hispered Kate, with a tremulous accent--"I see
you have bad tidings for us this morning--he is worse."

"Waur he canna be," muttered Sir Archy, with a significance that gave
the words a very equivocal meaning.

"But there is still hope. They told us yesterday that to-morrow would be
the crisis of the malady--the twentieth day since his relapse."

"Yes, yes!" said the old man, who, not noticing her remark, pursued
aloud the track of his own reflections. "Entrapped--ensnared--I see it
all now. And only eight days given!--and even of these to be kept in
ignorance. Poor fellow, how you have been duped."

"But this delirium may pass away, uncle," said Kate, who, puzzled at his
vague expressions, sought to bring him again to the theme of Hemsworth's
illness.

"Then comes the penalty, lassie," cried he, energetically. "The
Government canna forgie a rebel, as parents do naughty children, by the
promise of doing better next time. When a daring scheme--but wait a bit,
here's Kerry. Come to the window, man; come over here," and he called
him towards him.

Whatever were the tidings Kerry brought, Sir Archy seemed overjoyed by
them; and taking Herbert's arm, he hurried from the room, leaving the
O'Donoghue and Kate in a state of utter bewilderment.

"I'm afraid, my sweet niece, that Hemsworth's disease is a catching
one. Archy has a devilish wild, queer look about him to-day," said the
O'Donoghue, laughing.

"I hope he has heard no bad news, sir. He is seldom so agitated as this.
But what can this mean? Here comes a chaise up the road. See, it
has stopped at the gate, and there is Kerry hastening down with a
portmantua."

Sir Archy entered as she spoke, dressed for the road, and approaching
his brother-in-law's chair, whispered a few words in his ear.

"Great heaven protect us!" exclaimed the O'Donoghue, falling back, half
unconscious, into his seat. While, turning to Kate, Sir Archy took her
hand in both of his, and said--

"My ain dear bairn, I have no secrets from you; but time is too short to
say much now. Enough, if I tell you Mark is in danger--the greatest and
most imminent. I must hasten up to Dublin and see the Secretary, and, if
possible, the Lord Lieutenant. It may be necessary, perhaps, for me to
proceed to London. Herbert is already off to the mountains, to warn Mark
of his peril. If he can escape till I return, all may go well yet. Above
all things, however, let no rumour of my journey escape. I'm only goi