to cross the watercourses, swollen into
torrents by the rain.

"A letter from Carrig-na-curra, sir," said Kerry; for heartily sick
of his excursion, he adopted the expedient of pretending to mistake to
which brother the letter was addressed, and thus at once terminate his
unpleasant mission.

The note began, "My dear son;" and, without the mention of a name, simply
entreated his immediate return home. Thither Herbert felt both duty and
inclination called him, and without a moment's delay left the cottage,
and, accompanied by Kerry, set out for Carrig-na-curra.

The night was dark and starless, as they plodded onward, and as the rain
ceased, the wind grew stronger, while for miles inland the roaring of
the sea could be heard like deep continuous thunder. Herbert, too much
occupied with his own thoughts, seldom spoke, nor did Kerry, exhausted
as he felt himself, often break silence as they went. As they drew near
the castle, however, a figure crossed the road, and advancing towards
them said--

"Good night."

"Who could that be, Kerry?" said Herbert, as the stranger passed on.

"I know the voice well," said Kerry, "though he thought to disguise it.
That's Sam Wylie, and it's not for any thing good he's here."

Scarcely were the words spoken, when four fellows sprang down upon and
seized them.

"This is our man," said one of the party, as he held Herbert by the
collar, with a grasp there was no resisting; "but secure the other
also."

Herbert's resistance was vain, although spiritedly made, and stifling
his cries for aid, they carried him along for some little distance to a
spot, where a chaise was standing with four mounted dragoons on either
side. Into this he was forced, and seated between two men in plain
clothes, the word was given to start.

"You know your orders if a rescue be attempted," said a voice, Herbert
at once knew to be Hemsworth's.

The answer was lost in the noise of the wheels; for already the horses
were away at the top of their speed, giving the escort all they could do
to keep up beside them.

CHAPTER XLVII. THE DAY OF RECKONING

Never had the O'Donoghue and Kate passed a day of more painful anxiety,
walking from window to window, whenever a view of the glen might be
obtained, or listening to catch among the sounds of the storm for
something that should announce Mark's return; their fears increased as
the hours stole by, and yet no sign of his coming appeared.

The old castle