"Am I privileged to know whither you have gone to seek a theme for your grave thoughts ?" he asked, with a cold smile.

"Such themes are ever at hand now," she replied. "Every courier brings an abundant supply."

"Nay, not of such as suit your meditations. You have no concern in the raids Inchiquin is making in Cork, nor in the skirmishes between Monroe's devout cavaliers and O'Neill's naked legions in the North."

"Yet even in such things do I interest me."

"Then have I news of moment to give you. A courier has passed southwards with the news that a fierce battle has been fought in Ulster. Blood has flowed freely, and the dead lie thick on the banks of the Blackwater.

The cheeks of the maiden grew pale at the tidings.

"Who are the victors ?" she asked, with trembling voice, heedless of the keen eyes that watched every change of her countenance. "O'Neill."

"Thank Heaven !" exclaimed the lady, fervently. "Are his losses great ?"

"Only seventy-five men killed, and but one officer wounded." "Have you heard his name?" she inquired, with anxiety it was impossible to hide.

"Your neighbour, Colonel O'Farrell; but there is no cause for alarm on his account. His hurt is but slight."

There was an ill-concealed irony in the last words which brought a blush to Mary's cheek.

"Said I not well that themes for grave thought are abundant ?” she asked, endeavouring to give the conversation a new turn.

"I will not gainsay it now," replied Plunkett, "though this makes me hesi tate to say I have come to add to the number."

"Nay, we have talked enough on momentous topics for the present. We shall return to them another time. I must away to other duties," and she turned from the window.

"Stay, Miss Dillon," interposed Plunkett, laying his hand on her arm, "to hear but one word on what is for me the most momentous of all questions."

She trembled violently, but made no reply.
"To-morrow I leave Duneevin, and return to Louth.

I have not

words to thank you for the kindness to which I owe my life. Nor have I sought you here to speak my thanks.

further favour-the greatest you can bestow."

"It is ?"

I have come to ask a

"That you would make happy the life you have preserved, that you would consent to share the fortune to which I have been restored through you."

Distress and perplexity were pourtrayed in every feature of Mary Dillon's face.

"Mr. Plunkett," she replied, in a low voice, "it cannot be. You ask what I cannot grant, what my duties to others oblige me to refuse."

The reply was given in a manner which left no room for hope to the rejected suitor. His pale face became paler with anger and disappointment, and the scar upon his brow grew hideously livid. "I thought it would have been so,' ," he muttered, bitterly. "The arts which win a lady's heart I am not skilled in, and now this cursed seam upon my face spoils my slender chance of ever finding favour in woman's eyes. I cannot blame you for your decision, Miss Dillon," he proceeded in the same bitter tone. "I am but an unlikely suitor and do sadly lack the gifts with which some feathered cavalier will win the heart of which I am unworthy."

Mr. Plunkett," returned the lady, "you do much mistake the motives by which I am influenced. I have pleaded as the grounds of my refusal my duty to my father and sister. My presence is, I believe, necessary to their happiness, and so long as it is I cannot quit them."

"And this," he asked, "is the sole motive of your refusal ?" "It is the principal one, and is all sufficient."

Plunkett paused and bent his restless eyes upon the floor. After a moment's reflection he raised them again and fixed them on the anxious and perplexed face before him.

"Should the time come when this motive no longer existed, would your answer be other than it is now."

"It is idle to say what would be my feelings in circumstances which cannot exist."

"Nay, such circumstances are not impossible. The day may come when as the wife of Lucas Plunkett you could best do a daughter's and a sister's duty. Should that day come, might I hope for a more favourable acceptance of my suit ?"

"Should such an occasion arise," returned the lady, "I shall then as now be guided by my duty to those whom I am most bound to love."

"Be it so," answered Plunkett.

"More than this I will not ask. Should that day, which neither of us can now foresee, arrive, I will not fail to remind you of your resolve."

"And it shall come, haughty lady," he muttered, as Mary Dillon left the room. "The chances of war bring with them strange revo

lutions."

