. You have heard about his mother,
haven't you?"

"Was that young Fitzgerald?" said the other senator, apparently more
interested in this subject than he had even been about the pretty
riding. "I wish I'd looked at him. Poor fellow! How does he bear it?"

"Upon my word then, I never saw a fellow so changed in my life. He
and I were like brothers, but he would hardly speak to me. Perhaps I
ought to have written to him. But he says it's not settled."

"Oh, that's all gammon. It's settled enough. Why they've given up the
place. I heard all about it the other day from Sullivan O'Leary. They
are not even making any fight. Sullivan O'Leary says they are the
greatest fools in the world."

"Upon my word I think young Fitzgerald was mad just now. His manner
was so very odd."

"I shouldn't wonder. I know I should go mad if my mother turned out
to be somebody else's wife." And then they both sauntered away.

Herbert was doubly angry with himself as he made his way down
into the noble old hall,--angry that he had gone where there was
a possibility of his being recognized, and angry also that he
had behaved himself with so little presence of mind when he was
recognized. He felt that he had been taken aback, that he had been
beside himself, and unable to maintain his own dignity; he had run
away from his old intimate friend because he had been unable to bear
being looked on as the hero of a family tragedy. "He would go back
to Ireland," he said to himself, "and he would never leave it again.
Perhaps he might teach himself there to endure the eyes and voices of
men around him. Nothing at any rate should induce him to come again
to London." And so he went home to bed in a mood by no means so happy
as might have been expected from the result of the day's doings. And
yet he had been cheerful enough when he went to Mr. Die's chambers in
the morning.

CHAPTER XLII.

ANOTHER JOURNEY.

On the following day he did go back to Ireland, stopping a night
in Dublin on the road, so that his mother might receive his letter,
and that his cousin and Somers might receive those written by Mr.
Prendergast. He spent one night in Dublin, and then went on, so that
he might arrive at Castle Richmond after dark. In his present mood he
dreaded to be seen returning, even by his own people about the place.

At Buttevant he was met by his own car and by Richard, as he had
desired; but he found that he was utterly frustrated as to that
method