“So, you have come at last,” cried the O'Donoghue, as Kerry O'Leary at length made his appearance at the door. “Is Master Mark to go supperless to bed----” “Master Mark,” shouted Kerry, “Oh, murther alive, and is it himself that's in it. Oh, blessed hour, but I'm glad to see you home again, and your honor looking so well and hearty. Maybe we won't have bonfires over the hills, when the boys hear it.” “The supper, the supper. Confound the fellow, the boy is famished, and the rascal stands prating there about bonfires.” “My horse is far more in need of care than I am,” said Mark, suddenly, remembering the wearied animal he left fastened to the door. “I must look to the poor beast before I take anything myself;” and so saying he left the room, none wishing to gainsay anything he desired to do. “Poor fellow,” said the O'Donoghue, “how pale and careworn he looks--he appears to have suffered heavily.” “Depend upon it,” said Sir Archy, gravely, “the lad has learned much since we saw him last. I dinna mislike the look his features have, although it be one of sorrow. What says Kate?” No answer followed this appeal, but the young girl turned away her head, and affected to assist in arranging the table. “Mind, Archy,” said the O'Donoghue, eagerly, “remember, not a word about his absence, no questioning whatever--the boy has gone through too many troubles already to bear the penalty of relating them. Take care, too, that there be no allusion to Hemsworth, Mark does not yet know the friendly part he has taken, and only knows him as we used to think and speak of him of old--but hush, here he comes.” When Mark re-entered the room, he seemed at least easier, if not happier, than before. The cloud that Hemsworth's presence threw over him had passed away, and he felt anxious to show himself in more favourable colours than his first appearance had displayed. While, therefore, he did his utmost to repay to his father and uncle, the kind and affectionate greetings by which they met him--to his cousin Kate he was either sternly distant, or totally indifferent in manner; and when at last, repulsed in many efforts to attract his notice, she arose to retire for the night, he took a formal leave of her, and seemed relieved by her departure. This was not remarked by the O'Donoghue; but Sir Archy was a shrewd observer, and noted the circumstance with displeasure; still, too careful of consequences to show that he had observed it, he reserved his interference for another and more favourable moment, and soon afterwards, wished them good night, and left the room. “It is time for me to go also,” said Mark, as, after a silence of some moments, he arose, and lighted a candle. “I have not been accustomed to a good bed latterly, and I feel that one sound night's sleep is due to me.” “But for that, Mark, I could not part with you just yet. I have so much to say, so much to hear from you. There have been many things during your absence I must tell you of.”