bourhood of the castle. "War! war!" they
seemed calling to one another across the trees.

Another turning, and Sir Archie checked his
horse, and sat gazing on the scene. There was
the castle, a pile of hoary grandeur, with its
roots in a green slope and its massive turrets in
solemn relief against the burnished sky. There
was the banshee's tower, the dwelling of the
spirit who watched over the fortunes of the
house of O'Neal. There was the face upon its
side, sculptured in black marble, which had
been placed there no one knew how, and which
was to fall from its height and crumble into
dust when the race of O'Neal should fail. There
was the long rampart, with its rows of cannon
levelled this moment at the sunset, its watch-
tower at either end growing up out of the lough,
hooded in ivy, with steps winding into the
water. Beyond all these was the wide, shining,
charmed Lough Neagh, stretching like a great
sea to the horizon, shuffling gold and crimson
from ripple to ripple of its little waves, baffling
the eyes that would fain look into its enchanted
depths for a peep of the " round towers of
other days." Away round the edge of the
enchanted lough crept the lovely shores, fringed
with stately trees, streaked with pale shell-
strewn beach, enriched with glowing drifts of
wandering flowers, that carried their bloom to
the very margin of the water. Beautiful are
the banks of this weird Lough Neagh as the
ideal dwelling-place of a poet.

"And God has made our land so fair!" said
Sir Archie, bitterly, groaning as he thought of
the agonised hearts that were rushing on death
from end to end of the country. " Heaven has
showered boons upon us surely. The misrule
of men has added horror and desolation to the
list."

There were no other guests at Shane's Castle
that night. Sir Archie found his lordship alone.
The dinner passed almost in silence. The guest
was pale and grave, the host a little absent in
his manner, albeit mindful of the courtesies of
the occasion. The well-trained servants made
strange mistakes, and came and went
breathlessly, afraid to lose a word that might be
spoken by those they served. But little was
said between those who dined till the attendants
had disappeared. Then host and guest sat over
their wine, looking out upon the shifting shining
lough, haloed with the mingled glory of its
natural beauty and the glamour of its mystical
traditions.

"This wine is excellent," said Sir Archie,
breaking the silence.

"The wine is good enough," said Lord
O'Neal, impatiently. "I did not bring you
here, however, to praise my wine."

"I know it," said Sir Archie. " I have been
waiting for you to speak."

"I beg your pardon," said his lordship.
"These times are enough to break a man's
temper. Well, you have come here at the risk
of your life to hear what I have to say to you.
Let me say it at once, for at a moment's notice
we may be interrupted. I have to tell you
that you are a marked man, suspected of being
secretly a leader of the rebels. I would counsel
you to enlist under government at once, to
take an open decided part, which will silence
enemies — which will save you from
destruction."

Sir Archie, pale and stern, put down his
glass, leaned forward on the table, and looked
his host in the face.

"And you are an Irishman," he said, " who
give me this advice?"

Lord O'Neal's eye fell. A dark blush sprang
to his face, and mounted to his very hair.

"I am an Irishman," he said, " and I give
you this advice. I give it you because patriotism
is useless at this crisis. England has been too
clever to leave us strength to succeed in such a
struggle as the present. Our veins have been
bled to make her strong to crush us. She will
crush us, and she will not spare us one agony in
the operation. Munro! I would not see your
name and race swept off the land: never to
speak of your six feet of noble manhood, which
I have loved. For, Munro! we have been friends!"

"Ay, O'Neal!" said Sir Archie, and laid his
hand on the lord's open outstretched palm. A
long close clasp, and then the hand of each
was withdrawn, and the two sat silent, gazing
on the shifting, glittering, mystical lake. Maybe
it told them the truth, that they never should
sit so together again; that ere many days had
passed one of them should kiss the dust, cut
down to the death at his own gates; the other
should be a wanderer in bitter banishment.

Sir Archie was the first to speak.

"O'Neal," he said, "no two sons of this
distracted country need quarrel because their
opinions differ as to the possible cure of her
misery, so long as those opinions are grounded
upon honesty. We live in the midst of
inextricable confusion and horror. Our suffering
blinds us, and no wonder if we dash against
each other, rushing about madly, looking for
some outlet from despair. I believe with you
that no such outlet will be forced in the present
struggle."

"None," said Lord O'Neal, gloomily.

"Listen to me then," said Sir Archie. "I
will not buy my own safety by accepting a
situation as executioner of my tortured
countrymen. I ——"
"Hold!" cried Lord O'Neal, fiercely. " I
am not a Castlereagh!"

"God forbid!" said Sir Archie. " But
neither am I your judge. You know your own
conscience best. I am not going to reproach
you, but to expose to you my own views and
intentions. In the first place I may tell you
that the suspicions you speak of are unfounded,
for I am grieved — ay, ashamed— to have to say
that I am not a leader of the rebels. I ought
to have been a leader of the rebels, and so
ought you, and every man who has influence and
power in the country. We have been
systematically, and in cold blood, goaded to
resistance. If we had all arisen as a man and resisted,