like it better, send another to
him. Should he be the man you suppose, the whole can easily be arranged
by the light of morning."

"And so shall it be," said Cashel, in a deep low voice.

"If this life of luxury has not unsteadied your finger, I'd not take his
place for half your fortune."

A short motion of the head from Cashel seemed to concur with this
speech.

"How I wish you were to be with me, Enrique!" said he, after a silence
of some minutes.

"So should I, Roland; but you will not need me: were there two to bring
to reckoning, I'd stay, cost what it might. And here we say farewell."
They had walked together, during this colloquy, to the high-road, which
on one side leads towards Tubbermore, and on the other to Limerick.

Cashel held his comrade's hand fast clasped in his own, without
speaking. The sense of isolation had never struck him so forcibly as now
that, having met an old and attached friend, he was about to part with
him so suddenly. It appeared to darken his solitude into something more
lonely still.

"I 'd have thought that all this wealth had made you happier," said
Enrique, as he gazed at the sorrow-struck features of his friend.

"Neither happier nor better," said Roland, mournfully.

"There! see yonder," cried Enrique, "where you see the lamps flashing;
those are the carriages of your gay company. Remember that you are the
host to-night; and so, good-bye."

"Good-bye, my old comrade."

"One word more," said Enrique. "Be not weak-hearted--trust none of
them--they are false, every one: some from envy; some from treachery;
some from that fickleness that they fancy to be knowledge of life; but
all are alike. And so, till we meet again at Naples."

"At Naples," echoed Cashel; and, with head bent down, pursued his way
homeward.

CHAPTER XXV. TIERNAY INTIMIDATED----THE ABSTRACTED DEEDS

Warmth may suit the gen'rous fool;
The deeper knave must aye be cool.

Bell.

Rapidly as carriage after carriage rolls up the broad approach to
Tubbermore, the lamps flashing and glittering through the dark wood,
we must beg of our reader to turn back a few hours in our history,
and follow the steps of Mr. Linton, as, leaving the cottage, he turned
towards the "great house."

Probably, to a mind constituted like his there could be no more poignant
sense of sorrow and regret than that experienced in consequence of a
sudden and irrepressible burst of passion. It was a great faul