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mity,) and tried to render the situation of Nora as an outlaw's wife more bearable, providing it with many little comforts he had not thought necessary for himself.

The eventful summer of '98 was drawing to a close, and many an aching heart, and desolate hearth, had marked its progress; though Kirby in his character of rebel chief was far from being an inactive member of the society to which he belonged, he had as yet escaped scatheless. Perhaps this may be imputed to the impetuosity of his character, and the enthusiasm he felt in the cause in which he had embarked, leading him on to acts of daring, that in many instances intimidated his opponents, and led them rather to pursue the flying, or wreak their vengeance on the yielding foe, than risk a contest with the dreaded Gerald Kirby. Yet many had cause to bless the name of the rebel chief, for often was the uplifted hand stayed by this powerful voice, when ready to sacrifice a life dear to a trembling family; and many a time the house which would have been sending its red blaze toward the sky, was by his mandate, suffered to remain over the heads of the innocent children.

It will be enquired, where was Nora in these awful times of terror? Even still an inmate of the mountain hut, for Kirby's party occupied its vicinity. No expression of regret ever passed her lips, nor indeed had entered her heart; Gerald Kirby was still all the world to her, the very dangers by which he was surrounded seeming but as so many links in the chain which bound her more closely to his life, and oh! that task most difficult to woman! she had even learned to subdue all expression of her fears for his safety, lest it should give him pain to know she suffered the pangs of anxiety on his account; sometimes indeed, the quivering lip, and tearful eye would contradict her assurances that she was not unhappy in his absence; that she had ceased to fear for his safety; or, that she would not be uneasy till he returned. Alas! how anxiously was that return waited, watched for, as sitting on the summit of a mountain crag, hour after hour was spent in anxious looking toward the spot from whence she expected to greet him; at length he came, and in the assurance of his safety she was again happy.

There is always something particularly cheering, almost exhilarating, in the fresh breeze of a fine spring morning; but this has been so often said and sung by writers of prose and poetry, that I shall not hazard further on the subject, than to observe, that those who have not spent such a morning in the Irish mountains, can have but faint ideas of it. To the outlaw and his bride it was given to feel all its cheering influences, while sitting on a ledge of rock, which overhung the valley, they enjoyed the splendid view of mountain, wood, and water, which extended for several miles on every side. A few days' repose from the turmoil of the active scenes in which he was engaged, had thrown the charm of quietude over the usually anxious heart of the outlaw's bride, and as she listened to the shrill, but musical notes of the lark, and continued to mark the quivering

motion of its wings, as it soared into the sky, her attention was suddenly withdrawn by hearing a rich mellow voice singing in a high key, some stanzas of the well known rebel song "The White Cockade."

The fresh breeze had borne to them the notes of the song, long before the singer, in the person of Micky Dan, made his appearance: issuing from the wood, and gaily sounding his horn as usual, he bounded lightly, first into the air, then forward, and was speedily at their side. "Mossa, sweet bad luck to all them that would hurt or harm either of ye this blessed day, is the prayer of Micky Dan," said this strange being, using his own name in the third person, "and I hope the letter I have here for you wont bring bad news," so saying, and taking a letter from the lining of his сар, he handed it to Kirby, and continued, "yes, faith, I'd be sorry to do their bidding that sent me here, if 'twas to hurt or harm you or yours, though I wouldn't be sorry now if 'twas axing you to give them spalpeen yeomen rascals a good drubbing. See now that I mightn't, Nora O'Donnel—Mrs. Kirby, I mean," as seeing her anxious looks fastened on the letter which her husband seemed reading with an intenseness which proved the deep interest it excited, he went on "but I heard say, that the mother of that ould fellow they call Sargent Corbet, was an ould hag that went by the name of Peg Sassanagh all over the country, and would go to the dickens and back again for a bit of meat. Some called her Peggy Pick-a-bone, too, for will you b'lieve it? but she used to root up all the dead turkeys, and ould geese that the women would throw in the ditches, sooner than be without a bit of meat, or a bone to pick; sign's on it, they say the sargent himself made his wife kill the ould cock from the roost last Good Friday, so he could have it to say he eat meat on that day to vex the Catholics; but never mind, if the white cockade once comes amongst them, take my word, he wouldn't be a Probison a day when he'd call for the priest, and say he was as good a Catholic as any of us." Here Micky Dan resumed his song, and made the hills echo to the notes of "The White Cockade."

