t I could plot for life, when all that makes life worth having is in
the opposite scale?"

"You must find out master Mark, Kerry," said the O'Donoghue, "and give
him this letter; there is no time to be lost about it."

"Sorra fear; I'll put it into his hand this day."

"This day!" cried Kate, impatiently. "It must reach him within
three hours time. Away at once--the foot of Hungry Mountain--the
shealing--Bantry Bay--you cannot have any difficulty in finding him
now."

Kerry waited not for further bidding, and though not by any means
determined to make any unusual exertion, left the room with such
rapidity as augured well for the future.

"Well," said Mrs. Branagan, whose anxiety for news had led her to the
head of the kitchen stairs, an excursion which, at no previous moment
of her life, had she been known to take, "well, Kerry, what's going on
now?"

"Faix, then, I'll tell ye, ma'am," said he, sighing; "'tis myself
they're wanting to kill. Here am I setting out wid a letter, and where
to, do you think? the top of Hungry Mountain, in the Bay of Bantry,
that's the address--divil a lie in it."

"And who is it for?" said Mrs. Branagan, who, affecting to bestow a
critical examination on the document, was inspecting the superscription
wrong side up.

"'Tis for Master Mark; I heard it all outside the door; they don't want
him to go with the boys, now that the French is landed, and we're going
to have the country to ourselves. 'Tis a dhroll day when an O'Donoghue
would'nt have a fight for his father's acres."

"Bad cess to the weak-hearted, wherever they are," exclaimed Mrs.
Branagan; "don't give him the letter, Kerry avich; lie quiet in the glen
till evening, and say you couldn't find him, by any manner of means. Do
that, now, and it will be a good sarvice to your country this day."

"I was just thinking that same myself," said Kerry, whose resolution
wanted little prompting; "after I cross the river, I'll turn into the
Priests' Glen, and never stir out till evening."

With these honest intentions regarding his mission, Kerry set out, and
if any apology could be made for his breach of faith, the storm might
plead for him; it had now reached its greatest violence; the wind
blowing iu short and frequent gusts, snapped the large branches like
mere twigs, and covered the road with fragments of timber; the mountain
rivulets, too, were swollen, and dashed madly down the rocky cliffs
with a deafening clamour, while the