er-writing is no burthen to him. In fact, I believe, he rather likes
it; so here goes to do him a favour. It is seldom the occasion presents
itself."

It was not often that Mark O'Donoghue paid a visit to Sir Archibald in
his chamber; and the old man received him as he entered with all the
show of courtesy he would have extended to a stranger--a piece of
attention which was very far, indeed, from relieving Mark of any portion
of his former embarrassment.

"I have brought you a letter, sir," said he, almost ere he took his
seat--"a letter which my father would thank you to reply to. It is from
my cousin Kate, who is about to return to Ireland, and take up her abode
here."

"Ye dinna mean she's coming here, to Carrig-na-curra?"

"It is even so! though I don't wonder at your finding it hard of
belief."

"It's mair than that--it's far mair--it's downright incredible."

"I thought so, too; but my father cannot agree with me. He will not
believe that this old barrack is not a baronial castle; and persists in
falling back on what is past, rather than look on the present, not to
speak of the future."

"But she canna live here, Mark," said Sir Archy, his mind ever dwelling
on the great question at issue. "There's no'a spot in the whole house
she could inhabit. I ken something of these French damsels, and their
ways; and the strangers that go there for education are a' worse than
the natives. I mind the time I was in Paris with his Royal------" Sir
Archy coughed, and reddened up, and let fall his snuff-box, spilling all
the contents on the floor.

"Gude save us, here's a calamity! It was real macabaw, and cost twa
shillings an ounce. I maun even see if I canna scrape it up wi' a piece
of paper;" and so, he set himself diligently to glean up the scattered
dust, muttering, all the time, maledictions on his bad luck.

Mark never moved nor spoke the entire time; but sat with the open letter
in his hand, patiently awaiting the resumption of the discussion.

"Weel, weel," exclaimed Sir Archy, as he resumed his seat once more;
"let us see the epistle, and perhaps we may find some clue to put her
off."

"My father insists on her coming," said Mark, sternly.

"So he may, lad," replied Sir Archy; "but she may ha'e her ain reasons
for declining--dinna ye see that? This place is a ruin. Wha's to say it
is no' undergoing a repair--that the roof is off, and will not be on
for sax months to come. The country, too, is in a vara di