and, in assisting to lift him upon the hand-barrow, Ormond was covered with blood, as has been already described.

"Have you sent for a surgeon?" said sir Ulick, coolly.

Certainly-sent off a fellow on my own horse directly. Sir, will you come on to the gardener's house; I want you to see him, to know what you'll think. If he die, I am a murderer," repeated Ormond.

This horrible idea so possessed his imagination, that he could not answer or hear any of the further questions that were asked by lady O'Shane and miss Black; but after gazing upon them with unmeaning eyes for a moment in silence, walked rapidly on: as he was passing by the steps of the green-house, he stopped short at the sight of miss Annaly, who was still sitting there. "What's the matter?" said he, in a tone of great compassion, going close up to her. Then, recollecting himself, he hurried forward again.

"As I can be of no use-unless I can be of any use," said miss Annaly, “I will, now that I am well enough, return-my mother will wonder what has become of me."

"Sir Ulick, give me the key of the conservatory, to let miss Annaly into the ball-room."

"Miss Annaly does not wish to dance any more to-night, I believe," said sir Ulick.

"Dance-oh! no."

"Then, without exciting observation, you can all get in better at the back door of the house, and miss Annaly can go up the back stairs to lady Annaly's room, without meeting any one; and you, lady O'Shane," added he, in a low voice," order up sup

per, and say nothing of what has passed. Miss Black, you hear what I desire-no gossiping."

To get to the back door they had to walk round the house, and in their way they passed the gardener's. The surgeon had just arrived.

"Go on, ladies, pray," said sir Ulick: "what stops you ?"

"'Tis I stop the way, sir Ulick," said lady O'Shane, "to speak a word to the surgeon. If you find the man in any dangerous way, for pity's sake don't let him die at our gardener's-indeed, the bringing him here at all I think a very strange step and encroachment of Mr. Ormond's. It will make the whole thing so public-and the people hereabouts are so revengeful-if any thing should happen to him, it will be revenged on our whole family-on sir Ulick in particular."

"No danger-nonsense, my dear."

But now this idea had seized lady O'Shane, it appeared to her a sufficient reason for desiring to remove the man even this night. She asked why he could not be taken to his own home and his own people; she repeated, that it was very strange of Mr. Ormond to take such liberties, as if every thing about Castle Hermitage was quite at his disposal. One of the men who had carried the hand-barrow, and who was now standing at the gardener's door, observed, that Moriarty's people lived five miles off. Ormond, who had gone into the house to the wounded man, being told what lady O'Shane was saying, came out ; she repeated her words as he re-appeared. Naturally of sudden violent temper, and being now in the highest state of suspense and irritation, he broke out, forgetful of all proper respect. Miss Black, who was saying

something in corroboration of lady O'Shane's opinion, he first attacked, pronouncing her to be an unfeeling, canting hypocrite: then, turning to lady O'Shane, he said that she might send the dying man away, if she pleased; but that if she did, he would go too, and that never while he existed would he enter her ladyship's doors again.

Ormond made this threat with the air of a superior to an inferior, totally forgetting his own dependent situation, and the dreadful circumstances in which he now stood.

"You are drunk, young man! My dear Ormond, you don't know what you are saying," interposed sir Ulick.

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At his voice, and the kindness of his tone, Ormond recollected himself. Forgive me," said he, in a very gentle tone. "My head certainly is notOh! may you never feel what I have felt this last hour. If this man dies- Oh! consider."

"He will not die-he will not die, I hope-at any rate, don't talk so loud within hearing of these people. My dear lady O'Shane, this foolish boy-this Harry Ormond, is, I grant, a sad scapegrace, but you must bear with him for my sake. Let this poor wounded fellow remain here-I won't have him stirred to-night -we shall see what ought to be done in the morning. Ormond, you forgot yourself strangely towards lady O'Shane-as to this fellow, don't make such a rout about the business; I dare say he will do very well: we shall hear what the surgeon says. At first I was horribly frightened-I thought you and Marcus had been quarrelling. Miss Annaly, are not you afraid of staying out? Lady O'Shane, why do you keep miss Annaly? Let supper go up directly."

"Supper! ay, every thing goes on as usual," said Ormond, "and I

"I must follow them in, and see how things are going on, and prevent gossiping, for your sake, my boy," resumed sir Ulick, after a moment's pause. "You have got into an ugly scrape. I pity you from my soul-I'm rash myself. Send the surgeon to me when he has seen the fellow. Depend upon me, if the worst come to the worst, there's nothing in the world I would not do to serve you," said sir Ulick: "so keep up your spirits, my boy-we'll contrive to bring you through-at the worst, it will only be manslaughter."

Ormond wrung sir Ulick's hand-thanked him for his kindness; but repeated, " it will be murder-it will be murder-my own conscience tells me so! If he dies, give me up to justice."

"You'll think better of it before morning," said sir Ulick, as he left Ormond.

The surgeon gave Ormond little comfort. After extracting the bullet, and examining the wound, he shook his head-he had but a bad opinion of the case; and when Ormond took him aside, and questioned him more closely, he confessed that he thought the man would not live-he should not be surprised if he died before morning. The surgeon was obliged to leave him to attend another patient; and Ormond, turning all the other people out of the room, declared he would sit up with Moriarty himself. A terrible night it was to him. To his alarmed and inexperienced eyes the danger seemed even greater than it really was, and several times he thought his patient expiring, when he was faint from loss of blood. The moments in which Ormond was occupied in assisting

him were the least painful. It was when he had nothing left to do, when he had leisure to think, that he was most miserable; then the agony of suspense, and the horror of remorse, were felt, till feeling was exhausted; and he would sit motionless and stupified, till he was wakened again from this suspension of thought and sensation by some moan of the poor man, or some delirious startings. Toward morning, the wounded man lay easier; and as Ormond was stooping over his bed to see whether he was asleep, Moriarty opened his eyes, and fixing them on Ormond, said, in broken sentences, but so as very distinctly to be understood," Don't be in such trouble about the likes of me-I'll do very well, you'll see and even suppose I wouldn't-not a friend I have shall ever prosecute-I'll charge 'em not-so be asy-for you're a good heart-and the pistol went off unknownst to you-I'm sure there was no malice-let that be your comfort. It might happen to any man, let alone gentleman-don't take on so. Only think of young Mr. Harry sitting up the night with me!-Oh! if you'd go now and settle yourself yonder on t'other bed, sir—I'd be a great dale asier, and I don't doubt but I'd get a taste of sleep myself-while now, wid you standing over or forenent me, I can't close an eye for thinking of you, Mr. Harry."

Ormond immediately threw himself upon the other bed, that he might relieve Moriarty's feelings. The good-nature and generosity of this poor fellow increased Ormond's keen sense of remorse. As to sleeping, for him it was impossible; whenever his ideas began to fall into that sort of confusion which precedes sleep, suddenly he felt as if his heart was struck or twinged, and he started with the recollec