"Then I will follow your advice," answered O'Harrall. "You have increased the debt of gratitude I owe you. I have no means of showing that I am grateful; but do me one favour more--accept this ring; it belonged to your family. It has a curious device on it, which is its chief value. I wish you to believe that, reckless as I am, I still retain some of the feelings I possessed when you knew me in days gone by. Come, take it; I cannot leave this place till you have done so. There, man, take the ring; it might have been yours by right." Owen took the ring and placed it on his finger. "If we ever again meet, however much changed you may be, I shall know you by that," said O'Harrall. "Now, farewell--may a happier fate be yours than will probably be my lot!" "Stay a moment, and I will ascertain that no one is near," said Owen, as O'Harrall was about to descend the ladder. He hid the lantern, and went out into the open part of the garden and round to the front of the house. Clouds obscured the stars; not a sound was to be heard, except the voice of some bird of night, which came from a distance. By some it might have been thought of ill omen, but Owen was above the superstitions of the ignorant. He returned to the outhouse, and in a low voice called to O'Harrall, who immediately descended the ladder. "I feel sure that no one is on the watch," said Owen, "and it may be most prudent for you to get away at once." "You are right," answered O'Harrall. "Again farewell, Massey; though we may never more see each other, I shall always remember that I have met with one honest and generous man." He did not, however, put out his hand, perhaps supposing that Massey would consider himself contaminated by touching it. "Go into your house," he continued, "and let me follow my own course, that you may not even know what direction I have taken." Owen did as he was advised, leaving O'Harrall standing beneath the shelter of the buildings. Closing the door he returned to his room, when on looking out of his window, he found that O'Harrall had disappeared. His mind felt greatly relieved at the thought that he was no longer harbouring a fugitive from justice. On going into the garden the next morning, he could perceive no traces by which it might perchance be discovered that O'Harrall had been there, and he determined that the occurrence should be known only to his mother and himself. He considered that it would be wrong to conceal it from her, and, sitting down, he told her what he had done. She did not speak for a minute or more. "You acted rightly, my son," she said at length. "The O'Harralls have been our bitter enemies, but our holy religion teaches us that we should not only forgive our foes, but do good to those who most cruelly ill-treat and abuse us; whatever man may say, God will approve of your act, for he knows the motive which prompted you." CHAPTER EIGHT.