have blazoned it forth at Scroope and up in London, with the best
of young lords, and have loved well to do so. But this adventure, as he
had been wont to call it, had fallen upon him, and had broken him as it
were in pieces. Thousands a year he would have paid to be rid of his
adventure; but thousands a year, he knew well, were of no avail. He
might have sent over some English Mr. Crowe with offers almost royal;
but he had been able so to discern the persons concerned as to know that
royal offers, of which the royalty would be simply money royalty, could
be of no avail. How would that woman have looked at any messenger
who had come to her with offers of money,--and proposed to take her
child into some luxurious but disgraceful seclusion? And in what
language would Father Marty have expressed himself on such a proposed
arrangement? And so the Earl of Scroope drove on with his heart falling
ever lower and lower within his bosom.

It had of course been necessary that he should form some plan. He
proposed to get rooms for one night at the little inn at Ennistimon,
to leave his gig there, and then to take one of the country cars on to
Liscannor. It would, he thought, be best to see the priest first. Let
him look at his task which way he would, he found that every part of it
was bad. An interview with Father Marty would be very bad, for he must
declare his intentions in such a way that no doubt respecting them must
be left on the priest's mind. He would speak only to three persons;--but
to all those three he must now tell the certain truth. There were causes
at work which made it impossible that Kate O'Hara should become Countess
of Scroope. They might tear him to pieces, but from that decision he
would not budge. Subject to that decision they might do with him and
with all that belonged to him almost as they pleased. He would explain
this first to the priest if it should chance that he found the priest at
home.

He left his gig and servant at Ennistimon and proceeded as he had
intended along the road to Liscannor on an outside car. In the
mid-distance about two miles out of the town he met Father Marty riding
on the road. He had almost hoped,--nay, he had hoped,--that the priest
might not be at home. But here was the lion in his path. "Ah, my Lord,"
said the priest in his sweetest tone of good humour,--and his tones when
he was so disposed were very sweet,--"Ah, my Lord, this is a sight good
for sore eyes. They tould me y