"Sure, wouldn't it be betther for them to sleep on clane straw, wid nothin' at all to cover them, than at the bottom o' the Atlantic, wid the big waves for blankets ? "

"Yes, yes, that it would!" cried the people who had been saved from that fate.

So it was settled that some should go to the cottages of the peasants, and the remainder to Hazelgrove. When the strange man, whose behaviour had created such disturbance, was told that he was to accompany Donal, he refused in a sulky obstinate manner, saying that he would prefer stopping at one of the cottages. But no one seemed willing to have him, till, at last, Shane, in consideration of the man's apparent dislike to go with old Donal, volunteered to take him, which he did, in spite of Donal's black looks and growls of dissatisfaction.

CHAPTER VII.

HOW HAZELGROVE WAS LOST AND WON.

THE morning after the storm, the sun was shining brightly, and the Atlantic billows rolled lazily in, as if tired after last night's exertions, bearing with them fragments of the wreck their late fury had caused.

I rose, feeling unrefreshed, for my second night at Verney Court had been as restless as the first. The visitors of the evening, and the excitement of the storm and shipwreck had driven away the strange apprehensions which had been haunting my mind since going to the ruined chamber in the morning.

VERNEY COURT: AN IRISH NOVEL. 107

But, when alone, that dreary room shut in with the oaken door rose before me-the dark stains on the floor, the sweet, pictured face, with the sad appealing eyes, and Catherine's mysterious words, which kept ringing in my ears till the cold moisture started to my forehead.

Why was the picture of Catherine's mother thrust away there among the litter ? What dread mystery was there connected with that room? What sort of a home was this that I had come to?

Then the thought of the man who had been saved from the wreck occurred to me, and-wild as seemed the idea to associate the stranger whom the storm had cast on this coast with any mystery at Verney Court-I at once and involuntarily did so. The horrible words he had uttered-evidently no mere ravings, but rather the outbursts of a

guilty conscience that believes all losthis strange terror at sight of Catherine, and the old steward's desire to get possession of him; everything pointed to his connection in some mysterious and inexplicable manner with the very subject that was disturbing and perplexing me.

That day, Catherine and I went out to ride. On leaving Verney Court, the first object that met my eyes was this man. He appeared to have been standing still, as if watching for some one. On seeing us, he slunk away, with a half-stupid, half-terrified glance at Catherine. Daylight did not show

him in a much more favourable aspect than amid the terrors of the storm. He appeared to be now, as then, in a state of partial intoxication, and his eyes were watery, his step feeble and uncertain, like an habitual drunkard's. A wretched, broken-down look

ing creature he was, all the dignity of manhood crushed out of him by that enemy of the human race-strong drink. He seemed

to be about fifty years of age.

As he sneaked off, Shane O'Reilly came up.

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By gor, Shane!" said the man at the lodge, who stood at the gate, "that's in an' about the downest-looking chap I ever seen. Faith, maybe it's an informer he is! His looks 'ud jest do for that same."

"And one would fancy he thought I was a rebel in disguise, from the way he stared at me," said Catherine.

Yes, Miss, jest. I'd have liked to have knocked off his head last night for his impedence. Musha, Shane, it's a pity you didn't lave him on the wreck, the cowardly spalpeen!" said the man, as he closed the gate and went in.

"He isn't a very pleasant guest for you,