WITH A PASHA LXIII. ATLEE ON HIS TRAVELS LXIV. GREEK MEETS GREEK LXV. IN TOWN LXVI. ATLEB’S MESSAGE LXVII. WALPOLE ALONE LXVIII. THOUGHTS ON MARRIAGE LXIX. AT KILGOBBIN CASTLE LXX. ATLEE’S RETURN LXXI. THE DRIVE LXXII. THE SAUNTER IN TOWN LXXIII. A DARKENED ROOM LXXIV. AN ANGRY COLLOQUY LXXV. MATHEW KEARNEY’S REFLECTIONS LXXVI. VERY CONFIDENTIAL CONVERSATION LXXVII. TWO YOUNG LADIES ON MATRIMONY LXXVIII. A MISERABLE MORNING LXXIX. PLEASANT CONGRATULATIONS LXXX. A NEW ARRIVAL LXXXI. AN UNLOOKED-FOR CORRESPONDENT LXXXII. THE BREAKFAST-ROOM LXXXIII. THE GARDEN BY MOONLIGHT LXXXIV. NEXT MORNING LXXXV. THE END LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS SHE SUFFERED HER HAND TO REMAIN ‘WHAT LARK HAVE YOU BEEN ON, MASTER JOE?’ ‘ONE MORE SITTING I MUST HAVE, SIR, FOR THE HAIR’ ‘HOW THAT SONG MAKES ME WISH WE WERE BACK AGAIN WHERE I HEARD IT FIRST’ HE ENTERED, AND NINA AROSE AS HE CAME FORWARD ‘YOU ARE RIGHT, I SEE IT ALL,’ AND NOW HE SEIZED HER HAND AND KISSED IT KATE, STILL DRESSED, HAD THROWN HERSELF ON THE BED, AND WAS SOUND ASLEEP ‘IS NOT THAT AS FINE AS YOUR BOASTED CAMPAGNA?’ ‘YOU WEAR A RING OF GREAT BEAUTY--MAY I LOOK AT IT?’ ‘TRUE, THERE IS NO TENDER LIGHT THERE,’ MUTTERED HE, GAZING AT HER EYES HE KNELT DOWN ON ONE KNEE BEFORE HER NINA CAME FORWARD AT THAT MOMENT NINA KOSTALERGI WAS BUSILY ENGAGED IN PINNING UP THE SKIRT OF HER DRESS THE BALCONY CREAKED AND TREMBLED, AND AT LAST GAVE WAY ‘JUST LOOK AT THE CROWD THAT IS WATCHING US ALREADY’ ‘I SHOULD LIKE TO HAVE BACK MY LETTERS’ WALPOLE LOOKED KEENLY AT THE OTHER’S FACE AS HE READ THE PAPER ‘I DECLARE YOU HAVE LEFT A TEAR UPON MY CHEEK,’ SAID KATE CHAPTER I KILGOBBIN CASTLE Some one has said that almost all that Ireland possesses of picturesque beauty is to be found on, or in the immediate neighbourhood of, the seaboard; and if we except some brief patches of river scenery on the Nore and the Blackwater, and a part of Lough Erne, the assertion is not devoid of truth. The dreary expanse called the Bog of Allen, which occupies a tableland in the centre of the island, stretches away for miles--flat, sad-coloured, and monotonous, fissured in every direction by channels of dark-tinted water, in which the very fish take the same sad colour. This tract is almost without trace of habitation, save where, at distant intervals, utter destitution has raised a mud-hovel, undistinguishable from the hillocks of turf around it.