disguise　and　intriguea　consummation　which
  would　leave　him　totally　at　the　mercy　of
  the　favoured　confidant　who　should　possess
  his　secret。
  Young　O'Mara's　reflections　were　more
  agitating　and　less　satisfactory　than　those
  of　his　companion。　He　resolved　upon
  leaving　the　country　before　two　days　had
  passed。　He　felt　that　he　could　not　fairly
  seek　to　involve　Ellen　Heathcote　in　his
  fate　by　pledge　or　promise；　until　he　had
  extricated　himself　from　those　trammels
  which　constrained　and　embarrassed　all　his
  actions。　His　determination　was　so　far
  prudent；　but；　alas！　he　also　resolved　that
  it　was　but　right；　but　necessary；　that　he
  should　see　her　before　his　departure。　His
  leaving　the　country　without　a　look　or　a
  word　of　parting　kindness　interchanged；
  must　to　her　appear　an　act　of　cold　and
  heartless　caprice；　he　could　not　bear　the
  thought。
  'No；'　said　he；　'I　am　not　child　enough
  to　say　more　than　prudence　tells　me
  ought　to　say；　this　cowardly　distrust　of　my
  firmness　I　should　and　will　contemn。
  Besides；　why　should　I　commit　myself？　It　is
  possible　the　girl　may　not　care　for　me。　No；
  no；　I　need　not　shrink　from　this　interview。
  I　have　no　reason　to　doubt　my　firmness
  nonenone。　I　must　cease　to　be　governed
  by　impulse。　I　am　involved　in　rocks
  and　quicksands；　and　a　collected　spirit；
  a　quick　eye；　and　a　steady　hand；　alone　can
  pilot　me　through。　God　grant　me　a　safe
  voyage！'
  The　next　day　came；　and　young　O'Mara
  did　not　take　his　fishing…rod　as　usual；　but
  wrote　two　letters；　the　one　to　his　father；
  announcing　his　intention　of　departing
  speedily　for　England；　the　other　to　Lady
  Emily；　containing　a　cold　but　courteous
  apology　for　his　apparent　neglect。　Both
  these　were　despatched　to　the　post…office
  that　evening；　and　upon　the　next　morning
  he　was　to　leave　the　country。
  Upon　the　night　of　the　momentous　day
  of　which　we　have　just　spoken；　Ellen　Heathcote
  glided　silently　and　unperceived　from
  among　the　busy　crowds　who　were　engaged
  in　the　gay　dissipation　furnished　by　what
  is　in　Ireland　commonly　called　a　dance
  （the　expenses　attendant　upon　which；　music；
  etc。；　are　defrayed　by　a　subscription　of　one
  halfpenny　each）；　and　having　drawn　her
  mantle　closely　about　her；　was　proceeding
  with　quick　steps　to　traverse　the　small
  field　which　separated　her　from　her　father's
  abode。　She　had　not　walked　many　yards
  when　she　became　aware　that　a　solitary
  figure；　muffled　in　a　cloak；　stood　in　the
  pathway。　It　approached；　a　low　voice
  whispered：
  'Ellen。'
  'Is　it　you；　Master　Richard？'　she　replied。
  He　threw　back　the　cloak　which　had
  concealed　his　features。
  'It　is　I；　Ellen；　he　said；　'I　have　been
  watching　for　you。　I　will　not　delay　you
  long。'
  He　took　her　hand；　and　she　did　not
  attempt　to　withdraw　it；　for　she　was　too
  artless　to　think　any　evil；　too　confiding　to
  dread　it。
  'Ellen；'　he　continued；　even　now　unconsciously
  departing　from　the　rigid　course
  which　prudence　had　marked　out；　'Ellen；
  I　am　going　to　leave　the　country；　going
  to…morrow。　I　have　had　letters　from
  England。　I　must　go；　and　the　sea　will　soon
  be　between　us。'
  He　paused；　and　she　was　silent。
  'There　is　one　request；　one　entreaty　I
  have　to　make；'　he　continued；　'I　would；
  when　I　am　far　away；　have　something　to
  look　at　which　belonged　to　you。　Will　you
  give　medo　not　refuse　itone　little　lock
  of　your　beautiful　hair？'
  With　artless　alacrity；　but　with　trembling
  hand；　she　took　the　scissors；　which　in　simple
  fashion　hung　by　her　side；　and　detached　one
  of　the　long　and　beautiful　locks　which
  parted　over　her　forehead。　She　placed　it
  in　his　hand。
  Again　he　took　her　hand；　and　twice　he
  attempted　to　speak　in　vain；　at　length　he
  said：
  'Ellen；　when　I　am　gonewhen　I　am
  awaywill　you　sometimes　remember；
  sometimes　think　of　me？'
  Ellen　Heathcote　had　as　much；　perhaps
  more；　of　what　is　noble　in　pride　than　the
  haughtiest　beauty　that　ever　trod　a　court；
  but　the　effort　was　useless；　the　honest
  struggle　was　in　vain；　and　she　burst　into
  floods　of　tears；　bitterer　than　she　had　ever
  shed　before。
  I　cannot　tell　how　passions　rise　and　fall；
  I　cannot　describe　the　impetuous　words　of
  the　young　lover；　as　pressing　again　and
  again　to　his　lips　the　cold；　passive　hand；
  which　had　been　resigned　to　him；　prudence；
  caution；　doubts；　resolutions；　all　vanished
  from　his　view；　and　melted　into　nothing。
  'Tis　for　me　to　tell　the　simple　fact；　that
  from　that　brief　interview　they　both
  departed　promised　and　pledged　to　each　other
