She and Lady Rachel occupied the same sleeping compartment, and her ladyship, who was an old and experienced traveller, wasted no time in gazing dreamily out of the window like Madeline, but took off her hat and dress and lay down in her berth, and was soon asleep, whilst the other sat with her eyes fixed on the dusky country through which they were passing, asking herself many disturbing questions, and fighting out a battle in her own breast between Laurence and luxury. At times she had almost resolved to tell her father all within the next twelve hours, and to accept the consequences, whatever they might be. She was wrong to deceive him; she was wrong to leave Laurence and the child. Yes; she would do the right thing at last--confess and go back. With this decision laboriously arrived at, her mind was more at ease--a load seemed lifted from her brain; and she laid her head on her pillow at last and fell asleep. But morning brings counsel--we do not say that it always brings wisdom. In the cool, very cool dawn, as she sat on the deck of the _Ireland_ and watched the sun rise and the shores of Erin rise into view, her courage ebbed away; and as she partook of a cup of hot coffee at Kingsbridge Station, and encountered her father, who was exceedingly short in his temper, owing to a bad night’s rest, her good intentions melted as snow before the sun. No, no, she told herself; she must wait until her parent was in a more genial, indulgent mood. To speak now would be fatal, even supposing there was an opportunity for a few moments’ _tête-à-tête_. The party travelled down at express speed to Mallow Junction, and from there a short rail journey brought them near their destination. It was four o’clock on a superb August afternoon as they drove up to Clane Castle. The owner and agent had not misled the new tenants; it _was_ a castle, a fine commanding structure tucked under the wing of a great purple mountain, and was approached by an avenue that wound for a full Irish mile through a delightful demesne. What oaks! what beeches! what green glades and scuttling rabbits! what cover for woodcock! and, outlined against the sky-line on the mountain, was that a deer? The exclamations of pleasure and astonishment from his daughter and his guests made Mr. West’s tongue wag freely. “Yes; it’s a fine place. I said, ‘None of your picnic shanties for me.’ I said, ‘I must have a decent house and a fair head of game--money no object,’” he explained volubly, as he strutted before the party into a noble dining-room, where a very _recherché_ meal awaited them.