as now.

"Come on, good beast," he said, patting the wearied horse, "you shall
have rest here, and that," said he, with a sigh, "that, is more than I
can promise to myself."

With these sad words he toiled up the steep ascent, and gained the
terrace in front of the Castle. There were lights burning in the old
tower and in the hall, but all the rest of the building was in darkness.
The door lay open, and as Mark stood within it, he could hear the mellow
sounds of a harp which came floating softly through the long-vaulted
corridor, blended with a voice that stirred the fibres of his strong
heart, and made him tremble like a child.

"Why should I not linger here?" thought he; "why not stay and listen to
these sweet sounds? I shall never hear them more!" and he stood and bent
his ear to drink them in, and stirred not until they ceased. The last
chord had died away in silence--then hastily fastening his horse to the
door-ring, he entered the long passage unnoticed by any, and reached the
door. The sound of voices, as of persons talking pleasantly together,
struck harshly on his ear, and the loud laughter that burst forth grated
strangely on his senses.

"They have little sorrow for the outcast--that is certain," said he, as,
with a swelling heart and proud step, he opened the door and entered.

This part of the room lay in deep shadow, and while Mark could
distinctly perceive the others, they could but dimly discern the outline
of his figure, without being able to recognize him. His father and Sir
Archy were seated, as of old, on either side of the chimney; Kate was
leaning over her harp, which she had just ceased to play; while seated
near her, and bending forward in an attitude of eager attention, was
Hemsworth himself, the man of all others he least wished to see at such
a moment.

"Who is that?" cried the O'Donoghue, "who is standing yonder?" and they
all turned their eyes towards the door.

"Why don't you speak?" continued the old man. "Have you any tidings from
my son?--is it news of Mark you bring me?"

"Even so sir," responded the other, as he slowly advanced into the
strong light, his arms folded upon his breast, and his brow stern and
contracted.

[Illustration: 353]

"Mark!--my boy! my child!" cried the old man, springing from his chair,
and, with a strength that seemed at once to defy age and infirmity,
rushed towards him, and threw his arms about him. "He's here--he's with
us once more!" said he, i