Again she laughed.

"I'd as soon be afraid of a real peril as of a silly fancy," said she.
"I mean to go and see Kilgorman one day."

"Not with my good-will, mistress," said I.

"Well, without it then, Mr Barry Gallagher," she replied with a toss of
the head which fairly abashed me, and made me remember that after all I
was but a servant-man in my lady's house. The sea, blessings on it!
levels all things, and I had almost forgotten this little lady was my
mistress. But I recalled it now, and still more when, ten minutes
later, we ran alongside his honour's jetty, and my fair crew was taken
out of my hands by her parents, while I was left to carry up the
dripping baggage, and seek my supper as best I could.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

A BOOK OF FATE.

The coming of Mistress Kit, as I said before, made life at Knockowen
tolerable for me. It mattered little if his honour neglected me, and my
lady never looked at me; it mattered little if my fellow-servants ill-
used me and put upon me; it mattered little that I had not a friend but
Con and the horses to talk to, and not a holiday to call my own.

Miss Kit made all the difference. Not that she concerned herself
specially about me, or went out of her way to be kind; but it did one
good to see her about the place, with a smile for every one and a
friendly word for man and beast. She even beat down the gloom that, in
her absence, had weighed both on her father and mother. The former,
indeed, was as indifferent as ever to his wife and the latter to her
husband. But this daughter of theirs was one interest in common for
both--perhaps the one object in the world about which both agreed.

It fell to my lot, as my young lady was an ardent horsewoman, to attend
her on many a long ride, riding discreetly twenty yards in the rear, and
never forgetting my duty so far as to speak when not spoken to.

One day, some weeks after she had come home, as we were riding on the
cliffs near Dunaff, she turned in her saddle and beckoned me to
approach.

"What road is that?" she said, pointing with her whip to a grass-grown
track which led off the shore.

"That's the Kilgorman road," said I, guessing what was to follow.

"Kilgorman!" repeated she. "I should like to see the house."

"By your leave," said I, "his honour forbids any one to go there without
his permission."

She tossed her head.

"I am not any one," she said. "I shall go where I please. Fall behind,
sir; and if yo