Meanwhile, Kirby, not wishing to make the wild creature aware of the contents of the letter, calmly put it up, and assuming an air of perfect unconcern, laughed at the sallies of Micky Dan, then, after fondly regarding the faint smile which lighted the features of Nora, he said, "So, Micky, that is your opinion of Sergeant Corbet's religion?"

"Indeed, then, 'tis," replied Micky, "and 'tis what the captain minister himself might do too; for sure 'tis little time for thinking of his religion he can have, and to be a captain of the yeoman and a magistrate, besides being a minister. I'yeh! that I mightn't, but 'tis a shame for a man that has to be saying prayers in his church in the morning, to be galloping all over the country at night, booted and spurred, with his drawn sword in his hand, cutting and slashing all before him, now, isn't it? and 'tis so funny to hear the anagashores of yeomen calling him captain, and his gown and band upon him walking cut of church."

"How can you know this, Micky Dan, for I suppose you weren't at church to see it," said Nora.

"To be sure I wasn't; but amn't I at the church door every Sunday looking at the quality, and having a word or a joke with any of 'em that's worth joking with, and 'tis myself knows the good from the bad well; and there's some amongst 'em that I'd lay down my life for. But stay, Nora, 'till I tell you how I hear the captain minister's wife gets home barm for bread; that I mightn't, but they send off ould Tom Weston on an express to the town; and there he goes, whip and spurs, galloping for the bare life, and thinking he is carrying an express; and he comes back with a bladder of barm tied to his holsters."

The laugh caused by this account of the yeoman express being over, Kirby reminded Nora that the fresh air of the mountains must have given their friend Micky an appetite for his breakfast, and the good bacon and eggs soon placed before him might have tempted Peg Sassanagh to leave her grave to share them with him, had the place of her repose been near.

CHAPTER XI.

No sooner had Micky Dan departed, than Gerald, drawing Nora tenderly to his bosom, said, "Nora, darling, I believe the first thing that made me love you was the courage you showed long ago, and you havn't belied it since, for many a time 'twas a comfort to my heart to see how bravely you bear up against all the dangers that they say we are in." Nora smiled her thanks-and he continued: "But, I often think, darling, you would forget all your bravery if I had to go away from you, even for a few days itself."

Nora started, and, spite of her attempts to subdue her emotion, turned pale as marble, while, steadfastly regarding him for a moment, the truth flashed on her mind, and the words, "you are going to leave me, and for ever," fell in broken murmurs from her trembling lips.

"Leave you for ever," he exclaimed, "no, not while a drop of blood is left in this heart, for living or dying I will return to you! Nora, darling! My heart's darling! Don't think such thoughts of the one who has not one to love or care for in this wide world but yourself! Yes, Nora, 'tis true for you that I must go away, but if Gerald Kirby is a living man he will come back again, and soon. That letter brought an order I cannot disobey; and sure you wouldn't have me turn a traitor to the cause we have in hand ?"

"Then, where must you go to, Gerald ?" she enquired, as struggling to assume an appearance of calmness, she raised her head from his bosom, and looked into his full loving eyes for reply; but when informed that the county Limerick was the place of his destination, all her fears were augmented or merged in the absorbing one of the vengeance of his worst enemy Meehaul Dharra; and, uttering almost a scream of terror, she

exclaimed, "Oh, holy Virgin! My dream of woe! My dream of sorrow!" Then, with hands clasped in agony and eyes raised to his, she continued, "Oh, Gerald, for the sake of all the saints in heaven don't go to the place of all your troubles! The red cloud of grief and sorrow is over that place to you, and 'twas all foreshown me last night."

The kiss, and the smile of incredulity with which these words were received by her husband, could not dispel the fears of the wretched Nora, and she resumed, "Oh, do not try to jest at my fears; I tell you, Gerald, darling, so sure as you are a living man, I saw a sight in my dream that shows that death and danger is in your way! I saw our cabin over the river, the same as it was the first night you wor brought there; and I was sitting by the fire side, grieving that some trouble had befallen some one I loved, and when I lifted my head, I saw my poor mother (God rest her soul!) and she laying out the corpse table (the Lord save us!) the same way she did that terrible night, you remember. Well, there she was to the bare life; the candlesticks and all settled; and I thought my heart's blood ran cold with looking at her; and I could not ask her a word, when, all at once, the door opened, and I saw four men coming in, and they bringing a man stretched on a door between them, and before I could stir they laid him upon the table, and, ogh a sthora's machree sthig, when they let me look at him, 'twas your own self that was stretched out before me! Ogh, Gerald! Gerald, masthora's machree, don't blame me! don't blame me !"

