"Fine evenin', Misther Joyce. I hope yer arrum is betther—an' how is Miss Norah?"
"Thank ye kindly, Andy; both me arm and the girl's well."
"Is she widin?"
"No! she wint this mornin' to stay over Monday in the convent. Poor girl! she's broken-hearted, lavin' her home and gettin' settled here. I med the changin' as light for her as I could—but weemin takes things to heart more nor min does, an' that's bad enough, God knows!"
"Thrue for ye," said Andy. "This gintleman here, Masther Art, says he hasn't seen her since the night she met us below in the dark."
"I hope," said Joyce, "you'll look in and see us, if you're in these parts, sir, whin she comes back. I know she thought a dale of your kindness to me that night."
"I'll be here for some days, and I'll certainly come, if I may."
"And I hope I may come, too, Mr. Joyce," said Dick, "now that you know me."
"Ye'll be welkim, sir."
We all shook hands, coming away; but as we turned to go home, at the gate we had a surprise. There, in the boreen, stood Murdock—livid with fury. He attacked Dick with a tirade of the utmost virulence. He called him every name he could lay his tongue to—traitor, liar, thief, and indeed exhausted the whole terminology of abuse, and accused him of stealing his secrets
