"What more would you have?"

"Nothing more-not so much from you, dear Connor; only that you should leave off thinking anything about love, and let us be true friends. I have been to blame, for I used to want everybody to be in love with me; but I am changed now. I am tired of lovers, and I want you for a friend to whom I can talk comfortably, and who will help me."

"That's all! And you stand there smiling and holding out your hand as if you did not even believe that what you say is a terrible disappointment, when I really do love you so much, and was so sure that you cared about me, at least a little, in the other way.'

"That was a pity; but friendship is better than nothing, is it not? and we can be good friends."

"Tell me the whole truth. Is it that you think Pelham loves you better than I do?"

"Good evening, Mr. Connor Daly; I am going into the house."

He caught her dress as she was disappearing through the window. "Babette, dear Babette, don't go away angry with me. We are friends if you like, and I will never say another word to vex you as long as I live."

"Then let us shake hands, and come into the house to supper."

"No, not yet. Come back to the end of the balcony; I have something else. to say to you, something that O'Donnell advised me to tell you, though we

deal easier for me to speak than I shall find it now. Yes-come; it's nothing about myself, so you may as well listen."

They walked to the far end of the little balcony; but Connor crossed his arms on the parapet, and took a long look down into the street before he entered on his new subject.

"Babette," he began, looking up at last, "the hardest part is, that as you won't believe how much I love you, you won't give me credit for being as generous as I really am in telling you the story I have brought you here to hear. You'll never know what an effort it costs me to put away my last chance with my own hands, and quite give you up, by telling you this-for I know it's just that I shall be doing."

"I thought you were not going to talk about yourself."

"Only those few words; and I think you might be kind to a fellow who feels he is cutting the last inch of ground. from under his feet, and who is sore and bruised enough with one fall already."

"Dear Connor, when you think it over you will see I am right; but you said we were not to discuss that again."

"I will make myself of consequence to Ireland if I am not to you, and some day you sha'n't be ashamed of having had me for your first lover; for, Babette, I did love you first-long before Pelham began to take any notice of you. But now I'll go on to what you'll care to hear. I meant to tell it you when I was sure of you, when the pleasure you would take in it would be pride in the brother I was giving you. Babette, Pelham has had a chance, that I would have given the world for, of punishing a fellow who spoke disrespectfully of you, and complained publicly that you had jilted him after giving him good reason to think you cared for him. D'Arcy was present when the quarrel took place, and says that no one could have behaved better than Pelham all through. The other was such a vulgar low fellow, he deserved nothing but the thrashing he got on the spot; but

"Who could have told you? We thought we kept the duel very close; and as for the other side, they cut such a poor figure, I should have thought they would have held their tongues.'

"Such things always get talked of, I suppose. Nora Joice wrote me the whole story, my share in it as well as the rest."

"So in all this business I'm not even to have the glory of cutting my own throat. Somebody else finished off my chance, it seems, before I even knew it."

"You are mistaken, Connor, if you think that hearing this story has changed in the slightest degree my thoughts of any one but myself. I was more ashamed and unhappy than I had ever been in my life before, when I heard it, for I knew it was my vanity that had obliged some one to risk his life to save my name from being lightly spoken of, but it did not alter my way of thinking of any one else."

"You mean to say that you don't like old Pelham at all the better for his pluck in punishing the man who slandered you. Well, it would be odd if I were to begin to speak up for him to you, but I must say I don't understand your not being the least touched or grateful."

"I did not say that."

'Babette, I think I see what is the only other thing you can mean, but I sha'n't say it, or else you'll run away from me again. If you do not like him the better for that, it must be because—

"You said you would not say it." "Then shake hands upon it. It's all over with me, and I give in, and I'll do my best not to grudge you to Pelham,

for he has behaved very well to me since he has been the head of the house, and been friendly to D'Arcy, which counts for a great deal with me. I would not have believed this could happen in the old Whitecliffe days, but I'm not going to imitate Darby O'Roone, and complain of the sweet ways that ought to make every one who sees you proud to love you, and ready to serve you all his life for nothing."

"No, not for nothing, Connor; we are always to be the best friends in the world, you know; and supposing that your guess is true, don't you see I have let you know more about my thoughts than any one else in the world? I have trusted you."

"You have trusted me and you shall never repent it. Don't be angry, dear; that one kiss on your hand Pelham himself would not grudge me. It was to seal beforehand a bargain we have to make. I meant to ask it as a favour, but now it's you that'll thank me, I expect, for coming to you. I did not tell you the story of the duel for nothing. I wanted some one I could trust, and whose heart I thought was with us, to know the danger that Pelham is in from having made an enemy of Darby O'Roone. Darby has sworn to be revenged, and D'Arcy and I know, though through such secret ways that we can make no use of our knowledge, that he has set spies to work, and is plotting to convict Pelham of acting secretly for us; and by and by, if there is a rising, and things should go wrong, which is just possible, he will be prepared with what will pass for evidence against Pelham. We are ready to take the risk of failure and of all that will follow; we think that anything is better than letting our people die tamely, or submit to be packed in gangs and sent from their own land across the seas; but we don't want to have others dragged in to share the danger against their will. You see, it's my mother I'm thinking of. It would be hard on her to have Pelham touched; I don't count for so much with any one, it seems, and should have no scruple in going in for

anything that may turn up, if only he were secured from being involved in danger with me."

