from Kilbarry. Time began to hang heavily on his hands. Nothing more had been heard or seen of the ghost of Fahey, and the two friends had been a couple of times to see the outside of Kilcash House, whither, he believed, Mrs. Davenport had not yet arrived from Dublin. The weather was mild, moist, calm. "I'll tell you what we shall do, Alfred," said Jerry briskly at breakfast one morning. "What?" asked the other, looking up from his plate. "There isn't a ripple on the sea. I'll go see Jim Phelan, and get him to launch his boat." "Capital!" cried Alfred, who was in that state of convalescence when the daily addition to physical strength begets a desire to use it and yields indestructible buoyancy. "I should like a good long-sail of all things--or, indeed, a good pull. I'm sure I could manage an oar nearly as well as ever." "Nonsense!" said Jerry, dogmatically. "I will not be accessory to your murder, or allow you to commit suicide in my presence. I have had enough of inquests for my natural life. It's too cold for sailing, and you're not strong enough for rowing. But there are the caves. The time of the year does, not make any difference in them, so long as the sea is smooth. They are as warm in winter as in summer. We can bring torches and guns, and a horn and grub with us. A torchlight picnic would be a novelty to me, anyway. The echoes in some places are wonderful, and I'll answer for the food being wholesome. I'll go down to Phelan immediately after breakfast." Big Jim Phelan was at home in his cottage--not the shelter that covered him in the summer, but the one which the high and mighty of the land could rent for eight to twelve pounds a month when they wished to enjoy the sea. O'Brien explained his design. "Are you mad, sir?" said Jim, drawing back from the chair which he had placed for his unexpected guest. "No. Why? What's mad about it? I and my friend want to see the caves, and they are just as good at this time of year as in summer. Will you take us?--Yes or no? Or are you afraid?" "I'm not afraid of anything that swims or walks or flies, Mr. O'Brien," said Jim in a tone of indignant protest. "But nature is nature, and it's not right to fly in the face of nature." "Face of fiddlesticks!" said O'Brien. "What has nature to do with our going to visit the caves? If you don't take us, some one else will. what on earth do you mean by 'flying in the face of nature'?" "Go to the caves at this time of year!" said Jim, in a musing tone of voice. "Why, no one ever thought of such a thing before!" "What difference does that make? No strangers are here, except in summer; and of course the people of the village never want to go to the caves either winter or summer, unless they are paid. Come on, Jim; don't send me off to look for some one else. I like to stick to old friends."