his face and a cheerful brow, for he had both till the day misfortune robbed him of his children;” and he stood in front of a portrait of an officer in an admiral's uniform. He was a distinguished member of the Darcy family; but from the nature of his services, which were all maritime, and the great number of years he had spent away from Ireland, possessed less of Tate's sympathy than most of the others. “They say you didn't like Ireland; but I don't believe them. There never was a Darcy did n't love the ould island; but I know well whose fault it was if you did n't,--it was that dark villain that's standing at your side, ould Harry Inchiquin, the renegade, that turned many a man against his country. Ye may frown and scowl at me; but if you were alive this minute, I 'd say it to your face. It was you that first brought gambling and dicing under this blessed roof; it was you that sent the ould acres to the hammer; 'twas you that loved rioting, and duelling, and every wickedness, just like old Bagenal Daly himself, that never could sleep in his bed if he had n't a fight on hand.” [Illustration: 408] “What ho! you old reprobate!” called out Daly, in a voice which, echoing under the arched roof, seemed rather to float through the atmosphere than issue from any particular quarter. “Oh! marciful Father!” cried Tate, as, falling on his knees, the lamp dropped from his fingers, and became extinguished,--“oh! marciful Father! sure I did n't mane it; 't is what the lying books said of you,--bad luck to the villains that wrote them! O God! pardon me; I never thought you 'd hear me; and if it 's in trouble you are, I 'll say a mass for you every day till Aaster, and one every Friday as long as I live.” A hoarse burst of laughter broke from Daly, while, pacing the gallery with heavy tread, he went forth, banging the door behind him. The terror was too great for poor Tate's endurance, and, with a faint cry for mercy, he rolled down upon the floor almost insensible. When morning broke, he was found seated in the refectory, pale and careworn; but no entreaty, nor no pressing, could elicit from him one word of a secret in which he believed were equally involved the honor of the dead and the safety of himself. CHAPTER XXXIV. A GLANCE AT PUBLIC OPINION IN THE YEAR 1800.