nature was quite lost on The O’Melaghlin, who employed the time in descanting to his son-in-law upon the ancient royalty and grandeur of the O’Melaghlins until the carriage turned into the park gate, where Longman stood to welcome them. “There, that was a foine sivin-footer—that retainer of yours, Haymore. Jist such min me ancestor, Roderick O’Melaghlin, last monarch of Meath, had for his bodyguard, armed with spears and battle-axes, iviry man of them,” said the chieftain, as the carriage rolled up the avenue toward the house. When it drew up in front of the Hall, there stood Mike and Judy, the beautiful young pair, as much alike in their dark loveliness as twin brother and sister could possibly be. Both in evening dress; Mike in the conventional black swallowtail and patent leathers, with a sprig of shamrock in his buttonhole in honor of the visitor. Judy in a dark blue satin dress, trained, and with low body and short sleeves, showing the plump neck and round arms, which were now dimly veiled with fine lace and adorned with the Haymore diamonds in honor of the guests. Behind them stood an array of servants. “There is your son and daughter, O’Melaghlin,” whispered Palma in the ear of the chief, as he sat beside her. He looked out and saw the beautiful pair, with their lovely faces lighted up now with the joy of expectancy. “What! thim? You don’t mane thim!” he exclaimed, gazing at them. “Yes, I do. They are Mike and Judy.” “Och! let me at thim—the angels!—the beauties! They are both the imidge of their mother, me sainted Moira! Let me at thim!” And with a bound The O’Melaghlin was out of the barouche and tearing up the stairs to the presence of his astonished children. Forgotten were all his plans of secrecy and covert observation. The father’s pride and joy in the Irishman’s warm heart overbore all resolutions, and he fell upon his son and daughter with ravenous delight. “And so ye are me own childer—me Mike and me Judy! And the jewels that ye are!” he exclaimed. But it was Judy he clasped to his breast and covered with kisses. “Oh, Mike! Mike! save me!” exclaimed the frightened and distressed daughter. “Will ye be afther kapin’ yer hands to yerself?” exclaimed Mike, who thought the stranger was a maniac, and tried to separate him from the terrified victim. But Mike was no match for The O’Melaghlin.