"Blame you, Nora, darling!" he exclaimed, as he pressed her fondly to his bosom, what should I blame you for? No, darling! it is all your own fond loving heart that is raising up those dreams to frighten you; but never mind, there's better days in store for us yet, Nora, darling; so keep up your heart, and there's happiness in the hand of God yet for us." "Ah, but Gerald," she resumed, "what makes my dream stick more in my mind is-but, no, I won't tell you-all I ask of you is not to go to the county Limerick; not to go near the place that was so unlucky to you and yours. Oh! Gerald, darling machree, promise me you won't go there, and that's all I'll ask."

"I cannot promise you that," replied her husband, with a gravity of manner which any recurrence to the scenes or events of his former life *seldom failed to create, "but" he continued, "what is this part of the dream you will not tell me; as you have said any, say all." "Well, then, Gerald dear, I thought that I heard the men whispering among themselves, and that somehow the name of-of-and Michael Dharra was looking at us from behind a ditch, and laughing, and then that the people said 'twas he was digging Gerald Kirby's grave all-through."

"That he shan't have the satisfaction of doing at any rate, Nora, darling, for no one shall ever know where I'll be buried but yourself and one more. But come, dry your eyes, and come out with me, and the fresh air will do your heart good; come asthore." In vain he tried to reassure the weeping Nora, she would not be comforted; at length, over

come by her importunities, he gave an assurance that he would not go to the county Limerick if he could avoid it without dishonour!

"Dishonour"—I hear my words repeated by many of my readers with the comment," of a rebel chief!"—but be it remembered, that this opprobious epithet has been applied to those in whose bosoms beat the noblest and purest principles of honour-that honour which is as natural to an Irishman as his native air, and dearer than the life-drops of his noble heart. Yes! the honour which led the noble and the brave, the young, the talented, and enthusiastic, to risk fame, fortune, private happiness, private feelings, and though least in their own estimation, life itself, in the struggle for that country whose honour or whose rights they deemed infringed.

CHAPTER XII.

A SPLENDID Moon was giving all the charm of light and shadow to the magnificent scenery surrounding the hut of the outlaw, where mountains embosomed within the chains of higher, and rising from the narrow green vallies at the base of the smaller, formed, as it were, a bason in which the latter, often with its indigenous woods of oak, birch, and glittering holly, seemed in its individuality to hold the place of a favourite hill, over which the more towering ones watched in all their gloomy grandeur of rock and scar. The calm stillness of the night was only broken by the murmurs of the river, which went rippling along over its golden pebbles sparkling in the moon light, when in its windings it emerged from the shadow of the overhanging mountain. It was a night to make the evil heart tremble, and the good one rejoice, for each must feel that God was there. It was a night full of sweet and holy influences.

Alas! there was one even then looking out upon its heavenly lightness to whose aching heart even its soothing balm could not bring a healing power, for an earthly object was chaining down all its feelings; and the outlaw's wife as she kept her lonely watch, was heedless of all save anxiety for his fate. Long and earnest was the gaze which she sent far up through the moonlit valley, keenly she bent her ear, hoping to profit by the general stillness, and catch a sound of the steps she so fondly expected. He came not, and the moon having given place to the darkness which precedes the near approach of morn, the hapless Nora had sought her solitary hut, and vainly tried to obtain that rest so needful to the weary heart. She left her bed, and replenishing the fire upon her lonely hearth, took her place beside it, from time to time casting a look of sadness to that usually occupied by Gerald. The loveliness of the morn and awful stillness by which she was surrounded, seemed to raise a corresponding feeling in the bosom of Nora, and she at last became conscious of that state of nervous trepidation in which the pulsation of our own hearts becomes fearfully audible, and we expect to encounter some object of terror each moment that we look around, or shrink under the horrifying belief that we are surrounded by unseen beings of another world.

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