So reflecting, Linton took his way to the gate-lodge, which lay a considerable distance off. The space afforded much time for thought, and he was one whose thoughts travelled fast. His plans were all matured and easy of accomplishment. After seeing Keane, he would address a few lines to Tiernay, requesting an interview on the following morning. That night, he resolved, should be his last at Tubbermore; the masquerade had, as may be conjectured, few charms for one whose mind was charged with heavier cares, but still it would give him an occasion to whisper about his scandal on Lady Kilgoff, and, later on, give him the opportunity of searching Cashel's papers for that document he wished to obtain. On reaching the gate-lodge, under pretence of lighting his cigar he entered the house, where, in all the squalid misery of their un tractable habits, Keane's wife sat, surrounded by her ragged children. [Illustration: 274] “Tom is at work, I suppose?” said he, carelessly. “No, yer honer; he went out early this morning to look after a little place for us, as the master is goin' to turn us out.” “I 'm sorry for that,” said he, compassionately; “land is dear, and hard to be got now-a-days. Why don't he go to America?” “Indeed an' I don't know, sir. They say it's the asy place to gain a livin'; fine pay, and little to do for it.” Linton smiled at an encomium for whose accuracy he would not have vouched, and then tried to ascertain, in the same careless fashion, in what direction Keane had gone; but the woman could not tell. She believed it was by the high road, but could not be certain, since he had left the house shortly after daybreak. Linton sauntered out in deep thought. It was evident enough to him what the object of that journey was; it needed no clew to track his path. It was strange; but now, when the deed was not to secure any future benefits to himself, it appeared before his eyes in all the glaring colors of its criminality. It was a cold-blooded and useless crime, and he actually shuddered as he thought upon it.