‘I don’t think anything of the sort. Your aunt and I had a tiff the last time we met, and that was some months ago. We’re both of us old and cross-grained enough to keep up the grudge for the rest of our lives. Let us, then, make the most of the accident that has led you here, and when you go home, you shall be the bearer of the most submissive message I can invent to my old friend, and there shall be no terms too humble for me to ask her pardon.’ ‘That’s enough, sir. I’ll breakfast here.’ ‘Of course you’ll say nothing of what brought you over here. But I ought to warn you not to drop anything carelessly about politics in the county generally, for we have a young relative and a private secretary of the Lord-Lieutenant’s visiting us, and it’s as well to be cautious before him.’ The old man mentioned this circumstance in the cursory tone of an ordinary remark, but he could not conceal the pride he felt in the rank and condition of his guest. As for Gorman, perhaps it was his foreign breeding, perhaps his ignorance of all home matters generally, but he simply assented to the force of the caution, and paid no other attention to the incident. ‘His name is Walpole, and he is related to half the peerage,’ said the old man, with some irritation of manner. A mere nod acknowledged the information, and he went on-- ‘This was the young fellow who was with Kitty on the night they attacked the castle, and he got both bones of his forearm smashed with a shot.’ ‘An ugly wound,’ was the only rejoinder. ‘So it was, and for a while they thought he’d lose the arm. Kitty says he behaved beautifully, cool and steady all through.’ Another nod, but this time Gorman’s lips were firmly compressed. ‘There’s no denying it,’ said the old man, with a touch of sadness in his voice--‘there’s no denying it, the English have courage; though,’ added he afterwards, ‘it’s in a cold, sluggish way of their own, which we don’t like here. There he is, now, that young fellow that has just parted from the two girls. The tall one is my niece--I must present you to her.’ CHAPTER XL OLD MEMORIES Though both Kate Kearney and young O’Shea had greatly outgrown each other’s recollection, there were still traits of feature remaining, and certain tones of voice, by which they were carried back to old times and old associations. Amongst the strange situations in life, there are few stranger, or, in certain respects, more painful, than the meeting after long absence of those who, when they had parted years before, were on terms of closest intimacy, and who now see each other changed by time, with altered habits and manners, and impressed in a variety of ways with influences and associations which impart their own stamp on character.