excursion round the passages and byways of
the castle. She had been "up-stairs, and down
stairs, and into my lady's chamber." With a
dark shawl covering her usually gaudy dress,
with her ringlets pushed out of her eyes, with
the likeness of her lover a little awry upon her
forehead, and with her finger laid on her lip,
Miss Madge was in the habit of going prying
about the servants' quarters, listening at the
doors, taking cold in her eyes with looking
through the key-hole of Sir Archie's study
door. But it must not be thought that Miss
Madge had any sinister motive in these
excursions. She did not want to know if Mike were
making love to pretty Bridget, nor to be able
to report that Polly was wearing her ladyship's
new velvet spenser of an evening. It was
only that poor Madge was possessed by the
fearful uneasy spirit of the times. She went
prying about in hopes of picking up the smallest
scrap of news, like a famished bird seeking for
crumbs. She had not always lived in a remote
castle like this; she had been used to more
liberty, which she liked in her wild way. The
servants were not offended at her spying.
They pitied her for having to live in times like
these in a drawing-room, where tongues had
less freedom than they allowed to themselves
in the kitchen or pantry.

"I ax your pardon, ma'am, for the
bluntherin' big brute that I am! But the divil a
bit of informashun is to be had these couple o'
days!" Pat would say, indulgently, when he
met her in some shady corner, and nearly ran
her down with his tray.

Perhaps it was the workings of this uneasy
spirit, the desire to talk upon forbidden
subjects, that drew her so near to Hester, who had
evidently a kindred hunger for the secrets of
the times.

"Ah, my dear," she said, parenthetically,
sipping her tea, in the pauses between her
stories of her political experiences, "I was not
always shut up in a stifling place like this,
where nothing changes from year's end to
year's end but the weathercock. Not but what
it is comfortable, and respectable, and—
ancestral, and all that. And some people must
live walled up in an old castle, or family tradition,
the poetry of an ancient lineage, and that
sort of thing, would be scattered over the world
and quite lost. But I lived in Dublin, my
dear; this time last year I was in Dublin, and
I warrant you I knew then which way the wind
was blowing!"

By this time the Honourable Madge had
finished her tea, and possessed herself of the
poker, her favourite plaything. And she fell to
raking out the two lower bars of the grate, till
a long red gulf was laid bare, with rough heads
and promontories; or it might be a wide fiery
dungeon, with jutting buttresses of walls here
and there, a rugged stooping roof, blocks,
benches, and chains. This last idea was the
one which Miss Madge laid strong hold of.

"Christmas in the dungeon, my dear," she
said, with, a little wave of the poker, explaining
the vision which she had unveiled behind the
bars. "Scene, Kilmainham Jail; time, the
blessed Christmas in the year of disaster, seventeen
hundred and ninety-six. 'When the pie
was opened the birds began to sing,' my dear.
See how they all crowd round the table, looking
into the dish!"

Miss Madge's voice was triumphant, the
poker was balanced on her fingers, her eyes
were riveted on the burning cinders. Hester,
all excited, a little frightened, but very curious,
sat gazing from Miss Madge to the fire, and
from the fire to Miss Madge.

"Russell breaks the crust," Madge went on,
"and sinks back in his chair. See him, the
brave, gentle Russell! Nelson starts up, and
dives his hand into dish. Young Teeling—
poor boy!—claps his hands and shouts, Hurrah!
'Three cheers for our Christmas dish! Three
cheers for the prisoners' pasty!' Ah, my
dear, it was an excellent pasty, though I say
it, who should not say it; for I helped at the
making of it. I was staying with my friend
M. I will not mention her name, my dear, for
fear of accidents," said Miss Madge, looking
over her shoulder. " My good friend M., as
notable a housekeeper and as sound a politician
as could be found in or out of the three
kingdoms. She had got papers in charge—a
bundle—worth a sackful of patriots' heads.
She fretted about it so much that the flesh was
fading off her bones. Those who entrusted the
papers to her keeping said, 'We have come to
so desperate a pass that only a woman's
ingenuity can help us.' And she turned to me in
her dismay and whispered, 'Madge, could you
not manage a disguise, and offer for a situation
as turnkey?' But I said, 'M. (I will not
mention her name, my dear), I said, my good
friend, why should I put myself so much out of
my way when you are such an excellent hand at
making a pasty.'

"'Making a pasty?' she said; but there
never was a sharper woman at taking a hint.
And we made the pasty. Such a pie crust!
Blown up high like a soap bubble, rich and
melting, crisp, and of a lovely light brown.
And I'll warrant you there was inside meat
substantial for prison digestion, and seasoning
fit to tickle prison palates. Letters, my dear,
and foreign newspapers, and home newspapers,
with a goodly supply of writing materials to
help to raise the crust. And never fear but we
made our petition skilfully to the authorities,
representing our womanly wish to give the
captives—so sadly far from the heads of their
own dinner-tables—a harmless little treat on
Christmas-day. And never fear but the governor
was pleased to take in the dish,
accompanied as it was by one similar in size, smell,
and general perfection of appearance which
came craving a humble corner on his governorship's
own board. My dear, a pasty of such
exquisite flavour was never turned out of an
oven. The governor and all the little governors
tasted of it, and our captives got their pie.

"My dear, I was so uplifted about it that