Meantime Kate's slight figure disappeared in the distance, and, a moment after, Cormac pricking his ears at some sound, unheard by his opponent, with a final growl, darted at full speed down the walk by which his mistress had vanished. She was waiting a few paces beyond the gate, where she had, to the best of her ability, uttered the whistle, which had recalled her faithful guardian; and now hurrying her pace almost to a run, they speedily reached home, but not before the persevering stranger had caught sight of the flutter of her dress, as she turned the corner of Victoria Gardens. "How late you are, my child! you seem flushed and breathless." "Yes, dear grandpapa, I was detained at Mrs. Potter's, and of course that made me late with my other pupils; then I walked so fast; but I will run up stairs and take off my bonnet." "Oh, nurse!" she exclaimed, throwing herself into Mrs. O'Toole's arms, "I have had such a fright--no, not a fright, but I am so indignant to think that he should dare to--" "Och, what is it, good or bad? take breath, asthore!" And Kate, with many charges not to tell her grandfather, recounted her adventure to nurse. "Och, bad manners to him," exclaimed that sympathising confidante. "The rale divil he was to go spake that away to a lady like you; bad luck to his impidence; did he think ye'd thank him for wantin' to know ye? I wish I come across him, faith I'd make his hair stand on ind, the schamin' vagabone. But why are ye cryin', avick, about a thief iv a pickpocket? I'll go bail it's yer purse he wanted; sure a rale gintleman ud know betther!" "I can't help it, nurse! they are the bitterest tears I ever shed, not on account of that wretched man, but to think that such a thing ever occurred, and may occur again." "Sorra bit iv it, I'll go wid ye me own self ivery day to Potter's an' the other place, an' let me see if me gintleman dare say pays to ye! Whist! och, jewel, there's the masther callin--dhry yer eyes." For several days the faithful Nelly escorted her young mistress in her walks, but the adventurous stranger never appeared; and, by degrees, Kate began to look upon her fright and indignation as an unpleasant but unreal phantom. One evening Kate had yielded to the entreaties of Mrs. Storey and her juvenile olive branches, to join a birth-day merry-making, in honor of the son and heir having attained his eighth year; and for once she left her grandfather to read alone. Nurse, of course, guarded her during her short transit between their abode and that of her host's, and having carefully removed her nursling's shawl and bonnet, plodded slowly homeward, to make the 'masther's tay,' for the birth-day fête began at half-past six; thinking sadly enough of the past, and of her dear master's sinking strength and spirits, she turned into the little street or terrace in which they lived. "Pray," said a very languid, gentlemanlike voice, close beside her. "Pray, do you not live at No. -- down here?"