"What are the guns for?" said he. "What's there to be fighting about? Man, dear, I'd like a gun myself." "There's plenty up at the house there," said I, pointing to Kilgorman--"two hundred." "Two hundred! and we're only needing two. Come away, Barry; let's see where they're kept." "You're not going up to Kilgorman House, sure?" said I in amazement. "'Deed I am. I'm going to get myself a gun, and you too." "But his honour?" "Come on!" cried Tim, who seemed greatly excited; "his honour can't mind. I'll hold ye, Barry, we'll use a gun as well as any of the boys." I would fain have escaped going up to so dreadful a place as Kilgorman on such an errand at such an hour. But I durst not let Tim think I was afraid, so when I saw his mind was made up I went with him, thankful at least that I had his company. CHAPTER FOUR. THE KITCHEN AT KILGORMAN. The daylight failed suddenly as we turned from our perch on the edge of the cliff, and began to grope our way across the old graveyard towards the path which led up to Kilgorman House. But that Tim was so set on seeing the hidden arms, and seemed so scornful of my ill-concealed terror of the place, I should have turned tail twenty times before I reached our destination. Yet in ordinary I was no coward. I would cross the lough single-handed in any weather; I would crack skulls with any boy in the countryside; I would ride any of his honour's horses barebacked. But I shook in my shoes at the thought of a ghost, and the cold sweat came out on my brow before ever we reached the avenue-gates. "What's to hurt you?" said Tim, who knew what was on my mind as well as if I had spoken. "They say it's the lady walks through the house. Man, dear, you're not afraid of a woman, are ye?" "If she is alive, no," said I. "She'll hurt ye less as she is," said Tim scornfully. "Anyway, if you're afeard, Barry, you needn't come; run home." This settled me. I laughed recklessly, and said,-- "What's good enough for you is good enough for me. I'm not afraid of a hundred ghosts." And indeed I should have felt easier in the company of a hundred than of one. We halted a moment at my mother's grave as we went by. "She lived up at the house once," said Tim. "I know," said I. "Come on," said Tim; "it's getting very dark." So we went on; and on the way I tried to recall what I knew of the story of Kilgorman, as I had heard it from my mother and the country folk.