The youth, thus entreated, resumed the volume, and read on for several minutes without stopping. “Oh, that's grand!” said the boy, in a burst of enthusiasm. “'Tis for all the world the way the thunder comes down the glen--moanin' first, far off on the mountains, and then swellin' into a big roar, and afterwards going clap! clap! like a giant clapping his hands. Did he kill the inimy, master dear?” “No, he was killed himself, and his body dragged over the battlefield.” “Wirra, wirra, wirra!” broke in the child, while he rung his hands, and burst forth into a torrent of tumultuous grief. “He was killed, Mickey, and listen to the lament of his friends for his death.” Scarcely had the youth read a few lines, when Sir Marmaduke, advancing a little farther, his shadow fell across the chamber. The youth sprang up at once, and came towards them. The flush of surprise--it might be, too, of shame--was on his features; but there was less of awkwardness than many might have exhibited in the manner of his address, as he said-- “Father Luke is from home, sir. He has been sent for to Ballyvourney--” “You are his relation, I presume?” said Sir Marmaduke, without letting him finish his speech. “I am his pupil,” replied the youth, with a tone in which offended pride was clearly confessed. “_I_ ask pardon,” said the baronet hastily. “It was merely that I might convey my respectful greetings to the worthy father that I asked the question. Perhaps you will allow me to trespass so far upon you, and say, that Sir Marmaduke Travers has been here.” “While Sir Marmaduke was speaking, the youth's eyes were fixed with a steadfast gaze on the features of the young girl, of whose presence till then he seemed unconscious. Fixed and earnest as his stare was, there was nothing in it of rudeness, still less of insult. It was the unequivocal expression of astonishment, the suddenly-awakened sense of admiration in one, on whom, till that very instant, beauty had shed no fascination. His eyes were bent upon her, as Sir Marmaduke thus finished speaking, and the old man smiled as he saw the wonder-struck admiration of the boy. “You will please to say Sir Marmaduke Travers,” repeated he once more, to recall the scattered senses of the youth. “And his daughter?” murmured the other, as he still continued to stare at her. “Yes, his daughter,” replied Sir Marmaduke, smiling. “May I ask if there be no shorter road back to 'the Lodge,' than that yonder? for I perceive it is full two hours later than I suspected.” “None for those on horseback. The mountain path lies yonder, but even on foot it is not without danger.” “Come, then, Sybella; let us lose no time. We must ride briskly, to reach home by day-light. We are late enough already.”