“Better thus dreaded than the 'dupe' I have been!” said he, boldly, and entered the inn, where now the preparations for the coming day had begun. He ordered his breakfast, and post-horses for Killaloe, resolved to see Tubbermore once again, ere he left it forever. It was a bright morning in the early spring as Cashel drove through the wide-spreading park of Tubbermore. Dewdrops spangled the grass, amid which crocus and daffodil flowers were scattered. The trees were topped with fresh buds; the birds were chirping and twittering on the branches; the noiseless river, too, flowed past, its circling eddies looking like blossoms on the stream. All was joyous and redolent of promise, save him whose humbled spirit beheld in everything around him the signs of self-reproach. “These,” thought he, “were the rich gifts of fortune that I have squandered. This was the paradise I have laid waste! Here, where I might have lived happy, honored, and respected, I see myself wretched and shunned! The defeats we meet with in hardy and hazardous enterprise are softened down by having dared danger fearlessly,--by having combated manfully with the enemy. But what solace is there for him whose reverses spring from childlike weakness and imbecility,--whose life becomes the plaything of parasites and flatterers! Could I ever have thought I would become this? What should I have once said of him who would have prophesied me such as I now am?” These gloomy reveries grew deeper and darker as he wandered from place to place, and marked the stealthy glances and timid reverences of the peasants as they passed him. “It is only the jury have called me 'Not Guilty,'” said he to himself; “the world has pronounced another verdict. I have come from that dock as one might have risen from an unhonored grave, to be looked on with fear and sorrow. Be it so; mine must be a lonely existence.” Every room he entered recalled some scene of his past life. Here was the spacious hall, where, in all the excesses of the banquet, laughter had rung and wit had sparkled, loud toasts were proffered, and high-spirited mirth had once held sway. Here was the drawing-room, where grace and female loveliness were blended, mingling their odors like flowers in a “bouquet.” Here, the little chamber he had often sought to visit Lady Kilgoff, and passed those hours of “sweet converse” wherein his whole nature became changed, and his rude spirit softened by the tender influences of a woman's mind. Here was his own favorite room,--the spot from which, in many an hour snatched from the cares of host, he had watched the wide-flowing river, and thought of the current of his own life, mingling with his reveries many a high hope and many a glorious promise. And now the whole scene was changed. The mirth, the laughter, the guests, the hopes, were fled, and he stood alone in those silent halls, that never again were to echo with the glad voice of pleasure.