l
laugh. "Herbert is a Protestant."

"What!--did I hear aright?" said the old man, as with a face pale as
death, he tottered forwards, and caught the youth by either arm. "Is
this true, Herbert? Tell me, boy, this instant, that it is not so."

"It is true, sir, most true; and if I have hitherto spared you the pain
it might occasion you, believe me it was not from any shame the avowal
might cost _me_."

The priest staggered back, and fell heavily into a chair; a livid
hue spread itself over his features, and his eyes grew glassy and
lustreless.

"We may well be wretched and miserable," exclaimed he with a faint sigh,
"when false to heaven, who is to wonder that we are traitors to each
other."

The French officer--for such he was--muttered some words into Mark's
ear, who replied--"I cannot blame you for feeing impatient; this is
no time for fooling. Now for the glen. Farewell, Father. Herbert, we'll
meet again soon;" and without waiting to hear more, he hastened from the
room with his companion.

Herbert stood for a second or two undecided. He wished to say something,
yet knew not what, or how. At last approaching the old man's chair, he
said--

"There is yet time to avert the danger; the people are irresolute--many
actually averse to the rising; my brother will fall by his rashness."

"Better to do so than survive in dishonour," said the priest, snatching
rudely away his hand from Herbert's grasp. "Leave me, young man--go;
this is a poor and an humble roof; but never till now has it sheltered
the apostate."

"I never thought I should hear these words, here," said Herbert, mildly;
"but I cannot part from you in anger."

"There was a time when you never left me without my blessing, Herbert,"
said the priest, his eyes swimming in tears as he spoke; "kneel now, my
child."

Herbert knelt at the priest's feet, when placing his hand on the
young man's head, he muttered a fervent prayer over him, saying, as he
concluded--

"And may He who knows all hearts, direct and guide yours, and bring you
back from your wanderings, if you have strayed from truth."

He kissed the young man's forehead, and then covering his eyes with his
hands, sat lost in his own sorrowful thoughts.

At this moment Herbert heard his name whispered by a voice without; he
stole silently from the room, and on reaching the little porch, found
Kerry O'Leary, who, wet through and wearied, had reached the cottage,
after several hours' endeavour