omething. I couldn't rightly say what, for
she spoke strangely."

"I'll come in the morning if the weather mends," said he.

"I've the boat here for you, sir," I ventured to say, for I guessed the
morning would be too late.

"Leave her there, and go up to the house. You may sleep in the
kitchen."

What could I do? For the first time that night I knew for certain I
hated his honour. My mother's dying message was nothing to him. And
she, poor soul, lay in the cabin alone.

Knockowen was a poor shambling sort of house. Strangers wondered why
Maurice Gorman, who owned Kilgorman as well, chose to live in this place
instead of the fine mansion near the lough mouth. But to the country
people this was no mystery. Kilgorman had an evil name, and for twelve
years, since its late master died, had stood desolate and empty--
tenanted only, so it was said, by a wandering ghost, and no place for
decent Christian folk to dwell in.

As I lay curled up that stormy night in his honour's kitchen, I could
not help thinking of the strange lights I had seen as I rowed in by the
shore. Where did they come from, and what did they mean? I shuddered,
and said one prayer more as I thought of it.

Then my curiosity got the better of me, and I crept to the window and
looked out. The wind howled dismally, but the sky was clearing, and the
moon raced in and out among the clouds. Away down across the lough I
could see the dim outline of Fanad, below which was the little home
where, for all I knew, my mother at that moment lay dead. And opposite
it loomed out the grey bleak hill below which, even by this half light,
I fancied I could detect the black outline of Kilgorman standing grimly
in the moonlight.

It may have been fancy, but as I looked I even thought I could see once
more moving lights between the water's edge and the house, and I slunk
back to my corner by the fire with a shiver.

Presently, his honour came in with a candle. He had evidently been up
all night, and looked haggard and anxious.

"Get up," said he, "and make the boat ready."

I rose to obey, when he called me back.

"Come here," said he harshly. And he held the candle to my face and
stared hard at me. It was a sinister, sneering face that looked into
mine, and as I returned the stare my looks must have betrayed the hatred
that was in my mind.

"Which of Gallagher's boys are you?" he demanded.

"Barry, plaze your honour."

"How old are you?"

"