“I suppose your ancistral estates are lyin’ further west, sir,” spoke a voice at his side. The O’Mahony cast a swift half-glance around, and recognized one of the suspected spies. “Yes, a good deal west,” he growled, curtly. The other took no offense. “Sure,” he went on, pleasantly, “the O’Mahonys and the O’Driscolls, not to mintion the McCarthys, chased each other around that counthry yonder at such a divil of a pace it’s hard tellin’ now which belonged to who.” “Yes, we did hustle round considerable,” assented The O’Mahony, with frigidity. “You’re manny years away from Ireland, sir?” pursued the man. “Why?” “I notice you say ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ It takes a long absence to tache an Irishman that.” “I’ve been away nearly all my life,” said The O’Mahony, sharply--“ever since I was a little boy and turning on his heel, he walked to the companionway and disappeared down the stairs. “Faith, I’m bettin’ it’s the gineral himself!” said the other, looking after him. ***** To have one’s waking vision greeted, on a soft, warm April morning, by the sight of the Head of Kinsale in the sunlight--with the dark rocks capped in tenderest verdure and washed below by milkwhite breakers; with the smooth water mirroring the blue of the sky upon its bosom, yet revealing as well the marbled greens of its own crystalline depths; with the balmy scents of fresh blossoms meeting and mingling in the languorous air of the Gulf Stream’s bringing--can there be a fairer finish to any voyage over the waters of the whole terrestrial ball! The O’Mahony had been up on deck before any of his fellow-passengers, scanning the novel details of the scene before him. The vessel barely kept itself in motion through the calm waters. The soft land breeze just availed to turn the black column of smoke rising from the funnel into a sort of carboniferous leaning tower. The pilot had been taken on the previous evening. They waited now for the tug, which could be seen passing Roche’s Point with a prodigious spluttering and splashing of side-paddles. Before its arrival, the _Moldavian_ lay at rest within full view of the wonderful harbor--her deck thronged with passengers dressed now in fine shore apparel and bearing bags and rugs, who bade each other good-bye with an enthusiasm which nobody believed in, and edged along as near as possible where the gang-plank would be. The O’Mahony walked alone down the plank, rebuffing the porters who sought to relieve him of his heavy bags. He stood alone at the prow of the tug, as it waddled and puffed on its rolling way back again, watching the superb amphitheatre of terraced stone houses, walls, groves and gardens toward which he had voyaged these nine long days, with an anxious, almost gloomy face. The Fenians, still closely observing him, grew nervous with fear that this depression forboded a discovery of contra-brand arms in his baggage.