"Yes, sir; I got a whisper just now that there's going to be a great rising entirely, to-morrow; thousands are to gather before daybreak at Kilcrean bog, where I'm told they've a power of pikes hiding; and then they're to march on and sack every house in the country. I'll engage, when I heard it, I didn't let grass grow under my feet, but came off straight to your honor, thinking maybe you'd like to walk over this fine evening to Mr. Warren's, and settle with him what's best to be done." "Oh, James! I beseech you, don't think of going." "Make your mind easy, Charlotte; I don't intend it: not that I suppose there would be much risk; but, all things considered, I think I'm just as comfortable at home." The steward's brow darkened, as he glanced nervously toward the end window, which jutting out in the gable, formed a deep angle in the outer wall. "Of course, 'tis just as your honor plases, but I'll warrant you there would be no harm in going. Come, Billy," he added, addressing the child, who by this time was standing close to Mrs. Hewson, "make your bow, and bid good-night to master and mistress." The boy did not stir, and Mrs. Hewson taking his little hand in hers, said, "You need not go home for half-an-hour, Gahan; stay and have a chat with the servants in the kitchen, and leave little Billy with me--and with the apples and nuts," she added, smiling as she filled the child's hands with fruit. "Thank you, ma'am," said the steward, hastily. "I can't stop--I'm in a hurry home, where I wanted to leave this brat to-night; but he _would_ follow me. Come, Billy; come this minute, you young rogue." Still the child looked reluctant, and Mr. Hewson said, peremptorily, "Don't go yet, Gahan: I want to speak to you by-and-by; and you know the mistress always likes to pet little Billy." Without replying, the steward left the room; and the next moment his hasty footsteps resounded through the long flagged passage that led to the offices. "There's something strange about Gahan, since his wife died," remarked Mrs. Hewson. "I suppose 'tis grief for her that makes him look so darkly, and seem almost jealous when any one speaks to his child. Poor little Billy! your mother was a sore loss to you." The child's blue eyes filled with tears, and pressing closer to the lady's side, he said, "Old Peggy doesn't wash and dress me as nicely as mammy used." "But your father is good to you?" "Oh, yes, ma'am, but he's out all day busy, and I've no one to talk to me as mammy used; for Peggy is quite deaf, and besides she's always busy with the pigs and chickens." "I wish I had you, Billy, to take care of and to teach, for your poor mother's sake."