and find out what a man really owes."

"No man owes a cent to any landlord on behalf of rent."

"But how is a man to get the land?" she said. "Over in our country a
rough pioneering fellow goes and buys it, and then he sells it, and
of course the man who buys it hasn't to pay rent. But I cannot see
how any fellow here can have a right to the land for nothing." Then
Mr. O'Mahony reminded his daughter that she was ill and should not
exert herself.

It was now far advanced in May, and Mr. O'Mahony had resolved to
make one crushing eloquent speech in the House of Commons and then
to retire to the United States. But he had already learned that
even this could not be effected without the overcoming of many
difficulties. In himself, in his eloquence, in the supply of words,
he trusted altogether; but there was the opportunity to be bought,
and the Speaker's eye to be found,--he regarded this Speaker's eye
as the most false of all luminaries,--and the empty benches to be
encountered, and then drowsy reporters to be stirred up; and then
on the next morning,--if any next morning should come for such a
report,--there would not be a tithe of what he had spoken to be read
by any man, and, in truth, very little of what he could speak would
be worthy of reading. His words would be honest and indignant and
fine-sounding, but the hearer would be sure to say, "What a fool is
that Mr. O'Mahony!" At any rate, he understood so much of all this
that he was determined to accept the Chiltern Hundreds and flee away
as soon as his speech should be made.

It was far advanced in May, and poor Rachel was still very ill.
She was so ill that all hope had abandoned her either as to her
profession or as to either of her lovers. But there was some spirit
in her still, as when she would discuss with her father her future
projects. "Let me go back," she said, "and sing little songs for
children in that milder climate. The climate is mild down in the
South, and there I may, perhaps, find some fragment of my voice."
But he who was becoming so despondent both for himself and for his
country, still had hopes as to his daughter. Her engagement with Lord
Castlewell was not even yet broken. Lord Castlewell had gone out of
town at a most unusual period,--at a time when the theatres always
knew him, and had been away on the exact day which had been fixed for
their marriage. Rachel had done all that lay in herself to disturb
the marriage, but Lord Castlewell h