"But oh, Connor, surely if he does keep clear-if he has nothing to do with your conspiracies, he cannot be brought into danger."

66 "Do you suppose there were no innocent people imprisoned and hanged after '98-no spies then like O'Roone, who succeeded in wreaking their private revenge under cover of zeal for Government? Have not you learned so much Irish history as that from Ellen and me?"

Dear Connor, tell me what you think I can do. Imprisoned !-hanged! Oh, I did not know it was such dangers as those you were thinking of."

"Of course we don't mean it to be like '98 over again; we hope to succeed this time, as the French have done; but I for one shall go in for it with a gayer heart if I can secure that, whatever happens to us, O'Roone's spite will be balked of its gratification; it was mainly to trust that part of the business to you that I came here to-night."

"Tell me what I can do-and indeed, indeed”

66

There, there, don't tremble so and turn pale, or I don't know how I'll ever be able to bear it without offending you again. Why, how your eyes shine, Babette, as if I had asked you to face a dozen mad bulls, or march up to a scaffold; I believe you'd do it, and who would have thought it of you, who used to cry at getting your feet wet? Pelham's a luckier fellow than even I knew, and how I'll ever keep myself from grudging him his monstrous happiness goodness knows."

"Oh, Connor, can't you go on being serious till you have told me what you want me to do?"

"I am as serious as the grave, and don't know that I shall ever be anything else after the blow you have given me, Babette. What I want of you is only to go back to Castle Daly, and keep your brother there till the end of the summer. I can promise you that

to whatever dimensions it may, neither you nor he, nor any one belonging to you, shall be in any danger. I want your brother there to secure the presence of one honest witness to the part! Pelham takes; some one who will discriminate fairly between encouraging disaffection and his efforts to protect the poor wretches whom O'Roone, for his own purposes, is hunting from their homes. Of course the wretches are most of them with us. How would they not be? But I believe your brother, even at such a time as this, will be just enough not to confuse common humanity with disaffection to Government. What with deaths and desertion, there is no one left of any standing in the neighbourhood, except ourselves and the O'Roones; and whichever way events fall out, Darby will have no other object but to scrape out some advantage to himself and some ill to his enemies through all."

"How I hate to think that I ever let him believe I tolerated his flattery."

'Well, Babette, when you count up your rejected lovers and flatterers, don't put me in the same list with Darby O'Roone, that's all I ask. I don't say I've never tried to put a bit of the blarney over you for fun, but it was only the words that were froth; there was the real thing, strong and sound, underneath, though you don't choose to believe it. Hark! there's the music beginning again. Some one will come to look for you in a minute. I suppose I had better say good-bye; and you'll give me your hand to kiss again, I know."

"Won't you stay a little longer and see your aunt and uncle and cousins? They are all here to-night."

I

"Not for worlds-the only pleasant thought I'll ever get out of this evening will be the recollection of how skilfully I dodged them the hour and a half while I was waiting to get hold of you. stood in the shade of that statue for at least ten minutes, and heard my uncle Charles entertain that old man there in a wig with his opinion of his Irish relations, and of Young Ireland, as repre

"That tall gentleman is a Privy Councillor."

"Then he knows Uncle Charles's receipt for governing Ireland, and devoutly I hope he will get it acted upon, so as to give us a chance. You're not afraid, Babette. You know you'll be safe at Castle Daly whatever happens. I take it that you've promised me to go there.'

"For Ellen's sake and your mother's."

"Yes, yes, that's understood; it's my mother of course you go to take care of. Even you can't get along without the blarney, you see, Babette, after all."

"Oh, Connor, when I've let you say and guess more than I shall dare to think of when I have trusted you

"And destroyed me altogether." "You'll go to Paris to-morrow, and forget it all."

"I sha'n't; I shall go back to Dublin, and but for the thought of the fighting that's coming, I'd be ready to hang myself. However, there is that to look forward to, and D'Arcy-and I'll go in for it all now with a free heart. Now give me your hand quick, there's your brother coming to look for you." Connor pressed his lips fervently on the little hand held towards him, and then retreated into the furthest shade of the balcony, while Lesbia went forward to meet John in the window opening.

"No, dear John," she said sweetly; "I have not been down to supper yet; but I should like to go now with you, if you will be so good as to take me." Her floating white skirts nearly filled the window, but while she slipped her hand under his arm, John managed to glance round among the shrubs, and caught sight of a coattailed figure, leaning over the iron rails. and gazing intently into the street. "One of Lesbia's numerous lovers." He was too much annoyed to risk losing his temper by further investigation. "She is an arrant coquette," he said to himself, with a sigh. "Bride is right; she cares only for conquest.

