“I know you by that word for a true O’Mahony,--‘an American O’Mahoney,” she said, with eager pleasure beaming in her deep-gray eyes. She turned to her retainer: “You remimber that same word, John Pat. Who was it used always to be saying ‘I-gad?’” John Pat searched the landscape with a vacuous glance. “W’u’d it be Father Harrington?” he asked. “Huh!” sniffed Kate, in light contempt, and turned again to the young engineer, with a backward nod toward John Pat. “He’s an honest lad,” she said, apologetically, “but the Lord only knows what’s inside of his head. Ah, sir, there _was_ an O’Mahony here--‘tis twelve years now since he sailed away; ah, the longest day Muirisc stands she ’ll not see such another man--bold and fine, wid a heart in him like a lion, and yit soft and tinder to thim he liked, and a janius for war and commence and government that made Muirisc blossom like a rose. Ah, a grand man was our O’Mahony!” “So you live at Muirisc, eh?” asked the practical Bernard. “’T was him used always to say ‘I-gad!’ whin things took him by surprise,” remarked Kate, turning to study the vast downward view attentively. “Well I said it because _I_ was taken by surprise,” said the young man. “What else could a fellow say, with such a piece of news as that dumped down on him? But say, you don’t mean it, do you--_you_ going to be a nun?” She looked at him through luminous eyes, and nodded a grave affirmative. Bernard walked for a little way in silence, moodily eying the hammer in his hand. Once or twice he looked up at his companion as if to speak, then cast down his eyes again. At last, after he had helped her to cross a low, marshy stretch at the base of a ridge of gray rock, and to climb to the top of the boulder--for they had left the road now and were making their way obliquely up the barren crest--he found words to utter. “You don’t mind my coming along with you,” he asked, “under the circumstances?” “I don’t see how I’m to prevint you, especially wid you armed wid a hammer,” she said, in gentle banter. “And I can ask you a plain question without offending you?” he went on; and then, without waiting for an answer, put his question: “It’s just this--I’ve only seen you twice, it’s true, but I feel as if I’d known you for years, and, besides, we’re kind of relations--are you going to do this of your own free will?” Kate, for answer, lifted her hand and pointed westward toward the pale-blue band along the distant coast-line. “That castle you see yonder at the bridge--” she said, “’t was there that Finghin, son of Diarmid Mor O’Mahony, bate the MacCarthys wid great slaughter, in Anno Domini 1319.” CHAPTER XXI--ON THE MOUNTAIN-TOP--AND AFTER.