“There is yet enough of daylight, if we move into the broad road,” was Mark's soliloquy, as he stooped his ear to listen--and at the instant, he beheld a man leading his horse by the bridle, while he himself seemed seeking along the road-side, where the snowdrift had not yet fallen, as if for some lost object. A glance, even by the imperfect light, and at some thirty paces off showed Mark it was not him he sought, and were it not that the attitude attracted his curiosity, he had not wasted a second look on him; but the horseman by this time had halted, and was scraping with his whip-handle amid the pebbles of the mountain rivulet. “I'll never see it again--it's no use!” was the exclamation of the seeker, as he gathered up his reins, and prepared to mount. “Is that Lanty Lawler?” cried Mark, as he recognised the voice; “I say, did you meet with a young officer riding down the glen, in the direction of Carrig-na-curra?” “No, indeed, Mr. Mark--I never saw living thing since I left Bantry.” The young man paused for a few seconds--and then, as if anxious to turn all thought from his question, said, “What have you lost thereabouts?” “Oh, more than I am worth in the world!” was the answer, in a deep, heart-drawn sigh--“but, blessed heaven! what's the pistols for? Oh, Master Mark, dear--sure--sure----” “Sure what?” cried the youth, with a hoarse laugh--“Sure, I'm not turned highway robber! Is that what you want to say? Make your mind easy, Lanty--I have not reached that point yet; though, if indifference to life might tempt a man, I'd not say it is so far off.” “'Tis a duel, then,” cried Lanty quickly; “but, I hope you wouldn't fight without seconds. Oh, that's downright murder--what did he do to you?--was it one of the fellows you met in Cork?” “You are all wrong,” said Mark, sullenly. “It is enough, however, that neither of us seem to have found what he was seeking. You have your secret; I have mine. “Oh, faix, mine is soon told--'twas my pocket-book, with as good as seventy pounds in goold, I lost here, a three weeks ago, and never set eyes on it since; and there was papers in it--ay, faix, papers of great value--and I darn't face Father Luke without them. I may leave the country, when he hears what happened.” “Where are you going now?” said Mark, gloomily. “I'm going as far as Mary's, for the night. Maybe you'd step down there, and take a bit of supper? When the moon rises, the night will take up fine.” The young man turned without speaking, and bent his steps in the direction Lanty was travelling.