ever, I fear,"
said Sir Marmaduke, as in shame and sorrow he rested his head upon her
shoulder.

For some seconds she could not comprehend his words; and, when at last
she did so, she burst forth--

"And, oh, father, think how we have wronged him. It was in his care and
devotion to us, the poor fellow incurred' our doubts. His habit was to
sit beneath the window each night, so long as lights gleamed within.
Till they were extinguished, he never sought his rest. The boatman tells
me this, and says, his notion was, that God watches over the dark hours
only, and that man's precautions were needed up to that time."

With sincere and heartfelt sorrow Sir Marmaduke turned away. Servants
were despatched on foot and horseback to recover the idiot boy, and
persuade him to return; but his path lay across a wild and mountain
region, where few could follow; and at nightfall the messengers returned
unsuccessful in their search.

If there was real sorrow over his departure in the parlour, the very
opposite feeling pervaded the kitchen. There, each in turn exulted in
his share of what had occurred, and took pains to exaggerate his claims
to gratitude, for having banished one so unpopular and unfriended.

Alarm at the attack of the previous night, and sorrow for the unjust
treatment of poor Terry, were not Sir Marmaduke's only emotions on this
sad morning. His messenger had just returned from Carrig-na-curra with
very dispiriting tidings of Herbert O'Donoghue. Respect for the feelings
of the family under the circumstances of severe illness, had induced
him to defer his intended visit to a more suitable opportunity; but
his anxiety for the youth's recovery was unceasing, and he awaited the
return of each servant sent to inquire after him, with the most painful
impatience. In this frame of mind was he as evening drew near, and he
wandered down his avenue to the road-side to learn some minutes earlier
the last intelligence of the boy. It was a calm and peaceful hour; not
a leaf moved in the still air; and all in the glen seemed bathed in the
tranquil influence of the mellow sunset. The contrast to the terrific
storm which so lately swept through the mountain-pass was most striking,
and appealed to the old man's heart, as reflecting back the image of
human life, so varying in its aspect, so changeful of good and evil. He
stood and meditated on the passages of his own life, whose tenor
had, till now, been so equable, but whose fortune