Young Mr. Finucane took three or
four,--perhaps five or six,--and then volunteered to join Fred Neville
in a day's shooting under the rocks. But Fred had not been four years
in a cavalry regiment without knowing how to protect himself in such a
difficulty as this. "The canoe will only hold myself and the man," said
Fred, with perfect simplicity. Mr. Finucane drew himself up haughtily
and did not utter another word for the next five minutes. Nevertheless
he took a most affectionate leave of the young officer when half an hour
after midnight he was told by Father Marty that it was time for him to
go home. Father Creech also took his leave, and then Fred and the priest
of Liscannor were left sitting together over the embers of the turf
fire. "You'll be going up to see our friends at Ardkill to-morrow," said
the priest.

"Likely enough, Father Marty."

"In course you will. Sorrow a doubt of that." Then the priest paused.

"And why shouldn't I?" asked Neville.

"I'm not saying that you shouldn't, Mr. Neville. It wouldn't be civil
nor yet nathural after knowing them as you have done. If you didn't go
they'd be thinking there was a rason for your staying away, and that'd
be worse than all. But, Mr. Neville--"

"Out with it, Father Marty." Fred knew what was coming fairly well, and
he also had thought a good deal upon the matter.

"Them two ladies, Mr. Neville, live up there all alone, with sorrow a
human being in the world to protect them,--barring myself."

"Why should they want protection?"

"Just because they're lone women, and because one of them is very young
and very beautiful."

"They are both beautiful," said Neville.

"'Deed and they are,--both of 'em. The mother can look afther herself,
and after a fashion, too, she can look afther her daughter. I shouldn't
like to be the man to come in her way when he'd once decaived her child.
You're a young man, Mr. Neville."

"That's my misfortune."

"And one who stands very high in the world. They tell me you're to be a
great lord some day."

"Either that or a little one," said Neville, laughing.

"Anyways you'll be a rich man with a handle to your name. To me, living
here in this out of the way parish, a lord doesn't matter that." And
Father Marty gave a fillip with his fingers. "The only lord that matters
me is me bishop. But with them women yonder, the title and the money and
all the grandeur goes a long way. It has been so since the world began.
In riding