up

We now rose to go. Catherine delivered the baby less reluctantly than might have been expected. The truth is, she seemed getting tired of it.

"What a dreadfully heavy little thing it is. Oh, how my arms ache! I pity you having to carry such a load about, Alley," said she, giving it to its mother.

"You were envying me a little while ago, Miss Catherine, and amn't I to have the kitten, after all ?" said Alley, roguishly.

"No, indeed, you're not. I wouldn't keep your baby for the world. It has almost broken my arm, and torn out the half of my hair. Look at the great piece it has clutched in its little hand."

A change had come over the bright day, while we were in the cottage. It looked so gloomy, and the air had grown so sultry, that Alley prophesied a thunderstorm, and urged

us to remain longer. But Catherine would not be persuaded to wait. She always became restless when obliged to remain in the one place for long.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE STRANGER.

ALLEY'S prophecy was very shortly fulfilled. Soon after we left the cottage, dreadfully black clouds gathered over the mountains. The monarch at the head of the bay was frowning ominously, as if about to declare instant war, and all his soldiers had donned their black helmets, and assumed a threatening appearance.

Even while I looked, it began. A fearfully vivid flash of lightning leaped forth, followed, instantaneously, by a tremendous and long sustained peal of thunder, which, as it died

VERNEY COURT: AN IRISH NOVEL. 203

my

rumbling away, was taken up and repeated by a hundred echos, as if some unseen enemy were returning fire. I involuntarily pressed hands to my ears, and closed my eyes, but, before either of us could utter a word, another forked tongue of fire shot out, a terrible crash resounded over our heads, as if the sky and mountains were falling. I screamed aloud; I had never heard such thunder before. When the last echo had given it back, there was dead silence.

"Come," cried Catherine, "there is an old place just here where we can shelter."

She sprang across a stile, and a few minutes run brought us to some old ruins, where we gladly took refuge.

It was grand and impressive to watch the storm, now that we were in a place of comparative safety-to hear the thunder leaping.

from mountain to mountain, and crag to crag, and see the bay lit up as with phosphorus.

While the storm was still at its height, we saw a gentleman approaching at a quick pace, a stranger. As he entered the ruin, it struck me that I had seen that face before. In a moment I recollected where. It was the gentleman whom I had seen at the little hotel, on my way down, and had heard questioning the innkeeper and Shane O'Reilly about Mr. Nugent.

He did not at first seem to see us. When he did, he started slightly, then raised his hat, and, after a minute or so, made some observation about the suddenness and violence of the storm, and compared it to one that he had seen among the Alps. I replied, Catherine remaining silent. Stray remarks of a similar nature then followed, during the pauses between which, he glanced with intense,