‘In any other land, I might say he was--that is, that some interest might attach to him; but here, in Ireland, you all look so much brighter, and wittier, and more impetuous, and more out of the common than you really are, that I give up all divination of you, and own I cannot read you at all.’ ‘I hope you like the explanation,’ said Kate to her brother, laughing. ‘I’ll tell my friend of it in the morning,’ said Dick; ‘and as he is a great national champion, perhaps he’ll accept it as a defiance.’ ‘You do not frighten me by the threat,’ said Nina calmly. Dick looked from her face to her sister’s and back again to hers, to discern if he might how much she had overheard; but he could read nothing in her cold and impassive bearing, and he went his way in doubt and confusion. CHAPTER XXIX ON A VISIT AT KILGOBBIN Before Kearney had risen from his bed the next morning, Donogan was in his room, his look elated and his cheek glowing with recent exercise. ‘I have had a burst of two hours’ sharp walking over the bog,’ cried he; ‘and it has put me in such spirits as I have not known for many a year. Do you know, Mr. Kearney, that what with the fantastic effects of the morning mists, as they lift themselves over these vast wastes--the glorious patches of blue heather and purple anemone that the sun displays through the fog--and, better than all, the springiness of a soil that sends a thrill to the heart, like a throb of youth itself, there is no walking in the world can compare with a bog at sunrise! There’s a sentiment to open a paper on nationalities! I came up with the postboy, and took his letters to save him a couple of miles. Here’s one for you, I think from Atlee; and this is also to your address, from Dublin; and here’s the last number of the _Pike_, and you’ll see they have lost no time. There’s a few lines about you. “Our readers will be grateful to us for the tidings we announce to-day, with authority--that Richard Kearney, Esq., son of Mathew Kearney, o Kilgobbin Castle, will contest his native county at the approaching election. It will be a proud day for Ireland when she shall see her representation in the names of those who dignify the exalted station they hold in virtue of their birth and blood, by claims of admitted talent and recognised ability. Mr. Kearney, junior, has swept the university of its prizes, and the college gate has long seen his name at the head of her prizemen. He contests the seat in the National interest. It is needless to say all our sympathies, and hopes, and best wishes go with him.”’ Dick shook with laughing while the other read out the paragraph in a high-sounding and pretentious tone. ‘I hope,’ said Kearney at last, ‘that the information as to my college successes is not vouched for on authority.’ ‘Who cares a fig about them? The phrase rounds off a sentence, and nobody treats it like an affidavit.’