"And what says my little lady to that?" I faltered. "_Vive la Liberte_," said she. "Heigho, Barry, are we nearly there?" We were past Delft, where no one supposed but we were a belated pair of market folk trudging home. Our horse had dropped into a leisurely jog, and the morning sky was beginning to show streaks of grey. "Are you weary?" said I, putting my hand on the little arm that held me round. "No, Barry, I am very happy so," said she; and after that we were silent till the stars began to fade and the towers and spires of the Hague loomed ahead against the northern sky. Despite our loitering, it was still early when we found ourselves in the streets of that city, inquiring for the _auberge_ of the "White Angel." After some trouble, we were directed through the town to the road that leads to the little fishing village of Scheveningen, two miles beyond the Hague, where, just as we came in sight of the sea, a little wayside inn with a swinging sign of a heavenly body in a snowy robe told us we had at last found our journey's end. No one was astir, but our knocking brought a groom on the scene, who rather surlily admitted us to the stable-yard. "Tell madame she is wanted at once; I bear a message from Lord Edward, tell her." Here a head looked out from a window, and madame's voice called out in broadest brogue,-- "Lord Edward, is it? And who might you be yourself?" "I'm Barry Gallagher, Biddy. Put on your clothes, like a decent soul, and let us in." Biddy obeyed with an alacrity which led us to doubt whether her toilet below the shawl she wore had been very elaborate. On the sight of me, still more of my fair charge, she broke out into a tumult of Irish welcome. "Arrah, darlints, sure it's glad I am to see you; and it's expecting you I've been, for didn't Lord Edward send me word to look to the young leddy? Come away, honey; for you look as white as the painted angel beyant there. So they sneaked you away, did they? And all because his honour was hanging the boys. Never ye fear, dearie, you'll be safe with old Biddy, even if the whole of the United Irishmen come after you.--And you, Barry, you're welcome too, though your father Mike wouldn't let me be mother to you. Dear, oh. There's many changes to us all since then. The last time I set eyes on yez 'twas in Paris, and little I looked to see you again when they had us all to the prison. And where's Tim at all? He's the boy, and a rale gentleman." "Give us some food, Biddy dear," said Miss Kit, "and tell us all the news to-morrow." "'Deed I will," said the good soul, and she bustled about till the whole household was awake to give us breakfast. I waited only to allay my hunger, and then rose. "Good-bye just now, Miss Kit," said I. Her face fell. "Oh," said she, "you're not going to leave me, Barry!" "Till to-night. I am pledged to pay the Dutchman for saving my life by working for him this day. After that--"