seal of the French Republic,
purported to be a commission as Lieutenant in Hoche's own regiment of
grenadiers, conferred on Mark O'Donoghue in testimony of esteem for his
fidelity to the cause of Irish independence. "You are surprised that I
can read the language, Herbert," said he, smiling; "but I have laboured
hard this summer, and, with Kate's good aid, have made some progress."

"And is your dream of Irish independence brought so low as this,
Mark--that the freedom you speak of must be won by an alien's valour?"

"They are no aliens, whose hearts beat alike for liberty. Language,
country, seas may divide us, but we are brothers in the glorious cause
of humanity. Their swords are with us now, as would be ours for them,
did the occasion demand them. Besides, we must teach the traitors, boy,
that we can do without them--that if her own sons are false, Ireland
has friends as true; and then, woe to them who have betrayed her. Oh, my
brother, the brother of my heart, how would I kneel in thankfulness to
heaven, if the same hopes that stirred within me were yours also. If
the genius you possess were enlisted in the dear cause of your own
country--if we could go forth together, hand in hand, and meet danger
side by side, as now we stand."

"My love for you would make the sacrifice, Mark," said Herbert, as the
tears rolled heavily along his cheek; "but my convictions, my reason, my
religion, alike forbid it."

"Your religion, Herbert?--did I hear you aright?"

"You did. I am a Protestant."

Mark fell back as his brother spoke; a cold leaden tinge spread over his
features, and he seemed like one labouring against the sickness of an
ague.

"Oh, is it not time!" cried he, as he clasped his hands above his head,
and shook them in an agony of emotion--"is it not time to strike the
blow, ere every tie that bound us to the land should be rent asunder;
rank, place, wealth, and power they have despoiled us of; our faith
degraded, our lineage scoffed, and now the very links of blood
divided--We have not brothers left us!"

Herbert bent down his head upon his knees, and wept bitterly.

"Who will tell me I have not been tried, now?" continued Mark, in a
strain of impassioned sorrow--"deceived on every hand--robbed of my
heritage--my friends all false--my father"--he stopped short, for at the
moment Herbert looked up, and their eyes met.

"What of our father, Mark?"

"My brain was wandering then," said Mark, in a broken voic