Oona went off visibly indignant, and left me vaguely troubled. Though I had spoken so boldly, I fear it is not in Brandon blood quite to disbelieve in the banshee. And would it not be to deprive our ancient race of one of the proudest of its appanages? We have lost so much that we may well keep this shadowy retainer of ours. After all, I am not surprised at Oona. It is all very well in the broad daylight to deny the banshee, but it is different at night when the lights are out, and one is alone, and starts from one's pillow to hear the wind, or something, crying through the old half-ruined house. This morning put it out of my mind. For the boys had been wild-duck shooting before it was daybreak, and had heard a bit of news from their crony, Jim Hagarty, with which to regale the breakfast-table. News is scarce with us, I needn't say; and, like all country people, we dearly love to hear of our neighbours. "Jim says Sir Rupert's grandson has come to visit him. He arrived on Saturday, and there was no one to meet him at the station, and he had to have out O'Haire's fly to carry his portmanteau and things over to Angry." "And the next day a groom arrived with a fine horse, and asked his way to Castle Angry. But Jim says he went away by the train the same evening. I suppose there was no place for him at Angry," adds Donald, taking up the tale. Aline's kind face took on a look of concern. "I hope it is not true," she said. "Castle Angry is no place for a boy." "Oh, it is true enough!" the boys cried together, "for Tom O'Haire read the name on the luggage, and it was 'Harry De Lacy'. And he says that Gaskin came out and took in the things, and wouldn't let Tom drive inside the courtyard, but Tom heard the dogs howling and yelping, and someone shouting at them, whom he took to be Sir Rupert. So he says that he wasn't sorry to drive away like mad as soon as he'd set down his passenger, fearing they'd take it into their heads to loose the dogs." "Poor boy!" says Aline regretfully. "He cannot be more than twenty-one. Why has he come to such a place?" "Possibly Sir Rupert has made him," I suggested. "It would be like one of his grim jokes to introduce the heir to his property. He is the heir, isn't he?" "Yes, Angry is entailed right enough." "Probably Sir Rupert's grandson will be able to hold his own even with Sir Rupert," I said; but Aline shook her head. "His father never could hold his own, and Oona will tell you that his mother was fair and gentle and delicate. It is cruel of Sir Rupert to bring him here, having left him all his years with his English grandfather." "Is he so different?" asked Esther, who had been listening with interest. "I have heard that he is a gentle old man, very learned and very pious. His rectory is in Warwickshire, in beautiful English pastoral country. This boy must have had a tenderly-nurtured youth." "By Jove!" muttered Hugh, "and think of the poor beggar coming to Angry!"