The narrative once more returns to Mark, who,
it will be remembered, had arrived, on his way to
Castle More, at a ruin in the midst of the forest
he was traversing, when the approach of two horsemen
caused him to withdraw from the path. As
he did so, they were encountered and stopped by
some one who unexpectedly met them as they were

[figure description] Page 201.[end figure description]

galloping past the lonely pile. Curious to know
who they were and what could be their business
at that late hour, he entered the deep shadow of the
tower, and approached so near them as to discover
that the men wore the livery of Lady Lester, and
that the person with whom they were talking was
none other than the witch Elpsy, with whose person
he had been familiar from childhood.

After Elpsy disappeared from the eyes of the old
bucanier and his young lieutenant at Hurtel's tower,
she had continued to move rapidly through the
forest towards Castle Cor, without turning either
to the right or left. Sometimes she would skip forward
with mad hilarity till exhausted; at others,
leap, and clap her hands, and shout, till the dales of
the old wood rung again with her shrieking laughter.
From the unnatural speed, and the wild, straightforward
direction in which she moved, her sole object
seemed to be to reach some point for which
she aimed in the least possible time. The scared
owl hooted aloud at her approach, and flew, with a
heavy flap of his thick wings, deeper into the wood;
the hawk left his nest with a shrill cry; the deer
fled from her path! On, on she bounded and leaped
mocking their notes of terror, like a demon pursued.
At times, when she crossed an open glade,
where the moon poured down her unobstructed
radiance, she would suddenly stop and mutter, but
without appearing to notice the pale orb the sight
of which, by directing her thoughts into another,
but not less turbulent channel, seemed to have exercised
a momentary influence on her. She had
travelled six miles in less than one hour's time,
when she suddenly stopped in the full light of the
moon, looked up, and shook her open hands towards
it with a laugh of derision.

“Oh, ho! you need not look and watch, and

[figure description] Page 202.[end figure description]

watch and look, and keep your pale face and shining
eyes always fixed on me! Dost think I would commit
murder? and the little twinkling stars peer
down as if they could espy a knife in my hand!
Look, ye little glittering winklings,” she cried,
spreading upward her open palms, “dost see a
knife? Ha, ha, ha! ye are out there. I am too
much for ye. No, I know ye well, with your winking
and your blinking at each other, and how, in
the darkest night, one of you always keeps watch,
to spy the murders done in the absence o' the sun;
and then you whisper it through heaven, and tell it
to the earth, and then we hang for it. Oh, ho! I
have a charm will put you to sleep. Ha! you
laugh, and grin, and gibber, that I have lost in a
half hour's tale what I have won by years of silence.
Well, well, there'll be a time! there'll be a
time!”

Dropping her head, she appeared a moment as
if in sullen thought, and then muttered, in a tone
and manner which, more than words, gave a key
to the wild phrensy that had hitherto possessed
her,

“If he cannot be Lord of Lester, neither shall
HE! He dies! The eye of the moon pierces not
this wood! He dies! 'Tis long yet to dawn,”
she abruptly added, moving forward, and speaking
with more coherency. “If I can find him ere the
myrmidons of Lady Lester can reach him, should
she send for him, Castle More will ne'er own other
lord than he who, but for my foul tongue—may it
wither in my throat!—would now have been Lord of
Lester. He dies! dies! dies! dies!” and, hasting
her footsteps, she continued to repeat the word at
every stride, accompanying it with a threatening
gesture of her arm.

Her rapid speed soon brought her to the ruins of

[figure description] Page 203.[end figure description]

the abbey. Bounding like an ape over the fallen
blocks, she entered the door in the tower, and with
an unfaltering step traversed the gallery to her subterraneous
abode, which, after Lester's angry and
fruitless pursuit of her, she had left for Hurtel's
tower, fearing that he might despatch a party from
Castle More in search of her, for the purpose, by
her death, of effectually silencing all question of his
birth.

