Each moment increased the agony of this reflection, while her doubts as to how she ought to act, thickened around her. Sir Archy, alone, was capable of advising her, his calm and unbiassed reason, would be now invaluable, but dare she--even to him, make use of a confidence thus accidentally obtained? Would Mark--could he ever forgive her? and how many others might such a disclosure compromise! In this dilemma, she knew no course open to her, but one--to address herself at once to Mark, to explain how his secret had become known, to learn from him as much as lay in her power of the dangers and difficulties of the meditated revolt, and if unable to dissuade him from participation, at least to mingle with his resolves all she could of prudence, or good counsel. The determination was scarcely formed, when she was once more at the door of his chamber; she knocked twice, without any reply following, then gently opened the door. The room was vacant, he was gone. I will write to him, said she hurriedly, and with this new resolve, hastened to her chamber, and began a letter. The task she proposed to herself, was not so easy of accomplishment; a dozen times, she endeavoured while explaining the accident that divulged his secret, to impress him with the hazard of an undertaking, so palpably depicted, and to the safe keeping of which, his own carelessness, might prove fatal; but each effort dissatisfied her. In one place, she seemed not to have sufficiently apologized for her unauthorized cognizance of his note; in another, the stress she laid upon this very point, struck her as too selfish, and too personal in a case, where another's interests were the real consideration at issue; and even when presenting before him the vicissitudes of fortune to which his venturous career would expose him, she felt how every word contradicted the tenor of her own assertions for many a day and week previous. In utter despair how to act, she ended by enclosing the letter with merely these few words:-- “I have read the enclosed, but your secret is safe with me. “K. O'D.” This done, she sealed the packet and had just written the address, when, with a tap at the door, Sir Archy entered, and approached the table. With a tact and delicacy he well understood, Sir Archy explained the object of his visit--to press upon Kate's acceptance a sum of money sufficient for her outlay in the capital. The tone of half authority he assumed disarmed her at once, and made her doubt how far she could feel justified in opposing the wishes of her friends concerning her. “Then you really desire I should go to Dublin,” said she. “I do, Kate, for many reasons--reasons which I shall have little difficulty in explaining to you hereafter.” “I half regret I ever thought of it,” said Kate, speaking her thoughts unconsciously aloud. “Not the less reason perhaps for going,” said Sir Archy, drily; whileat the same moment his eye caught the letter bearing Mark O'Donoghue's name.