CHAPTER XXVII. A SUPPER PARTY As we are about to withdraw our reader for a brief period from the scenes wherein he has so kindly lingered with us hitherto, we may be permitted to throw on them a last look ere we part. On the evening which followed that recorded in our last chapter, the two old men were seated alone in the tower of Carrig-na-curra, silent and thoughtful, each following out in his mind the fortunes of him for whom his interest was deepest, and each sad with the sorrow that never spares those who are, or who deem themselves, forsaken. Unaided memory can conjure up no such memorials of past pleasure as come from the objects and scenes associated with days and nights of happiness; they appeal with a force mere speculation never suggests, and bring back all the lesser, but more touching incidents of hourly intercourse, so little at the time--so much when remembered years afterwards. The brightest moments of life are the most difficult to recall; they are like the brilliant lights upon a landscape, which we may revisit a hundred times, yet never behold under the same favourable circumstances, nor gaze on with the same enthusiasm as at first. It was thus that both the O'Donoghue and Sir Archy now remembered her whose presence lightened so many hours of solitude, and even grafted hope upon the tree scathed and withered by evil fortune. Several efforts to start a topic of conversation were made by each, but all equally fruitless, and both relapsed into a moody silence, from which they were suddenly aroused by a violent ringing at the gate, and the voices of many persons talking together, among which Mark O'Donoghue's could plainly be heard. “Yes, but I insist upon it,” cried he; “to refuse will offend me.” Some words were then spoken in a tone of remonstrance, to which he again replied, but with even greater energy-- “What care I for that? This is my father's house, and who shall say that his eldest son cannot introduce his friends----” A violent jerk of the bell drowned the remainder of the speech. “We are about to hae company, I perceive,” said Sir Archy, looking cautiously about to secure his book and his spectacles before retreating to his bed room. “Bedad, you just guessed it,” said Kerry, who, having reconnoitred the party through a small window beside the door, had now prudently adjourned to take council whether he should admit them. “There's eight or nine at laste, and it is'nt fresh and fasting either they are.” “Why don't you open the door?--do you want your bones broken for you,” said the O'Donoghue, harshly. “I'd let them gang the gate they cam,” said Sir Archy, sagely; “if I may hazard a guess from their speech, they are no in a fit state to visit any respectable house. Hear till that?” A fearful shout now was heard outside. “What's the rascal staring at?” cried the O'Donoghue, with clenched teeth. “Open the door this instant.”