Entering her subterranean abode, she produced
a light without flint, or steel, or fire, but by smartly
drawing two marks, in opposition to the sign of the
cross, on the wall with a small stick, the end of
which immediately emitted a blue flame, and, after
a fierce, hissing noise, shot up into a bright blaze.
This, to the peasantry who had witnessed it, was
one of the strongest evidences of her being in
league with the devil, who, it was asseverated,
kindled her stick for her in the unquenchable fire.

She lighted a fragment of a rush candle by the
flame, and, opening a small box containing medicinal
preparations, took therefrom a small vial
containing an amber-coloured liquid, and held it to
the light. She looked at it for a while with a look
of vengeful satisfaction, and then placed it in her
bosom; afterward she took a rusty poniard from
a crevice in the wall, carefully felt its point, which
was ground to a keen edge, and, with a look of satisfaction,
thrust it up into her sleeve. Then extinguishing
the light, she hastened past the tomb of
Black Morris, and with a quick, determined step,
traversed the gallery towards its outlet.

As she approached it she heard the tramp of
horses. With a quick, apprehensive cry, as if she
at once divined the cause, she flew through the
passage into the moonlight, and saw two horsemen
approaching at a round pace, and going in the

[figure description] Page 204.[end figure description]

direction of Castle Cor: as they came nearer, she
recognised them as the chief forester and the seneschal
from Castle More. She permitted them to
gallop along the road till they were within a few
feet of her, when she suddenly stepped forth from
the black shadow of the tower, and, with one arm
outstretched brandishing the stiletto, confronted
them. The riders, taken by surprise, pulled their
horses back to their haunches, and both instantly
exclaimed, with superstitious dread,

“Elpsy!”

These were the horsemen Mark turned from his
path to avoid.

“I am Elpsy,” she repeated, in a lofty tone.
“Whither ride ye, so fast and free?

“There be strange doings at the castle, mother,”
said the seneschal, pitching his voice to the true
gossiping tone; “there's me young loord—”

“Fait! but it's jist this—” interrupted the other;
“our young masther, Lord Robert, is not masther's
son at all at all, and masther's son—”

“Murther! an'it's you dat have it wrong, Ennis,
honey,” cried the other, interrupting him in his turn;
“it's jist this, ould Mither Eelpsy; Lord Robert is
not my Lord Robert at all at all, and the raal Lord
Robert is—”

“And is it not the very woords I was afther tilling
the crathur?” interrupted the forester. “I will
give it to ye, Eelpsy, dare, in the right way.”

“Hist with your tongues!” cried the impatient
woman, having heard enough to convince her that
Robert had told the truth in saying that he openly
published his own shame. “Hold with your

[figure description] Page 205.[end figure description]

senseless words, fools! I can tell ye more than both of
ye together, and all Castle Cor, know.”

“We know dat, ould mither! Don't forget to
crass yourself, Jarvey, honey,” added the speaker,
aside, making the sign of the cross on his breast.
“It's the great dale ye know, and the likes o' ye,
and it's not we that is to gainsay it this night.”

“Whither ride ye?” she demanded, impatiently
taking hold of the bridle of one of the horses.

“Och, an' isn't it to bring with all speed that
young jintleman o' the world, Mark Meredith, the
ould fisherman's son, to be sure, to Castle More,”
said the forester.

“At whose bidding?” she demanded.

“Our lady's, the jewil!” answered the seneschal.

“Go back, and tell the Dark Lady of the Rock
that thus says Elpsy, the sorceress: `He whom
she seeks she will never find!”'

“But it's the disthress she'll be in,” said the seneschal.

“And it's the deep grief o' the world that's upon
her now,” added the other.

“Och, but it will be bad news to be afther bringing
back to her that sint us,” pursued Ennis, with
a howl.

“Widout iver having gone at all at all,” said
Jarvey, in a tone of grief.

“A cush-la-ma-chree, Jarvey, but it's find the
lad we must!” cried Ennis, with sudden resolution.

