"There is one thing he constantly craves for--and that is to see you. Ever since that night, three years ago, when you and he quarrelled and you went away, I think he has been fretting about you. Of course, he has never spoken of it, but I don't think he has ever forgotten that he treated you badly. "This morning he talked a great deal about the time when you and he were young together; so much so, that I asked him if he would like to see you. The moment I spoke his face lighted up, but then at once it clouded over again, and he muttered something about never giving any man the chance of refusing him a favour. "Dear Mr. Milbanke asking you to come here, but I feel differently. I would risk anything a hundred times over on the chance of bringing you to him. And if you are in London, please do come, if only for one night. Don't refuse, for he is very, very bad. Any time you send me a telegram, the trap can meet you either at Muskeere or Dunhaven. "This is a dreadful letter, but I have been up all night, and scarcely know what I am writing. "Answer as soon as possible, "Yours, "CLODAGH ASSHLIN." Milbanke scanned the letter to the last line; then, as he reached the signature, the inertia that had pervaded his mind was suddenly dispersed. His own shock of sorrow and dismay, his own interrupted plans faded from his consideration; and in their place rose the picture of a great white house on the lonely Irish coast; of a sick--perhaps a dying--man; of two frightened children and a couple of faithful, inefficient servants. With an energy he had not evinced for years he crossed the room, stumbling over straps and parcels, and rang the bell with imperative haste. When a surprised maid appeared at the door he turned to her with unwonted excitement. "I have a telegram to send," he said; "one that must go at once." The rest of that day, with its suddenly altered plans, its long railway journey from Paddington to New Milford, and its stormy night crossing from the latter point to the town of Waterford, was too beset with haste and confusion to contain any definite recollections for Milbanke. It was not until he had taken his seat at eight o'clock next morning in the small and leisurely train that transports passengers from Waterford to the seaport of Dunhaven that he found time to realise the significance of his journey; and not until he descended from his carriage at this latter station and was greeted by old Burke, the Orristown retainer, that he fully appreciated the gravity of the incident that had occasioned it. There was no change apparent in Burke's familiar face save the gloom that overhung his expression. But this was obvious to Milbanke at a first glance. "You're welcome, sir!" were his opening words; then the underlying bent of his thoughts found vent. "'Tis a sorrowful house you'll be findin'," he added in a subdued voice.