We are

bound to watch over her carefully, and not lose any chance that offers of

giving her into respectable safe keeping. Marmaduke Pelham has certainly a peculiar method of love-making; but I suppose it is love he is making to her, and for the future I will be more careful not to show him how much he bores me."

CHAPTER XXXIV.

LESBIA's first experience of the fact, that riches sometimes take the shape of fetters, holding their possessors back from the attainment of their wishes, came to her as she lay in bed late on the morning after the ball, too tired to get up, and too restless to go to sleep again. The sunshine streaming through the closed shutters was reflected in long green rays from a little heap of trinkets on the dressing table, where she had wearily thrown them on undressing last night, and conspicuous, just in the level streak of light on the floor, lay one of the bouquets of shamrock from her lace dress, that had caught on an orange-tree, and been torn away when she turned from Connor in the balcony. The whole scene rushed back on her memory, and she sat up in bed, bent her face down on her hands, and mentally acted it all over again, word by word. She had never, she thought, liked Connor half as well before as she did now, when he understood more of what lay at the bottom of her heart than any one else in the whole world. Ah, yes, and Lesbia's face, under the shelter of her clasped hands, and in the solitude of her own room, grew crimson at the thought. Ah, yes, more than that other person should ever know or would care to know. This secret alliance with Connor seemed a great gain, it as good as gave her a brother nearly of her own age, whom she need not be afraid of. A brother very unlike John-yet, how kind John had been, when he had put his arm round her, and spoken of returning to Connemara-what a curious new look had come into his eyes! Help to keep her last night's promise to Connor might be reckoned upon securely from that quarter Lesbia felt sure, and smiled

to herself, as all that was implied in John's willingness to aid her grew clear to her mind. John in love! who would have thought it!-all his learning and the talents of which Bride was so proud, not having saved him from being as silly as herself. So far the way looked tolerably clear, but from this point difficulties in the shape of social duties began to start up. A week or two ago these same prospects would have been counted pleasures, now they appeared wretched mean híndrances, standing in the way of the one thing in the world she really cared to do:-engagements for balls and pleasureparties, made with this and that grand acquaintance; proposed visits from dear friends; plans for constant meetings, and exchange of gaieties entered into with the Pelhams-and behind all these lay the worst hindrance of all, a certain cold disapproving expression that was sure to come over Bride's face whenever either she or John ventured on any remark that had a latent design of proving the superiority of Castle Daly to any other residence. How could Lesbia approach her sister while she was in this mood, and propose such a startling plan as that they should give up their London house at the beginning of the season, and abandoning all engagements, go off suddenly to Connemara, where people had nothing to eat, and were dying by thousands of fever, and were expected soon to begin cutting each other's throats by way of change of suffering? There was not one good or even plausible reason to assign for such a proceeding, except that secret one which Lesbia thought her lips could no more speak out to Bride, than her shoulders could put forth wings to carry her across the sea. If only a plausible motive for breaking her intimacy with the Pelhams should arise, Bride might accept that as sufficient explanation for giving up the remaining gaieties of the season. It would certainly be awkward to be perpetually meeting people one had offended irrevocably. As these last thoughts crossed Lesbia's mind, she

hair away from her hot forehead, and rang the bell for her maid to dress her. Perhaps it might not be correct or maidenly to wish to receive an offer from a man she did not love and meant to refuse, just for the sake of affording her an excuse for leaving a place she was tired of, and going where her heart was (Lesbia acknowledged all this to herself); Bride would be shocked at such a design; but when one is a coward, and is driven into a corner, and above all, when the welfare of the person one secretly loves depends on one's movements, one cannot afford to be curious about expedients, but must be satisfied to adopt the readiest that comes to hand. And after all this expedient was less objectionable than might be thought at first sight. Its only aim was to draw rather quickly to a conclusion a sham courtship, that had no heart in it on either side, and that yet had gone so far as to necessitate some sort of explanation to end it. A little mancuvring to bring the crisis at once was surely no great matter.

"Yes," Lesbia said to her maid, who was by this time plaiting her hair before the glass, "I will be dressed in my habit, and go down to breakfast, ready for my ride. The Miss Pelhams always ride the morning after a ball, and I will send round a little note to beg them to call for me."

"And I will see that the note goes at once, Miss," the maid answered with a meaning simper that, reflected in the glass, caught Lesbia's eyes, and brought a flush of vexation and shame to her face, but did not induce her to alter her purpose.

John was puzzled and Bride triumphant at the increased inclination for the Pelhams' society Lesbia showed during the fortnight that succeeded the ball. She had always received the attentions of the family graciously, but now she appeared to have no interest in any engagement in which they were not included.

"Can you understand it, John ?" Bride asked one evening when she