uncle's covetousness
would rob her. In fact, I said a great deal that was true; and when I
added anything that was not so, it was simply as painters introduce a
figure with a "bit of red," to heighten the landscape. I will not weary
my _fair_ reader with all the little doubts, and hesitations, and fears,
so natural for her to experience and express; nor will I tire my male
companion by saying how I combated each in turn. Love, like a lawsuit,
has but one ritual. First comes the declaration,--usually a pretty
unintelligible piece of business, in either case; then come the
"affidavits," the sworn depositions; then follow the cross-examinations;
after which, the charge and the verdict. In my case it was a favorable
one, and I was almost out of my senses with delight.

[Illustration: final ]

The Bishop, with whom my acquaintanceship had never betrayed my secret,
was to leave Ireland in a few days, and the Prince, to whom I told
everything, with the kindness of a true friend promised that he would
take the very same day for his own departure. The remainder we were
to leave to fortune. Love-making left me little time for any other
thoughts; but still as, for appearance' sake, I was obliged to pass some
hours of every day apart from Donna Maria, I took the occasion of one of
these forced absences to visit a scene which had never quitted my mind
through all the changeful fortunes of my life,--the little spot where I
was born. Rising one morning at break of day, I set out for Horseleap,
to see once more, and for the last time, the humble home of my
childhood. The distance was about sixteen miles; but as I rode slowly,
my mind full of old memories and reflections, I did not reach the place
till nigh noon. Alas! I should never have known the spot! There had been
a season of famine and pestilence, and now the little village was almost
tenantless. Many of the cabins were unroofed; in some, the blackened
rafters bore tokens of fire. The one shop that used to supply the humble
luxuries of the poor was closed, and I passed on with a heavy heart
towards the cross-roads where "Con's Acre" lay.

I had not gone far when my eye, straining to catch it, detected the roof
of the cabin rising above the little thorn hedge that flanked the
road. Ay, there was the old stone-quarry I used to play in, as a child,
fancying that its granite sides were mountain precipices, and its little
pools were lakes. There was the gate on which for hours lon