  for　ever。
  Through　the　rest　of　this　story　events
  follow　one　another　rapidly。
  A　few　nights　after　that　which　I　have
  just　mentioned；　Ellen　Heathcote　disappeared；
  but　her　father　was　not　left　long
  in　suspense　as　to　her　fate；　for　Dwyer；
  accompanied　by　one　of　those　mendicant
  friars　who　traversed　the　country　then　even
  more　commonly　than　they　now　do；　called
  upon　Heathcote　before　he　had　had　time　to
  take　any　active　measures　for　the　recovery
  of　his　child；　and　put　him　in　possession　of
  a　document　which　appeared　to　contain
  satisfactory　evidence　of　the　marriage　of
  Ellen　Heathcote　with　Richard　O'Mara；
  executed　upon　the　evening　previous；　as　the
  date　went　to　show；　and　signed　by　both
  parties；　as　well　as　by　Dwyer　and　a　servant
  of　young　O'Mara's；　both　these　having　acted
  as　witnesses；　and　further　supported　by
  the　signature　of　Peter　Nicholls；　a　brother
  of　the　order　of　St。　Francis；　by　whom　the
  ceremony　had　been　performed；　and　whom
  Heathcote　had　no　difficulty　in　recognising
  in　the　person　of　his　visitant。
  This　document；　and　the　prompt　personal
  visit　of　the　two　men；　and　above　all；　the
  known　identity　of　the　Franciscan；　satisfied
  Heathcote　as　fully　as　anything　short
  of　complete　publicity　could　have　done。
  And　his　conviction　was　not　a　mistaken
  one。
  Dwyer；　before　he　took　his　leave；
  impressed　upon　Heathcote　the　necessity　of
  keeping　the　affair　so　secret　as　to　render　it
  impossible　that　it　should　reach　Colonel
  O'Mara's　ears；　an　event　which　would　have
  been　attended　with　ruinous　consequences　to
  all　parties。　He　refused；　also；　to　permit
  Heathcote　to　see　his　daughter；　and　even
  to　tell　him　where　she　was；　until　circumstances
  rendered　it　safe　for　him　to　visit
  her。
  Heathcote　was　a　harsh　and　sullen　man；
  and　though　his　temper　was　anything　but
  tractable；　there　was　so　much　to　please；
  almost　to　dazzle　him；　in　the　event；　that　he
  accepted　the　terms　which　Dwyer　imposed
  upon　him　without　any　further　token　of
  disapprobation　than　a　shake　of　the　head；
  and　a　gruff　wish　that　'it　might　prove　all
  for　the　best。'
  Nearly　two　months　had　passed；　and
  young　O'Mara　had　not　yet　departed　for
  England。　His　letters　had　been　strangely
  few　and　far　between；　and　in　short；　his
  conduct　was　such　as　to　induce　Colonel
  O'Mara　to　hasten　his　return　to　Ireland；
  and　at　the　same　time　to　press　an　engagement；
  which　Lord　；　his　son　Captain
  N；　and　Lady　Emily　had　made　to
  spend　some　weeks　with　him　at　his
  residence　in　Dublin。
  A　letter　arrived　for　young　O'Mara；
  stating　the　arrangement；　and　requiring　his
  attendance　in　Dublin；　which　was　accordingly
  immediately　afforded。
  He　arrived；　with　Dwyer；　in　time　to
  welcome　his　father　and　his　distinguished
  guests。　He　resolved　to　break　off　his
  embarrassing　connection　with　Lady　Emily；
  without；　however；　stating　the　real　motive；
  which　he　felt　would　exasperate　the　resentment
  which　his　father　and　Lord
  would　no　doubt　feel　at　his　conduct。
  He　strongly　felt　how　dishonourably　he
  would　act　if；　in　obedience　to　Dwyer's
  advice；　he　seemed　tacitly　to　acquiesce　in
  an　engagement　which　it　was　impossible　for
  him　to　fulfil。　He　knew　that　Lady　Emily
  was　not　capable　of　anything　like　strong
  attachment；　and　that　even　if　she　were；
  he　had　no　reason　whatever　to　suppose　that
  she　cared　at　all　for　him。
  He　had　not　at　any　time　desired　the
  alliance；　nor　had　he　any　reason　to　suppose
  the　young　lady　in　any　degree　less
  indifferent。　He　regarded　it　now；　and　not
  without　some　appearance　of　justice；　as
  nothing　more　than　a　kind　of　understood
  stipulation；　entered　into　by　their　parents；
  and　to　be　considered　rather　as　a　matter　of
  business　and　calculation　than　as　involving
  anything　of　mutual　inclination　on　the　part
  of　the　parties　most　nearly　interested　in　the
  matter。
  He　anxiously；　therefore；　watched　for　an
  opportunity　of　making　known　his　feelings
  to　Lord　；　as　he　could　not　with　propriety
  do　so　to　Lady　Emily；　but　what　at
  a　distance　appeared　to　be　a　matter　of　easy
  accomplishment；　now；　upon　a　nearer
  approach；　and　when　the　immediate　impulse
  which　had　prompted　the　act　had　subsided；
  appeared　so　full　of　difficulty　and　almost
  inextricable　embarrassments；　that　he
  involuntarily　shrunk　from　the　task　day　after
  day。
  Though　it　was　a　source　of　indescribable
  anxiety　to　him；　he　did　not　venture　to　write
  to　Ellen；　for　he　could　not　disguise　from
  himself　the　danger　which　the　secrecy　of
  his　connec