The old woman held her sides while she laughed at the idea; then folding her arms on her knees with that gossiping air which she always assumed when in a mood peculiarly loquacious, she assured me that such a book could not be got in all Ireland; for that it had come from foreign parts to her young lady. “And who sent it?” I demanded. “Why, nobody sent it, (she simply replied,) he brought it himself.” “Who?” said I. She stammered and paused. “Then, I suppose,” she added, “of course, you never heard”----- “What?” I eagerly asked, with an air of curiosity and amazement. As these are two emotions a common mind is most susceptble of feeling and most anxious to excite, I found little difficulty in artfully leading on the old woman by degrees, till at last I obtained from her, almost unawares to herself, the following particulars: On a stormy night, in the spring of 17----, during that fatal period when the scarcely cicatrised wounds of this unhappy country bled afresh beneath the uplifted sword of civil contention; when the bonds of human amity were rent asunder, and every man regarded his neighbour with suspicion or considered him with fear; a stranger of noble stature, muffled in a long, dark cloak, appeared in the great hall of Inismore, and requested an interview with the Prince. The Prince had retired to rest, and being then in an ill state of health, deputed his daughter to receive the unknown visitant, as the priest was absent. The stranger was shown into an apartment adjoining the Prince’s, where Glorvina received him, and having remained for some time with him retired to her father’s room; and again, after a conference of some minutes, returned to the stranger, whom she conducted to the Prince’s bedside. On the same night, and after the stranger had passed two hours in the Prince’s chamber, the nurse received orders to prepare the bed and apartment which I now occupy for this mysterious guest, who from that time remained near three months at the castle; leaving it only occasionally for a few days, and always departing and returning under the veil of night. The following summer he repeated his visit; bringing with him those presents which decorate Glorvina’s boudoir, except the carpet and vases, which were brought by a person who disappeared as soon as he had left them. During both these visits he gave up his time chiefly to Glorvina; reading to her, listening to her music, and walking with her early and late, but never without the priest or nurse, and seldom during the day.