ed herself she was proud of the thing she had accomplished; but
how should she tell her child that it was done?

She slowly took the path, not to the cottage, but down towards the
burial ground and Liscannor, passing the car which was waiting in vain
for the young lord. On she walked with rapid step, indifferent to the
heat, still proud of what she had done,--raging with a maddened pride.
How little had they two asked of the world! And then this man had come
to them and robbed them of all that little, had spoiled them ruthlessly,
cheating them with lies, and then excusing himself by the grandeur of
his blood! During that walk it was that she first repeated to herself
the words that were ever afterwards on her tongue; An Eye for an Eye.
Was not that justice? And, had she not taken the eye herself, would any
Court in the world have given it to her? Yes;--an eye for an eye! Death
in return for ruin! One destruction for another! The punishment had been
just. An eye for an eye! Let the Courts of the world now say what they
pleased, they could not return to his earldom the man who had plundered
and spoiled her child. He had sworn that he would not make her Kate
Countess of Scroope! Nor should he make any other woman a Countess!

Rapidly she went down by the burying ground, and into the priest's
house. Father Marty was there, and she stalked at once into his
presence. "Ha;--Mrs. O'Hara! And where is Lord Scroope?"

"There," she said, pointing out towards the ocean. "Under the rocks!"

"He has fallen!"

"I thrust him down with my hands and with my feet." As she said this,
she used her hand and her foot as though she were now using her strength
to push the man over the edge. "Yes, I thrust him down, and he fell
splashing into the waves. I heard it as his body struck the water. He
will shoot no more of the sea-gulls now."

"You do not mean that you have murdered him?"

"You may call it murder if you please, Father Marty. An eye for an eye,
Father Marty! It is justice, and I have done it. An Eye for an Eye!"

CHAPTER XII.

CONCLUSION.

The story of the poor mad woman who still proclaims in her seclusion the
justice of the deed which she did, has now been told. It may perhaps be
well to collect the scattered ends of the threads of the tale for the
benefit of readers who desire to know the whole of a history.

Mrs. O'Hara never returned to the cottage on the cliffs after the
perpetration of the deed. On the unhap