‘He would have seen me home,’ said Grace,’ only that he went up a piece of the mountain for some stones or ore for the gentleman—­for he had the manners to think of him this morning, though, shame for me, I had not, when I come in, or I would not have told you all this, and he himself by.  See, there he is, mother.’

Brian came in very hot, out of breath, with his hat full of stones.  ’Good morrow to your honour.  I was in bed last night; and sorry they did not call me up to be of SARVICE.  Larry was telling us, this morning, your honour’s from Wales, and looking for mines in Ireland, and I heard talk that there was one on our mountain—­maybe, you’d be CUROUS to see, and so I brought the best I could, but I’m no judge.’

‘Nor I, neither,’ thought Lord Colambre; but he thanked the young man, and determined to avail himself of Larry’s misconception or false report; examined the stones very gravely, and said, ’This promises well.  Lapis caliminaris, schist, plum-pudding stone, rhomboidal, crystal, blend, garrawachy,’ and all the strange names he could think of, jumbling them together at a venture.

‘The lase!—­Is it?’ cried the young man, with joy sparkling in his eyes, as his mother held up the packet.  ’Then all’s safe! and he’s an honest man, and shame on me, that could suspect he meant us wrong.  Lend me the papers.’

He cracked the seals, and taking off the cover,—­’It’s the lase, sure enough.  Shame on me!—­But stay, where’s the memorandum?’

‘It’s there, sure,’ said his mother, ’where my lord’s pencil writ it.  I don’t read.—­Grace, dear, look.’

The young man put it into her hands, and stood without power to utter a syllable.

‘It’s not here!  It’s gone!—­no sign of it.’

‘Gracious Heaven! that can’t be,’ said the old woman, putting on her spectacles; ‘let me see—­I remember the very spot.’

’It’s taken away—­it’s rubbed clean out!—­Oh, wasn’t I fool?  But who could have thought he’d be the villain!’ The young man seemed neither to see nor hear; but to be absorbed in thought.

Grace, with her eyes fixed upon him, grew as pale as death—­’He’ll go—­he’s gone.’

‘She’s gone!’ cried Lord Colambre, and the mother just caught her in her arms as she was falling.

‘The chaise is ready, plase your honour,’ said Larry, coming into the room.  ‘Death! what’s here?’

‘Air!—­she’s coming to,’ said the young man—­’Take a drop of water, my own Grace.’

‘Young man, I, promise you,’ cried Lord Colambre (speaking in the tone of a master), striking the young man’s shoulder, who was kneeling at Grace’s feet; but recollecting and restraining himself, he added, in a quiet voice—­’I promise you I shall never forget the hospitality I have received in this house, and I am sorry to be obliged to leave you in distress.’

These words uttered with difficulty, he hurried out of the house, and into his carriage.  ‘Go back to them,’ said he to the postillion; ’go back and ask whether, if I should stay a day or two longer in this country, they would let me return at night and lodge with them.  And here, man, stay, take this,’ putting money into his hands, ’for the good woman of the house.’