s of the
peasants as they passed him. "It is only the jury have called me 'Not
Guilty,'" said he to himself; "the world has pronounced another verdict.
I have come from that dock as one might have risen from an unhonored
grave, to be looked on with fear and sorrow. Be it so; mine must be a
lonely existence."

Every room he entered recalled some scene of his past life. Here was the
spacious hall, where, in all the excesses of the banquet, laughter had
rung and wit had sparkled, loud toasts were proffered, and high-spirited
mirth had once held sway. Here was the drawing-room, where grace and
female loveliness were blended, mingling their odors like flowers in a
"bouquet." Here, the little chamber he had often sought to visit Lady
Kilgoff, and passed those hours of "sweet converse" wherein his whole
nature became changed, and his rude spirit softened by the tender
influences of a woman's mind. Here was his own favorite room,--the spot
from which, in many an hour snatched from the cares of host, he had
watched the wide-flowing river, and thought of the current of his own
life, mingling with his reveries many a high hope and many a glorious
promise. And now the whole scene was changed. The mirth, the laughter,
the guests, the hopes, were fled, and he stood alone in those silent
halls, that never again were to echo with the glad voice of pleasure.

The chief object of his return to Tubbermore was to regain possession
of that document which he had concealed in the cleft of a beech-tree,
before scaling the approach to the window. He found the spot without
difficulty, and soon possessed himself of the paper, the contents of
which, however, from being conveyed in a character he was not familiar
with, he could not master.

He next proceeded to the gate-lodge, desirous to see Keane, and
make some arrangement for his future support before he should leave
Tubbermore. The man, however, was absent; his wife, whose manner
betrayed considerable emotion, said that her husband had returned in
company with another, who remained without, while he hastily packed a
few articles of clothing in a bundle, and then left the house, whither
to she knew not.

Roland's last visit was to Tiernay's house; but he, too, was from home.
He had accompanied Corrigan to Dublin, intending to take leave of him
there; but a few hurried lines told that he had resolved to proceed
further with his friends, and darkly hinting that his return to the
village was m