nswers gently. "I am in trouble; and I want you to
help me, if you will."

She has stepped forward uninvited, and is close beside him now, looking
up into his face with eyes that have not a shadow of fear or even
distrust in them.

"There are more than yourself in the deep trouble this day, miss."

"Yes; and it is about one who is in deep trouble that I have come to
talk to you."

He has placed a chair for her full in the light of the open door, where
he can see every sign of feeling that crosses her face; but he keeps
well in the shade himself. Oh, how Honor's heart beats as she looks up
at him and realizes that in this very room the leaders of last night's
outrage may have met to arrange their plans! She is not afraid, though
her reason tells her there might be grave cause for fear in placing
herself in the hands of a treacherous man and an open enemy of her
father's house.

"Faith, miss, an' if it's all wan to you, you may do the talking and
I'll listen! Talking is mighty dangerous for the loikes of me, these
times!"

"Yes, I know," the girl replies; "but I do not want you to talk. I will
tell you what I want you to do, and then you can say, 'Yes' or 'No,' as
you think best. But, oh"--with a sudden clasping of the gloved hands
lying on her lap--"I do hope you will say 'Yes'!"

And simply and clearly, her pretty voice broken in its earnestness, her
eyes shining like stars as they fix themselves on the gray wrinkled
face before her, she tells him what it is she wants done, and how much
she can offer toward paying for the doing of it.

"It is not much," she says, looking at the small roll of Irish
pound-notes in her hand, "but it is all I have of my own in the world;
and, when he is free, he will pay you himself liberally."

The old man listens to her like one lost in a dream. She looks to him
more like an angel than a living woman as she stands there pleading so
earnestly--for, in her agitation, she has risen and is facing him, the
sunshine falling like a glory all about her.

In his excitement he takes to blessing her in Irish, and, as the rapid
words, instinct with strong feeling, [lack in the text] upon her ears,
Honor draws back disconcerted.

"Are you angry?" she says. "I thought you would have been glad to help
him! He has given up everything--friends, position, home, and country,
it may be, for this cause to which you belong."

"And I have nothing to give up but my life," the old man answers with