Brief as has been the interval of our absence from Glenflesk, time's changes have been there. Herbert O'Donoghue had experienced a fortunate change in his malady, and on the day following Roach's eventful return, became actually out of danger. The symptoms of his disease, so suddenly subdued, seemed to reflect immortal honour on the Doctor, who certainly did not scruple to attribute to his skill, what, with more truth, was owing to native vigour and youth. Sir Archy alone was ungrateful enough to deny the claim of physic, and slightly hinted to Roach, that he had at least benefited his patient by example, if not precept, since he had slept the entire night through, without awaking. The remark was a declaration of war, at once; nor was Roach slow to accept the gage of battle--in fact, both parties were well wearied of the truce, and anxious for the fray. Sir Archibald had only waited till the moment Roach's services in the sick-room could be safely dispensed with, to re-open his fire; while Roach, harassed by so unexpected a peace, felt like a beleaguered fortress during the operation of the miners, and knew not when, and how, the dreaded explosion was to occur. Now, however, the signal-gun was fired---hesitation was at an end; and, of a verity, the champions showed no disinclination for the field. “Ye'll be hungry this morning, Doctor,” said Sir Archy, “and I have ordered breakfast a bit early. A pick o' ham at twelve o'clock, and a quart of sherry, aye gives a man a relish for breakfast.” “Begad so it might, or for supper too,” responded Roach, “when the ham was a shank bone, and the sherry-bottle like a four ounce mixture.” “Ye slept surprisingly after your slight refection. I heerd ye snoring like a grampus.” “'Twasn't the night-mare, from indigestion, any how,” said Roach, with a grin. “I'll give you a clean bill of health from that malady here.” “It's weel for us, that we ken a cure for it--more than ye can say for the case you've just left.” “I saved the boy's life,” said Roach indignantly. “Assuredly ye did na kill him, and folks canna a'ways say as muckle for ye. We maun thank the Lord for a' his mercies; and he vouchsafed you, a vara sound sleep.” How this controversy was to be carried on further, it is not easy to say; but at this moment the door of the breakfast-room opened cautiously, and a wild rough head peeped stealthily in, which gradually was followed by the neck, and in succession the rest of the figure of Kerry O'Leary, who, dropping down on both knees before the Doctor, cried out in a most lamentable accent-- “Oh! Docther darlint--Docther dear--forgive me--for the love of Joseph, forgive me!” Roach's temper was not in its blandest moment, and his face grew purple with passion, as he beheld the author of his misfortunes at his feet. “Get out of my sight, you scoundrel, I never want to set eyes on you, till I see you in the dock--ay, with handcuffs on you.”