At length the husband poured out a glass of wine, drank it off, and then broke silence, by saying— “Well, well, Charlotte, these are awful times; there were ten men taken up to-day for burning Cotter’s house at Knockane; and Tom Dycer says that every magistrate in the country is a marked man.” Mrs. Hewson cast a frightened glance towards the windows, which opened nearly to the ground, and gave a view of a wide tree-besprinkled lawn, through whose centre a long straight avenue led to the high-road. There was also a footpath at either side of the house, branching off through close thickets of trees, and reaching the road by a circuitous route. “Listen, James!” she said, after a pause; “what noise is that?” “Nothing but the sighing of the wind among the trees. Come, wife, you must not give way to imaginary fears.” “But really I heard something like footsteps on the gravel, round the gable-end—I wish”— A knock at the parlour door interrupted her. “Come in.” The door opened, and Tim Gahan, Mr. Hewson’s confidential steward and right-hand man, entered, followed by a fair-haired delicate-looking boy of six years’ old, dressed in deep mourning. “Well, Gahan, what do you want?” “I ask your Honour’s pardon for disturbing you and the mistress; but I thought it right to come tell you the bad news I heard.” “Something about the rebels, I suppose?” “Yes, Sir; I got a whisper just now that there’s going to be a great rising intirely, 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 Honour, 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 towards the end window, which jutting out in the gable, formed a deep angle in the outer wall. “Of course ’tis just as your Honour pleases, 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.”