her tottering form, whispering sternly that if she fell before his eyes without an effort made to save, the guilt of her shattered limbs would haunt him for evermore. No! His conscience absolved him of personal ambition. If Erin were saved through his agency he would be content to retire again into the background--well-paid by her grateful smile. His error had been great, because its consequences might be serious. But humanity is prone to error. Youth must learn experience by stumbling. A man must expect to receive many stabs who fights with a concealed enemy. He must practise prudence, make no movement without exceeding caution; but at the best what a disheartening conflict--what a one-sided fight! Terence had received two blows this very day. France could not be depended on for help. Twice within less than a year had she made herself a laughing-stock. And now--this capture of his papers, which, if the foe were relentless, would compromise him hopelessly. It was more than ever needful to conceal himself, if his life were to be of real use before he laid it down. Trouble seasons the character quickly. The young man was already beginning to calculate expediencies with gravity and precision. If he was spared, time might make of him a valuable champion. He whistled Phil, who came up fawning like a hound that is forgiven. 'Follow me. And whatever you do, keep your tongue within your teeth,' he said. Then calling Kathy, he flung to her the key of his little door, remarking that he was called to Cork on business, and might be long detained. If my lady should write (alas! she never wrote) the letters might wait. Then, followed by his faithful henchman who shouldered his fire-iron as though meaning business, he turned out of the great gate up the by-lane which led, before meandering elsewhere, to the back-entrance of the Little House; rung the bell, and waited to see the mistress. Madam Gillin answered it in person, bedizened in a weird wrapper, a wisp of soiled crape wound over the curl-papers about her head and under her chin like a cerecloth. Her sleeves were tucked up above the elbow. In her hand she bore a rolling-pin; her fingers wore a cuticle of dough. Expressing no surprise, she remarked simply: 'I expected you before this. There is no one in the house but myself, Norah, and the collough, my ould nurse. She's to be trusted. Ye're welcome, and your man. Come here, Norah; kiss your brother-in-law as will be some day. You may kiss me too, for I mean to be your aunt-in-law. Look me in the eyes. A handsome fellar! I know more of you than ye'll ever know yourself, unless the Holy Mother wills it. Come in, for we may be watched; and bar the door.' CHAPTER XI. THE RISING OP THE TEMPEST.