owal of her
despair was the last effort of her strength. Slowly and faintly the sounds
died away, while Gorman, leaning out to the utmost to catch the dying
notes, strained his hearing to drink them in. All was still, and then
suddenly, with a wild roulade that sounded at first like the passage of
a musical scale, she burst out into a fit of laughter, crying '_Non mi
amava,_' through the sounds, in a half-frantic mockery. '_No, no, non mi
amava,_' laughed she out, as she walked back into the room. The window was
now closed with a heavy bang, and all was silent in the house.

'And these are the affections we break our hearts for!' cried Gorman, as he
threw himself on his bed, and covered his face with both his hands.

CHAPTER XLIV

THE HEAD CONSTABLE

The Inspector, or, to use the irreverent designation of the neighbourhood,
the Head Peeler, who had carried away Walpole's luggage and papers, no
sooner discovered the grave mistake he had committed, than he hastened to
restore them, and was waiting personally at Kilgobbin Castle to apologise
for the blunder, long before any of the family had come downstairs. His
indiscretion might cost him his place, and Captain Curtis, who had to
maintain a wife and family, three saddle-horses, and a green uniform with
more gold on it than a field-marshal's, felt duly anxious and uneasy for
what he had done.

'Who is that gone down the road?' asked he, as he stood at the window,
while a woman was setting the room in order.

'Sure it's Miss Kate taking the dogs out. Isn't she always the first up of
a morning?' Though the captain had little personal acquaintance with Miss
Kearney, he knew her well by reputation, and knew therefore that he might
safely approach her to ask a favour. He overtook her at once, and in a few
words made known the difficulty in which he found himself.

'Is it not after all a mere passing mistake, which once apologised for is
forgotten altogether?' asked she. 'Mr. Walpole is surely not a person to
bear any malice for such an incident?'

'I don't know that, Miss Kearney,' said he doubtingly. 'His papers have
been thoroughly ransacked, and old Mr. Flood, the Tory magistrate, has
taken copies of several letters and documents, all of course under the
impression that they formed part of a treasonable correspondence.'

'Was it not very evident that the papers could not have belonged to a
Fenian leader? Was not any mistake in the matter easily avoided?'