energies were directed to the guiding
of the mare down a steep incline. For a space Milbanke was conscious of
a dangerously accelerated pace; then the white piers of a large gate
sped past them, and he was aware of the black shadow of overhanging
trees.

Something unusual, something faintly prophetic and only vaguely
comprehended, touched his prosaic nature at that moment. He was
entering on a new phase of life. Without conscious preparation he was
to see the world from a new point of view. With a fresh spur of anxious
curiosity, he turned again to Burke.

"But your master?" he asked. "Has he changed much? Will I see a great
alteration?"

For an added space the old man remained mute, while he piloted the trap
up the sweep of avenue, with that irresistible desire for a fine finish
that animates every Irish driver. Then, as they spun round the final
curve, as the great square house loomed out of the mist, he replied
without slackening his vigilance.

"Is it changed?" he repeated half to himself. "Sure, if the Almighty
doesn't change a man in thirty year, it stands to rason that the divil
must."

CHAPTER II

To English ears the reply was curious. Yet with all its vagueness, all
its racial inclination towards high colour, it held the germ of truth
that frequently lies in such utterances. With native acuteness it threw
out a suggestion, without betraying a confidence.

An instant after it was spoken, there was a final flourish of the whip,
a scrape of wheels on the wet gravel, a straining and creaking of damp
leather, and the trap drew up before the big white house. Milbanke
caught a fleeting suggestion of a shabby door with pillars on which
rested a square balcony of rusty iron, a number of unlighted windows, a
general air of grandeur and decay curiously blended. Then the hall door
opened, and a voice, whose first note roused a hundred memories, rolled
out across the darkness.

"Is that you, James? Come in!--come in! Keep the mare in hand, Burke.
Steady, now, James! Let me hold the rug and give you a hand down. She's
a little rogue, and might be making a bolt for her stable. Well, you're
as welcome as the flowers in May! Come in!--come in!"

It was over in a flash--the arrival, the tempestuous greeting, the hard
grip of Asshlin's hand; and the two men were facing each other in the
candle-lit hall.

"Well, you're welcome, James!" Asshlin repeated. "You're welcome! Let
me have a look at you. I declare i