hing here."

"I understand, sir," said Mrs. Moss; and whether the words, or the look
that accompanied them, should bear the blame, but they certainly made
Cashel look half angry, half ashamed.

"Then good-night--or good-morrow, I believe it should be," said Lady
Kilgoff. "I'm sure, in charity, we should not keep you from your bed a
minute longer. You had a severe night outside."

"Good-night--good-night, my Lord," said Cashel; and the handsome form of
the lady moved proudly on, while the servant assisted the poor decrepid
husband slowly after.

Roland looked after them for an instant, and whether from some curiosity
to see the possessions which called him master, or that he felt
indisposed to sleep, he passed out into the lawn and stood some minutes
gazing at the strange and somewhat incongruous pile before him.

Perhaps something of disappointment mingled with his thoughts--perhaps
it was only that strange revulsion which succeeds to all long-excited
expectation, when the moment of satisfying it has come, and speculation
is at an end forever--but he was turning away, in half sadness, when he
caught sight of a hand waving to him a salute from one of the windows.
He had just time to answer the gesture, when the shutter was closed.
There was one other saw the motion, and noted well the chamber from
whence it came. Linton, awoke by the arrival of the carriage, had
watched every step that followed, and now sat, with half-drawn curtains,
eagerly marking everything that might minister to his jealous anger.

As for Cashel, he sauntered on into the wood, his mind wandering on
themes separated by nearly half the world from where his steps were
straying.

CHAPTER XXXIII. ROLAND'S INTRODUCTION TO MR. CORRIGAN

And while the scene around them smiled,
With pleasant talk the way beguiled.

Haile: Rambles.

As Roland Cashel strolled along alone, he could not divest himself of
a certain feeling of disappointment, that, up to the present, at least,
all his wealth had so little contributed to realize those illusions he
had so often fancied. The plots, the wiles and cunning schemes by which
he had been surrounded, were gradually revealing themselves to his
senses, and he was rapidly nearing the fatal "bourne" which separates
credulity from distrust.

If we have passed over the events which succeeded the loss of the yacht
with some appearance of scant ceremony to our reader, it is because,
though in the