f both Mr. and Mrs. McAravey.

Not that the home thus early laid desolate was altogether unblessed by
young faces. For many years the McAraveys had had charge of two little
children, who called them father and mother. But, as it was quite
evident that no such relationship as this could exist, so it came to be
generally understood that there was no tie of blood at all. What
connection there might be, or who the children were, was a mystery none
had ever solved, nor was it likely that any inquiries--if such had ever
been ventured upon--had met with much encouragement on the part of
"auld Mike" or his equally taciturn wife.

Though the Antrim glens had been the scene of such courtship as it is
possible to conceive of between Michael McAravey and Elizabeth Kane,
they had for many years ceased to be the place of their abode.
Previous to the opening of our tale, McAravey had fallen into the
tenant-right and goodwill of a farm held by an elder and unmarried
brother, and hither he had accordingly moved with his wife, now past
middle-age, and the two little ones that called her mother. To find
the spot where the McAraveys now lived--a spot yet more retired and
more lovely than any in the glens properly so called--we must once more
return to the great "coast road." Having reached Cushendall, the
scenery becomes more imposing, and the high background almost deserves
the name of a mountain. Here, at length, the rugged and towering
coast-line successfully defies further violation of its lonely majesty.
Accordingly the baffled road bends abruptly to the left, and turning
its back upon the sea proceeds to climb the long, dreary slope of a
flat-topped, uninteresting mountain, and then, having reached the
highest point (which is scarcely to be discerned), descends, till once
more the sea is come upon at the secluded little country town of
Ballycastle. The extreme northeast point of Ireland is thus cut off,
and thus the ordinary tourist is cut off too, from one of Nature's most
fairy-like retreats. On looking back from Ballycastle you at once
perceive the necessity for your bleak and tedious mountain drive. The
eye immediately catches and rests fascinated upon the gigantic and
literally overhanging precipice of Fair Head, as it rears its peculiar
and acute-angled summit against the sky. One look, and you are
convinced that no road could wind its way round the base of that
frowning monster. But let us strive to penetrate this