CHAPTER XVI.

FOREWARNINGS OF EVIL.

"Coming events cast their shadows before."

Campbell.

We will devote but a few words to the events which fill up the two succeeding years of our country's history. During that period the Irish party in the Irish government gained some victories and experienced not a few reverses. Its triumphs, however, were more than connterbalanced by its defeats, and at the close of the period to which we refer it was hurrying fast to its fall.

True to the policy which he had marked out for himself, the Nuncio, after the battle of Benburb, rejected the peace concluded with Ormonde. The worthless and degrading compact was condemned by an ecclesiastical assembly, presided over by Rinuccini, and as soon as the armed force of the nation declared for the pronouncements of the clergy, the authors and abettors of the peace were imprisoned in Kilkenny castle, and the government passed, for a time, into the hands of a clerical council.

The Nuncio and his following saw clearly that the Ormondist faction formed the fatally weak point in the national government, and they attempted, after their manner, to effect its overthrow. Their mode of procedure was in harmony with the maxims of gospel mildness, but wofully at variance with the dictates of carnal wisdom. The leaders of the obnoxious faction were seized, and subjected to an imprisonment which had nothing of the disgrace and little of the irksomeness of captivity. Their communications with their friends outside were uncontrolled, they intrigued and plotted as freely as when they sat by the council board, laughed at the half-hearted adversaries, whose scruples they turned to such good account, and "drank toasts in flagons of beer" to the downfall of clerical supremacy. Preston, vacillating as he was incompetent, was continued in the command of the Confederate army of Leinster, and aided, as persistently as his natural weakness of character permitted, the faction to which he belonged. The prisoners found their way again to their seats at the council-board, the influence of the ecclesiastical party, and with it the influence of the "Old Irish," steadily declined, and once more the wishes and wants of the Marquis of Ormonde gave shape and direction to the policy of the rulers of Ireland.

The Marquis took but slight pains to mark his appreciation of this subserviency. Unable to hold the Castle of Dublin, he chose, notwithstanding the loyal professions of the Council of Kilkenny, to give the King's chief fortress in Ireland into the keeping of the rebel Parliament. He was paid thirteen thousand pounds for his treachery, and retired to England, but eventually joined Henrietta Maria in her exile in France.

The Leinster forces of the new council, commanded by the rash and inconstant Preston, were defeated with great slaughter by Jones, the Parliamentarian commander of Dublin Castle; the Munster troops under Viscount Taaffe were routed by Inchiquin, and it was only by the prompt appearance of O'Neill and his Ulster regiments on the scene of these disasters that the Confederation was saved from premature annihilation.

Meantime the sycophants of the Council, though their favourite idol had turned his face from them, did not grow a whit less fervent in their idolatry. James Marquis of Ormonde had done a deed which would have added infamy to a felon's name, but he was still the object of their servile homage. The glory of English court-favour still shone about him, and before the altar, round which this halo glitters, men such as they were have always bowed. They persistently intrigued for his turn to Ireland as viceroy of the kingdom. To

crush the opposition offered by O'Neill, they leagued themselves with the inhuman Inchiquin, they grasped in fawning friendship the hand that was reeking with the blood of the wretched people they pretended to govern, and to this titled assassin, whose name had become a watchword of terror in southern Ireland, they gave command over the districts he had lately ravaged with fire and sword. The combined forces of Preston and Inchiquin were directed against O'Neill, and the tardy and cautious Clanrickarde levied troops beyond the Shannon, to join them in crushing the only general of the Confederation who fought or cared for the freedom of Ireland. As a last and desperate resource, in presence of the ruin with which the nation was threatened, the Papal Nuncio solemnly excommunicated all who abetted or adhered to the truce with Inchiquin, and laid under interdict the cities which should recognise it.

For reasons which had something to do with state policy and much to do with the laws of church discipline, a large section of the hierarchy and clergy of the country resisted this exercise of the Nuncio's powers. A twofold war was thus enkindled within the Confederation; powerful forces under the most insincere of the Irish patriots and the most dastardly of Irish renegades took the field against O'Neill, and rival schools of theologians argued in the interest of the respective belligerents.

