"Quick, Miss Kit, mount behind me." And passing my arm round her, I drew her through the window and set her on the pillion behind me; and next moment we were galloping away as fast as the beast could carry us, with her dear arms clasping me, and her breath coming and going in quick tumult on my neck. For a mile we rode thus without a word, when I heard her give a little laugh. "What is it?" I asked. "What a trouble for Martin!" said she, "He has Norah to console him." "I am not jealous of Norah." And I thought her arms held me a little firmer. "How well you managed it," said she in a little. "I was terrified too, just at first. Where are we going?" "To Biddy McQuilkin's, at the Hague." "Biddy McQuilkin's!" exclaimed she, with a start of surprise. "Surely she is dead." "So I thought; but she is not. She keeps an inn at the Hague; and has orders from one in high authority among the Irish rebels to take care of you." "As a prisoner?" "Surely not; as a lady." She sighed. "One peril never seems to be past," said she, "but a new one looms ahead." "Courage," said I. "Providence that saved you from the old peril will save you from the new." "Ah, Barry," she said gently, "I begin to wonder if your name spells Providence to me. On that hateful ship I wondered often what had become of you. When I saw behind us at Malin a red flag waved on the cliff- top, I said, Could that be you, but for once too late to help?" "It was," I replied. "I knew it!" she exclaimed almost triumphantly, "Night by night as we sailed further and further from home, I prayed Heaven to send you. Once when an English warship crossed our path, I pictured you among the crew, and wished they might capture us. Then when I got that wonderful little letter among the biscuits I knew my prayer was answered; and I troubled myself about nothing but to do your bidding. Poor Martin," and she laughed again, "he was the sufferer by that." You may fancy if her voice across my shoulder that night was not music in my ears! It humoured her to talk of all the perils we had encountered together, and of the ups and downs in our lots since that first day I brought her in the boat from Rathmullan to Knockowen. Then she spoke of her father and the peril he was in, and of the feuds and dangers that beset our distracted country. From that we came to talk of my adventures, and of Tim. But I could not find it in my heart to tell her of the paper under the hearth at Kilgorman, or of the villainy by which her father came into the estates he now held. Near the end of our talk I mentioned that I had seen Captain Lestrange in Derry. She was silent a little, and then said,-- "He is the man my father says I must marry." This was a speech I found no ready answer to, except a mumbled, "He is a fortunate man." "He does not think so," said Miss Kit with a laugh. "He is good and kind, but he loves his liberty more than any woman."