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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