For Shane's sake she would like to start upon the morrow, for the sooner she drank her dose the better; but, unfortunately, a promise had been given to attend their excellencies at a great ball which was to take place at the Castle--and to retire suddenly, in ticklish times like these, would certainly be construed as big with political import. But after all, this fête (which was to show the scum that their betters did not fear them) would be past in a few days. Till that time arrived my lady would continue to wait; but in order to underline for herself in her midnight self-communing the determination that there was to be no more cowardice, she then and there resolved that the great coach should take them upon the very same evening within the Castle-yard, and spirit them forward on their way, instead of making a fresh start from the Abbey on the morrow. This resolution being come to, my lady's mind became calmer. As the blue light of wintry morning struggled in she felt quite relieved, and got up presently--as imperious as usual--to await Lord Clare's communication, and watch the stable-yard for Shane's return. It was fully eleven o'clock before Lord Clare's carriage wheezed up the avenue--the casket which held Ireland's great man. For once Doreen had not bucketed forth on one of her wild rides. Shane had not yet come in. My lady swept out upon the narrow terrace in front of the hall-door to receive her guest. He must stand in need of refreshment; what would he please to take? He would take nothing for the moment. Yes--he would. It was a strange conceit in one who had visited there as a familiar gossip during so many years. He would take a view of Strogue Abbey--he would be shown over the mansion by its chatelaine. My lady was surprised. Indeed, she had not been over the quaint place herself for ages. What did my Lord Clare desire to see? Was it the dungeon? or the ancient kitchen and buttery, with its black woodwork, or the water-tower? He would see everything while he was about it, he said. In the first instance the young men's wing, with its museum of fishing-rods and guns--and--what was that over it--an armoury? Oh, indeed! he would like to look at it. 'But perchance I should disturb the young gentlemen,' her guest said with hesitation. 'By-the-bye, has your son gone out?' To Lord Clare's genuine astonishment, my lady reddened and looked away. Could she know the mission on which he had come? If so, then she was a greater mistress of her face than he supposed. If not, what troubled her? He forgot that shrined in her love there was but one son. That while he was hinting of the second, she, with sorrow, was thinking of the first--who was dallying--where? The twain wandered in the young men's rooms--in Shane's, whose bed was smooth and neat--in Terence's, where faithful Phil was sitting, deeply engrossed in fly-making, as innocently as if he had never heard of a bough in England's crown.