and I can't get at them. Put
yourself in my place, sir, and you would not find it very pleasant. And
there's Tom, too--with all his fine-hearted Christianity--vowing
vengeance on Olive, and threatening to turn her away from the door if
she ever dares to show her face here.'

'I do not think that she will ever molest you or your brother.'

'I am quite of your opinion, Captain. Olive will give me a pretty wide
berth, unless it is her interest to see me; and then all Tom's rough
speeches wouldn't turn her from her purpose. For tenacity and getting
her own way, I'd back her against any woman.'

'Well, as you say, there is nothing to be gained by talking.' returned
Michael, rising from his chair; but at this moment Mr. O'Brien entered.

'I hope I am not interrupting you, Captain; but it is getting late, and
I was thinking you would take a snack with us. The women are dishing up
the dinner--just a baked shoulder of mutton and potatoes under it. We
are plain folk, but Prissy and I will be glad and proud if you will join
us, sir;' and, after a moment's hesitation, Michael consented.

He had had no idea how late it was; they would already be sitting down
to luncheon at Woodcote. It would be better for him to take some food
before he set out on his cold drive home.

'If you will allow me to leave you directly afterwards,' he observed;
and, as Mat left the room that moment, he took the opportunity to give
Mr. O'Brien a brief _resume_ of the conversation.

'He begged me to keep it all dark,' he finished; 'he is thinking more of
his children than himself. But I told him that such a course would be
impossible.'

'And you spoke the truth, sir; and no good would come of such
crookedness. But Mat meant well; the lad has a good heart, and I do not
doubt he has a sore conscience when he thinks of all the evil he has
wrought. Leave him with me, sir; I can manage him best. There, I hear
Prissy calling to us, and we will just take our places.'

Michael felt faint and weary, and the homely viands seemed very
palatable to him; but he noticed how Matthew O'Brien's want of appetite
seemed to distress his brother.

'You are eating nought, lad,' he kept saying at intervals, and once he
bade Prissy fetch the remains of a meat pie that Mat had enjoyed the
previous days; 'maybe he will find it more toothsome,' he said in his
hearty way; but Mat would have nothing to say to it.

'You let me be, Tom,' he said at last; 'a man has not always