If he was puzzled at the aspect of a peasantry, highly gifted with intelligence, yet barbarously ignorant--active and energetic, yet indolent and fatalist--the few hints he had gathered of his neighbour, the O'Donoghue, amazed him still more; and by no effort of his imagination could he conceive the alliance between family pride and poverty--between the reverence for ancestry, and an utter indifference to the present. He could not understand such an anomaly as pretension without wealth; and the only satisfactory explanation he could arrive at, to himself, was, that in a wild and secluded tract, even so much superiority as this old chieftain possessed, attracted towards him the respect of all humbler and more lowly than himself, and made even his rude state seem affluence and power. If in his advances to the O' Donoghue he had observed all the forms of a measured respect, it was because he felt so deeply his debtor for a service, that he would omit nothing in the repayment: his gratitude was sincere and heartfelt, and he would not admit any obstacle in the way of acknowledging it. Reflecting thus, he was suddenly startled by the sound of wheels coming up the glen--he listened, and now heard the low trot of a horse, and the admonitions of a man's voice, delivered in tones of anger and impatience. The moment after, an old-fashioned gig, drawn by a small miserable pony, appeared, from which a man had dismounted to ascend the hill. “A fine evening, sir,” said Sir Marmaduke, as the stranger, whose dress bespoke one of the rank of gentleman, drew near. The other stopped suddenly, and surveyed the baronet without speak ing; then, throwing down the collar of his great coat, which he wore high round his face, he made a respectful salute, and said-- “A lovely evening, sir. I have the honour to see Sir Marmaduke Travers, I believe? May I introduce myself, Doctor Roach, of Killarney?” “Ah, indeed! Then you are probably come from Mr. O'Donoghue's house? Is the young gentleman better this evening?” Roach shook his head dubiously, but made no reply. “I hope, sir, you don't apprehend danger to his life?” asked Sir Marmaduke, with an effort to appear calm as he spoke. “Indeed I do, then,” said Roach, firmly; “the mischiefs done already.” “He's not dead?” said Sir Marmaduke, almost breathless in his terror. “Not dead; but the same as dead: effusion will carry him off some time to-morrow.” “And can you leave him in this state? Is there nothing to be done? Nothing you could suggest?” cried the old man, scarcely able to repress his indignant feeling at the heartless manner of the doctor.