It was a cold evening early in the harsh winter which closed the year 1648. Along the shores of Lough Ree the bare trees swayed to and fro, with palsied restlessness, in the chilling wind, moaning and sighing, as if tortured by the fierce gusts which shook their branches. The waves rolled in an angry crowd across the lake, hissing and seething as they tossed their white crests into the air, and breaking at length in sullen tumult upon the shore. The shutters were made fast in the hall of Duneevin Castle, and the family group, of which Mr. Lucas Plunkett was again a casual member, sat round the fire. The blazing faggots crackled on the hearth with cheerful sound, mocking the doleful coranach of the lonely wind outside.

"Truly a wild night," said Arthur Dillon, drawing his chair closer to the fire. "I do pity the wretches who must rest them to-night on the wild moor."

"There be many in that plight at this moment," remarked Plunkett. "O'Neill's ragged kernes must content them with such a shelter. Having come among Clanrickarde's people as he has come, it is probable they will not inconvenience themselves to show him hospitality."

"It is said that he met with a stubborn resistance crossing the river.' "Stubborn, ay, very stubborn," rejoined Plunkett; "the check he has met with must warn him that the excursions of his creaghts and himself are nearly over."

"Yet, methinks his power is still formidable. He has kept six of your best generals at bay all the summer, and Inchiquin is not yet done congratulating himself on his latest escape from the clutches of the Ulstermen."

"They are his last successes," returned Plunkett, confidently.

"Our generals are uniting to drive him and his thieving cosherers back to starve in Ulster."

"Speak not contemptuously of The O'Neill, even though thou be not his friend," interposed the old Abbé, with an energy which he ordinarily displayed only on themes of learned controversy. "Twice has he saved from the swords of the Parliament the throats that are now hallooing him to the death."

"Truly I knew not we were so beholden to the chieftain of Ulster," replied Plunkett, with respectful sarcasm.

"Then hast thou forgotten the field of Benburb, where he stopped the Scotch on their way to Munster; and thou hast forgotten Trim, where he threw himself between Jones and the flying cavaliers of the Pale, and saved Kilkenny. Thy memory of recent events doth much need pricking."

There was a noise of voices without, distinct above the tumult of the wind. The inmates of the hall waited with much curiosity and some alarm to learn what these untimely sounds foreboded. Presently a servant entered with a letter for the master of the castle. Dillon broke the seal, and, as his eye glanced over the contents, his countenance fell.

"Evil news, father?" inquired Kathleen, who sat at his feet watching the expression of his face.

"News of evils not come but coming," answered her father. 'Ormsby's troopers have descended into Roscommon, burning the country before them, and we are warned that they will soon be upon us."

"The warning is purposeless, be assured," said Plunkett; "they will not venture themselves so near O'Neill."

"I would that I could think so," answered Dillon; "but they know too well that O'Neill will not stir to save a friend of Clanrickarde, and that since the surprise of Athlone he will do still less for a relative of Costello. The garrisons all around us have been weakened swell Clanrickarde's army; none of them dare meet the Scots without their walls. And is not the rumour afloat that O'Neill thinks of making his peace with the Parliament since the King's friends have cast him off? Though we are surrounded with armies, never were we more unprotected.'

"But we are safe here, father," argued Kathleen. "They cannot cross the lake."

"True, Kathleen," he answered. "We should be thankful that our property is the only thing they can injure. Good night! Let not those wild soldiers come to you in your dreams, and pray that you may be spared the sight of them by daylight."

The

He kissed with more than wonted tenderness his feeble child. group by the fireside broke up, and he remained alone in the room. He had sat a long time buried in deep and anxious thought, heedless of the gathering gloom and increasing chill of the apartment as the fire burned low, when the door opened softly, a light foot traversed the room, a delicate hand was laid upon him, and the gentle voice of a maiden kneeling by his side, asked in low tones: