-na-curra."

"It is the language of the gods, Mickey--finer and grander than ever
man spoke," replied the youth with fervour. "Listen to this, here;" and
then, with solemn cadence he declaimed some twenty lines, while, as
if the words were those of an incantation, the little fellow sat
spellbound, with clasped hands and staring eye-balls gazing before him.

"What does it mean, Master Herbert?--what is it?" said he, in panting
eagerness.

"It's about a great hero, Mickey, that was preparing for battle. He was
putting on his armour, a coat and a cap of steel, and he was belting on
his sword."

"Yes, yes," broke in the little fellow, "and wasn't he saying how he'd
murther and kill all before him?"

"Bight enough," said the youth, laughing. "You guessed it well."

"Ah, I knew it," said the boy. "I saw how you clenched your fist, and
your eyes wor shinin' like sparks of fire, and I knew it was darin' them
he was, in the book there. What did he do after, Master Herbert? Just
tell me that, sir."

"He went out in his chariot--"

"Say it like himself first, sir, av it's plazin' to ye," said he, with
a most imploring look of entreaty. "I do be glad to hear it out of the
book."

The youth, thus entreated, resumed the volume, and read on for several
minutes without stopping.

"Oh, that's grand!" said the boy, in a burst of enthusiasm. "'Tis for
all the world the way the thunder comes down the glen--moanin' first,
far off on the mountains, and then swellin' into a big roar, and
afterwards going clap! clap! like a giant clapping his hands. Did he
kill the inimy, master dear?"

"No, he was killed himself, and his body dragged over the battlefield."

"Wirra, wirra, wirra!" broke in the child, while he rung his hands, and
burst forth into a torrent of tumultuous grief.

"He was killed, Mickey, and listen to the lament of his friends for his
death."

Scarcely had the youth read a few lines, when Sir Marmaduke, advancing a
little farther, his shadow fell across the chamber. The youth sprang up
at once, and came towards them. The flush of surprise--it might be, too,
of shame--was on his features; but there was less of awkwardness than
many might have exhibited in the manner of his address, as he said--

"Father Luke is from home, sir. He has been sent for to Ballyvourney--"

"You are his relation, I presume?" said Sir Marmaduke, without letting
him finish his speech.

"I am his pupil," replied the youth, with a tone i