"And Pe——Miss O'Shaughnessy?" said
Gorman. "I used to know her. Such a pretty
little girl!"

"Ah, poor thing, I believe she has grown up
very plain. She is never seen. How they live
in that old empty castle, I cannot think. In
town the other day (we call our posting village
'town' here, Mr. Humphrey), I heard a shop-
man say across the counter, before delivering
a parcel, 'You'll pay me for this, Miss
O'Shaughnessy?' And the purchase in question
was only some yards of printed calico, to make
a dress for herself, I should think. Heighho!
it's such a very sad thing to be poor." Lady
Fitzgibbon lifted her eyebrows, and smoothed
down a green velvet fold of her dress, and looked
quite able to make a supper of bank-notes.

I dreamed that night that I saw her doing so;
but that after she had finished her meal she fell
into convulsions as if she were poisoned. It was
not a pleasant dream, and, somehow, I never
could look at the widow afterwards without
thinking of it.

And now, Tom, I have introduced you to one
of my heroines, Lucretia Fitzgibbon. Mark
her well. I am afraid I have not made her
clear enough to you. Note her splendid eyes,
her fascinating manner, the excellent footing on
which she had placed herself with the world in
general; lastly, her enormous riches. We
returned with her to Kilbanagher Park the
next day. Tom, what a place that was! Not
a venerable old homestead like Ballyhuckamore;
all new, bran-new, but gorgeous and voluptuous
as a palace in the Arabian Nights. Astonishing
little woman! What a taste! and what a purse!
"Lucky, O'Gorman," said I, "will be that man
who shall replace the lamented Fitzgibbon (was
he knight, or was he baronet?), and hang up
his hat for good at Kilbanagher Park."

But now for my other heroine. Tracey's old
friends rallied round him, and we were soon on
good terms with the best people in the
neighbourhood. As for him, he had so far forgotten
his former self, that I was obliged on some
occasions to interfere and wake his memory.

"Tracey," said I, "I am not going to
have my house-warming without little Peg
O'Shaughnessy." (The people were to stay a
fortnight at the Hall, and every amusement that
Lady Fitzgibbon could devise was in course of
preparation for their gratification.) "She may
have grown up plain, and wear a calico dress,
but I've had a curiosity to see that little girl
ever since the first time you mentioned her.
Her father may be doting, as they say, and
Castle Shaughnessy may be the veriest old rat-
hole in the kingdom; nevertheless, my dear
fellow, for the sake of old times you ought to go
and pay them a visit. And for the sake of new
times and coming festivities, I will go with you."

Gorman abased himself for his negligence,
and we set out together for the residence of
the doting Sir Pierce, and his daughter who was
"never seen."

If ever there were a wild old ramshackle
barrack standing on a sea-shore out of all human
ken, and altogether within ghostly boundaries,
that dreary edifice is you, O Castle Shaughnessy!
A wide uneven sward, too unkempt to be called
a lawn, straggled from the entrance down to a
rugged beach. On one side stood the ruins of
a chapel surrounded by the family burying-
ground. The waves at high tide of a winter's
night must break over the tombstones. Not
a tree was to be seen, not a leaf of ivy clung to
the castle walls, which were weather-stained in
a way that made the windows look like eyes that
were always weeping. We were admitted, after
some parley, by a shabby old retainer with a
knowing eye, who seemed to regard us as
wolves in sheep's clothing. We entered a
barren hall, whence all furniture had fled save
some horns of elks brandishing their fangs over
the several doors; and were bidden to wait in
a long empty dining-room with marks of
departed pictures on the walls, and some broken
panes in the whistling clattering windows.
Under these last, mustered the huge cavernous
rocks, snug berths for smugglers' craft, among
which the green angry sea writhed, drenching
them with torrents of foam. A monotonous
thunder from without made bass to the shrieking
of the wind through the crannies of the
room.

"Poor Peg! poor Peg!" said Tracey, staring
into all the blank corners. You see we had
lunched at Kilbanagher Park, and the contrast
between that dwelling and this, was, to say the
least, noticeable.

The man came back and conducted us through
endless dilapidated staircases and passages. It
seemed that Sir Pierce was not so far doting but
that he remembered an old friendly name. We
were led into a small room at the south side of
the castle, into which seemed to have been
gathered all the fag-ends of comfort which
had survived the general wreck of that place.
Alack! they made a sorry show after all.
Poor Sir Pierce, a feeble old man with a
restless choleric face, sat by a fire of turf logs
built on a flagged hearth. The floor had no
carpet, the windows no curtains, the master's
arm-chair was worn by the constant chafing of
his impatient body. A tame eagle sat on the
shoulder of an attenuated couch in the window,
with his bright eye fixed on the sinking sun.

The old man rose grandly, and received us
with the air of a prince giving audience to
subjects; but, looking in Tracey's face, broke down
and burst into tears. He was not quite astray in
his mind after all, only a little maddened by pride
and misfortune. He soon resumed his state.

"Bid some of those people tell Miss O'Shaughnessy
I wish to see her," he said to his attendant.

"Those people" were probably the shades of
departed servants who had once tripped over one
another in Castle Shaughnessy. The one shabby
old retainer bowed his grey head and went.

Miss O'Shaughnessy was out walking, but
presently made her appearance, evidently quite
unprepared to behold us visitors. She was a
tall girl wrapped in a plaid shawl, which looked