“I 've thought all night of what you 've said, and I accept,--not without many a misgiving as regards myself, but I accept.” “I'd not take ten thousand dollars for the engagement, sir,” said Quackinboss, as he wrung Layton's hand. “No, sir, I 'd not take it, for even four cities of the Union.” Although thus the project was ratified between them, scarcely a day passed that Layton did not experience some compunction for his pledge. Now, it was a repugnance to the sort of enterprise he was about to engage in, the criticisms to which he was to expose himself, and the publicity he was to confront; nor could all his companion's sanguine assurances of success compensate him for his own heartfelt repugnance to try the ordeal. “After all,” thought he, “failure, with all its pangs of wounded self- love, will only serve to show Quackinboss how deeply I feel myself his debtor when I am content to risk so much to repay him.” Such was the bond he had signed, such his struggles to fulfil its obligations. One only condition he stipulated for,--he wished to go to Ireland before setting out for the States, to see the last resting-place of his poor mother ere he quitted his country, perhaps forever. Dr. Millar, too, had mentioned that a number of letters were amongst the few relics she had left, and he desired, for many reasons, that these should not fall into strangers' hands. As for Qnackinboss, he agreed to everything. Indeed, he thought that as there was no use in reaching the States before “the fall,” they could not do better than ramble about Ireland, while making some sort of preparation for the coming campaign. “How sad this place makes me!” said Layton, as they strolled along one of the leaf-strewn alleys. “I wish I had not come here.” “That's just what I was a-thinkin' myself,” said the other. “I remember coming back all alone once over the Michigan prairie, which I had travelled about eight months before with a set of hearty companions, and whenever I 'd come up to one of the spots where our tent used to be pitched, and could mark the place by the circle of greener grass, with a burned-up patch where the fire stood, it was all I could do not to burst out a-cryin' like a child! It's a main cruel thing to go back alone to where you 've once been happy in, and there 's no forgettin' the misery of it ever after.” “That's true,” said Layton; “the pleasant memories are erased forever. Let us go.” CHAPTER XXV. BEHIND THE SCENES