“Is that snow-ball your horse, Captain Travers?” said she, with a wicked smile. “My father's favourite cob, by Jove!” exclaimed Frederick; and, as if suddenly aroused to the memory of his lengthy visit, made his 'adieus' with more confusion than was exactly suitable to a fashionable Guardsman--and departed. “I like him,” said Herbert, as he looked out of the window after him. “Don't you, cousin Kate?” But cousin Kate did not reply. CHAPTER XX. TEMPTATION IN A WEAK HOUR When Mark O'Donoghue left the room, his passion had become almost ungovernable--the entrance of his cousin Kate had but dammed up the current of his anger--and, during the few moments he still remained afterwards, his temper was fiercely tried by witnessing the courtesy of her manner to the stranger, and the apparent intimacy which subsisted between them. “I ought to have known it,” was the expression he muttered over and over to himself--“I ought to have known it! That fellow's gay jacket and plumed hat are dearer to her woman's heart, than the rude devotion of such as I am. Curses be on them, they carry persecution through every thing--house, home, country, rank, wealth, station--ay, the very affection of our kindred they grudge us! Was slavery ever like this?” And with these bitter words, the offspring of bitterer thoughts, he strode down the causeway, and reached the high road. The snow was falling fast--a chilling north wind drove the thin flakes along--but he heeded it not. The fire of anger that burned within his bosom defied all sense of winter's cold; and with a throbbing brow, and fevered hand, he went, turning from time to time to look up at the old castle, whence he expected each moment to see Travers take his departure. Now he hurried eagerly onward, as if to reach some destined spot--now he would stop, and retrace his steps, irresolutely, as though half determined to return home.