t to fall on the youth's features, "what is the matter?
your uncle has been routing me up with a story about you."

He ceased suddenly, as his eyes beheld the change a few hours had
wrought in the boy's appearance: "His eyes, deep-buried in their orbits,
shone with an unnatural lustre--his cheeks were pale and sunken, save
where a bright patch of florid red marked the centre of each; his lips
were dry and shrivelled, and had a slight tremulous motion, as if he
were muttering to himself.

"Poor fellow," said the father, "how dreadfully ill he looks. Have you
any pain, my boy?"

The boy knew the voice, and recognized the kindly accent, but could not
hear or understand the words; and as his eyes glistened with delight,
he stole his burning hand from beneath the bed-clothes, and held it out,
all trembling, towards his father.

"How sudden this has been: you were quite well last night, Herbert."

"Last night!" echoed the boy, with a strange emphasis on the only words
he had caught up.

"No, by the way, it was the night before I mean. I did not see you last
night; but, cheer up, my dear boy; we've sent for Roach--he'll put you
to rights at once. I hope Mark may reach home before the doctor goes.
I'd like to have his advice about that strain in the back."

These last words were uttered in soliloquy, and seemed to flow from a
train of thought very different from that arising from the object before
him. Sunk in these reflections, he drew near the window, which looked
out upon the old court-yard behind the house, and where now a very
considerable crowd of beggars had assembled to collect the alms usually
distributed each morning from the kitchen. Each was provided with
an ample canvas bag, worn over the neck by a string, and capable of
containing a sufficiency of meal or potatoes, the habitual offering, to
support the owner for a couple of days at least. They were all busily
engaged in stowing away the provender of various sorts and kinds, as
luck, or the preference of the cook, decided, laughing or grumbling
over their portions, as it might be, when Sir Archibald M'Nab hurriedly
presented himself in the midst of them--an appearance which seemed to
create no peculiar satisfaction, if one were to judge from the increased
alacrity of their movements, and the evident desire they exhibited to
move off.

[Illustration: 079]

The ODonoghue laughed as he witnessed the discomfiture of the ragged
mob, and let down the window-sa