ns existing between
our family and Mr. Godfrey."

"You must let me read this for myself, Kate," said Frank, calmly, taking
the letter from her hands; "and now leave me for a while."

With trembling steps and a sinking heart the young girl retired, to pass
hours of intense anxiety in her chamber. At last came a servant to say
that her brother desired to see her.

"I must set out for Ireland, Kate," said the sick youth, as he arose
from his chair.

"For Ireland!" cried she, gazing with terror at his wasted and worn
figure.

"A long journey, dearest, but I shall have strength for it, if you 'll
be my companion!"

"Never to leave you, Frank," cried she; and fell sobbing into his arms.

CHAPTER XXXII. INISTIOGE.

Rich as Ireland is in picturesque river scenery, we know nothing
more beautiful than the valley through which the Nore flows between
Thomastown and New Ross. The gently sloping meadows, backed by deep
woods, and dotted with cheerful farm-houses, gradually give way to a
bolder landscape as you descend the stream and enter a dark gorge, whose
high beetling sides throw their solemn shade over the river, receding at
last to form a kind of amphitheatre wherein stands the little village of
Inistioge.

More like a continental than an Irish hamlet, the cottages are built
around a wide open space planted with tall elms and traversed by many
a footpath; and here, of a summer night, are to be seen the villagers
seated or strolling about in pleasant converse,--a scene of rural peace
and happiness such as rarely is to be met with in our land of trial and
struggle. Did our time or space admit of it, we would gladly loiter in
that pleasant spot, gazing from that graceful bridge on the ivy-clad
towers, the tall and stately abbey, or the rich woods of that proud
demesne, which in every tint of foliage encircles the picture.

That "vale and winding river" were scenes of some of our boyhood's
happiest hours, and even years--those stern teachers--have not
obliterated the memory! Our task is not, however, with these
recollections, and we would now ask our reader to stand with us beneath
the shadow of the tall elms, while the little village is locked in
slumber.

It is past midnight,----all is still and tranquil; a faint moonlight
flickers through the leaves, and plays a fitful gleam upon the river.
One man alone is abroad, and he is seen to traverse the bridge with
uncertain steps, stopping at moments as if to liste