To spare his friend Darcy a mortification which Daly well knew would be one of the greatest to his feelings, the early departure was planned and decided on. It must not be inferred that because the Knight would have felt deeply the unjust censure of the masses, he was a man to care or bend beneath the angry menace of a mob; far from it. The ingratitude towards himself would have called forth the least of his regrets; it was rather a heartfelt sorrow at the hopeless ignorance and degradation of those who could be so easily deceived,--at that populace whose fickleness preferred the tinsel and trappings of patriotism to the acts and opinions of one they had known and respected for years. Long before day broke, Daly was stirring and busied with all the preparations of the journey; the travelling carriage, covered with its various boxes and imperials, stood before the door in the courtyard; the horses were harnessed and bridled in the stables; everything was in readiness for a start; and yet, save himself and the stablemen, all within the abbey seemed buried in slumber. Although it was scarcely more than five o'clock, Daly's impatience at the continued quietude around him began to manifest itself; he walked hastily to and fro, endeavoring to occupy his thoughts by a hundred little details, till at last he found himself returning to the same places and with the self-same objects again and again, while he muttered broken sentences of angry comments on people who could sleep so soundly at such a time. It was in one of those fretful moods he had approached the little flower-garden of the sub-prior's house, when the twinkling of a light attracted him: it came from the window of Lady Eleanor's favorite drawing-room, and glittered like a star in the gloom of the morning. Curious to see who was stirring in that part of the house, he drew near, and, opening the wicket, noiselessly approached the window. He there beheld Lady Eleanor, who, supported by Helen's arm, moved slowly along the room, stopping at intervals, and again proceeding; she seemed to be taking a last farewell of the various well-known objects endeared to her by years of companionship; her handkerchief was often raised to her eyes as she went, but neither uttered a syllable. Ashamed to have obtruded even thus upon a scene of private sorrow, Daly turned back again to the courtyard, where now the loud voice of the Knight was heard giving his orders to the servants. The first greetings over, the Knight took Daly's arm and walked beside him. “I have been thinking over the matter in the night, Bagenal,” said he, “and am convinced it were far better that you should remain with Lionel; we can easily make our journey alone,--the road is open, and no difficulty in following it; but that poor boy will need advice and counsel. You will probably receive letters from Dublin by the post, with some instructions how to act; in any case my heart fails me at leaving Lionel to himself.”