ists, cut him
down. Ride for it, men, ride;" and in his mad excitement, he arose from
his bed, and gained the floor. "There--that's him yonder; he has taken
to the mountains; five hundred guineas to the hand that grasps him
first," and he tottered to the window, and tearing aside the curtain,
looked out.

[Illustration: 404]

"Worn and wasted, with beard unshaven for weeks long, and eyes
glistening with the lustre of insanity, the expression of his features
actually chilled the heart's blood of the old man, as he stood almost at
his side, and unable to move away. For a second or two Hemsworth gazed
on the other, as if some struggling effort of recognition was labouring
in his brain; and then, with a mad struggle he exclaimed--

"They were too late; the Council gave but eight days. I suppressed the
proclamation in the south. Eight days--after that, no pardon--in this
world at least"--and a fearful grin of malice convulsed his features;
then with an altered accent, and a faint smile, from which sickness tore
its oft-assumed dissimulation, he said, "I did every thing to persuade
him to surrender--to accept the gracious favour of the crown; but he
would not--no, he would not!"--and, with another burst of laughter, he
staggered back into the room, and fell helpless on the floor. Sir Archy
was in no compassionate mood at the moment, and without bestowing a
thought on the sufferer, he hastened down the path, and with all the
speed of which he was capable, returned to Carrig-na-curra.

CHAPTER XLII. THE SHEALING

Sir Archy's manner, so precise and measured in every occasion of life,
had undergone a very marked change before he arrived at Carrig-na-curra;
exclamations broke from him at every moment, mingled with fervently
expressed hopes, that he might not be yet too late to rescue Mark from
his peril. The agitation of his mind and the fatigue of his exertions
completely overcame him; and when he reached the house, he threw himself
down upon a seat, utterly exhausted.

"Are you unwell, my dear uncle?" broke from Kate and Herbert together,
as they stood at either side of his chair.

"Tired, wearied, heated, my dear children; nothing more. Send me Kerry
here; I want to speak to him."

Kerry soon entered, and Sir Archy, beckoning him to his side, whispered
a few words rapidly into his ear. Kerry made no reply, but hastened from
the room, and was soon after seen hurrying down the causeway.

"I see, my dear uncle," w