ning; "let him try it."

CHAPTER XLIV. THE MOUNTAIN AT SUNRISE.

A little lower down the valley than the post occupied by Terry as his
look-out, was a small stream, passable by stepping-stones; this was the
usual parting place of the two brothers, whenever Herbert returned
home for a day or so, and this limit Mark rarely or never transgressed,
regarding it as the frontier of his little dominion. Beside this
rivulet, as night was falling, Mark sat, awaiting with some impatience
his brother's coming, for already the third evening had passed in which
Herbert promised to be back, and yet he had not come.

Alternately stooping to listen, or straining his eyes to see, he waited
anxiously; and while canvassing in his mind every possible casualty he
could think of to account for his absence, he half resolved on pushing
forward down the glen, and, if necessary, venturing even the whole way
to Carrig-na-curra. Just then a sound caught his ear--he listened, and
at once recognized Terry's voice, as, singing some rude verse, he came
hastening down the glen at his full speed.

"Ha! I thought you'd be here," cried he, with delight in his
countenance; "I knew you'd be just sitting there on that rock."

"What has happened, then, Terry, that you wanted me?"

"It was a message a man in sailor's clothes gave me for your honour
this morning, and, somehow, I forgot to tell you of it when you passed,
though he charged me not to forget it."

"What is it, Terry?"

"Ah, then, that's what I misremember, and I had it all right this
morning. Let me think a bit."

Mark repelled every symptom of impatience, for he well knew how the
slightest evidences of dissatisfaction on his part would destroy every
chance of the poor fellow regaining his memory, and he waited silently
for several minutes. At last, thinking to aid his recollection, he
said--

"The man was a smuggler, Terry?"

"He was, but I never saw him before. He came across from Kinsale,
over the mountains. Botheration to him, why didn't he say more, and
I wouldn't forget it now." "Have patience, you'll think of it all
by-and-by."

"Maybe so. He was a droll-looking fellow, with a short cutlash at his
side, and a hairy cap on his head; and he seemed to know yer honour
well, for he said--

"'How is the O'Donoghues--don't they live hereabouts?"

"'Yes,' says I, 'a few miles down that way.'

"'Is the eldest boy at home," says he.

"'Maybe he is, and maybe he isn't,' says I