it's rest when the gallop is over, my men I
And it's here's to the lads that have ridden their last!
And it's here's--"

Shon paused. One of those strange lapses of memory came to him which
come at times to most of us concerning familiar things. He could get no
further than he did on the mountain side. He passed his hand over his
forehead, stupidly:--"Saints forgive me; but it's gone from me, and
sorra the one can I get it; me that had it by heart, and the lad that
wrote it far away. Death in the world, but I'll try it again!

"For it's rest when the gallop is over, my men!
And it's here's to the lads that have ridden their last!
And it's here's--"

Again he paused.

But from the half-darkness there came a voice, a clear baritone:

"And here's to the lasses we leave in the glen,
With a smile for the future, a sigh for the past."

At the last words the figure strode down into the firelight.

"Shon, old friend, don't you know me?"

Shon had started to his feet at the first note of the voice, and stood
as if spellbound.

There was no shaking of hands. Both men held each other hard by the
shoulders, and stood so for a moment looking steadily eye to eye.

Then Shon said: "Duke Lawless, there's parallels of latitude and
parallels of longitude, but who knows the tomb of ould Brian Borhoime?"

Which was his way of saying, "How come you here"? Duke Lawless turned
to the others before he replied. His eyes fell on the Honourable. With
a start and a step backward, and with a peculiar angry dryness in his
voice, he said:

"Just Trafford!"

"Yes," replied the Honourable, smiling, "I have found you."

"Found me! And why have you sought me? Me, Duke Lawless? I should have
thought--"

The Honourable interrupted: "To tell you that you are Sir Duke Lawless."

"That? You sought me to tell me that?"

"I did."

"You are sure? And for naught else?"

"As I live, Duke."

The eyes fixed on the Honourable were searching. Sir Duke hesitated,
then held out his hand. In a swift but cordial silence it was taken.
Nothing more could be said then. It is only in plays where gentlemen
freely discuss family affairs before a curious public. Pretty Pierre was
busy with a decoction. Jo Gordineer was his associate. Shon had drawn
back, and was apparently examining the indentations on his gold-pan.

"Shon, old fellow, come here," said Sir Duke Lawless.

But Shon had received a shock. "It's little I