“And it's the ould mither that's here, bliss her,
'll maybe till us where he may be jist at this present,”
added Jarvey, insinuatingly.

“Do you hesitate to obey me! Go back, even
as you came. If she ask you where the lad is, tell
her Elpsy has said, `Lester has no lord!”'

“Och, hone! and will it be the world's thruth,

[figure description] Page 206.[end figure description]

Elpsy, hinney! It'll break the spirit of her, in her
lone bosom.”

“And what'll the castle do widout a lord!
That I should live to see it!” wailed the seneschal.

“And must we go back to the Dark Lady wid
dis heavy sorrow to the fore?” asked the forester.

“E'en must ye! So!” she cried, turning, with a
sudden jerk of the rein, the head of one of the
horses towards the direction in which they had
come. “Ride, ride,” she added, in a commanding
but wild tone, “nor look behind till ye are safe
within the gates, lest ye care to see the evil one
astraddle of your crupper.”

“The houly crass protict us!” they both ejaculated,
crossing themselves.

“Good e'en to ye, mither. It's yourself is the
crathur for knowing the world's thruth,” added Jarvey,
as if by flattery he would disarm any evil intention
she might cherish in reference to himself.

“And it's to her we're indibted for not riding
tree leagues for nothing at all at all, whin the lad's
not to the fore! Faix, it's my thanks ye have, ould
Elpsy, for't, an' its yer due, were ye the ould divil
himself,” returned Ennis, gathering up his rein.
“Kape your head straight between yer shoulder,
Jarvey.”

“It's me, honey, will niver be afther looking behint,”
replied Jarvey, setting his face towards Castle
More.

Thus taking leave of the wily woman, these two
old simple-minded retainers rode back again; their
obtuse minds probably scarce comprehending the
nature of the loss Lady Lester had met with, the
exchanged fortunes of their late young master, nor
the important object of their mission.

She looked after them as they galloped away

[figure description] Page 207.[end figure description]

till they were lost in the gloom of the forest,
when, clapping her hands, she broke into a peal of
frantic merriment, which was more like the shriek
of a fiend than like human laughter.

“Ah, ha! have I not done it well! I met them
here just in time. Satan stands my friend yet! If
he did make me lose the game, he has helped to
keep another from winning it. No, Lester shall
never have a lord at the expense of him who, but
for my accursed tongue and his silly honour!
would still have been its master. Ho, ho! have I
not done it! Now it remains for me, ere he can
learn the secret of his birth, to send him where low
and highborn are all on a level! This! and, if this
fail, this,” she said, grasping first the vial and then
the dagger, “shall do my will! It's a wicked act—
I know it!—'tis a deed of hell! I would not harm
the poor lad—no; for he is like an own child to
me—but, then, he is not my child—and shall I see
him in the seat from which he has been cast out?
No, no, this steel shall drink—this poison shall dry
up, his noble blood first!”

“Of whom do you speak in such fearful words,
mother?”

She started with mingled terror and astonishment,
and beheld standing at her side the unconscious
object of her thoughts. Her surprise at his
sudden, and, as she at first believed, supernatural
appearance, for the moment deprived her of her
speech; she dropped the hand that held the vial,
which was dashed in pieces against a stone, and
gazed on him for several seconds with a disturbed
and remorseful countenance.

“Did you hear all my words?” she at length had
the resolution to ask, advancing a step towards
him, and speaking in a deep, husky tone.

“No, mother. I have been in the shadow of

[figure description] Page 208.[end figure description]

yonder bastion, waiting the departure of those
horsemen.”

“Then you could not hear their speech?” she
interrogated, with an eagerness of voice and manner
that he could not account for.

“No,” he answered, firmly.

“You have not spoken with them?”

“No.”

“They have not told you—that is, you are Mark
Meredith, the grandson of old Meredith, the fisherman?
Speak, boy!”

“Surely I am, Elpsy; do you not discern my
face by this moon? I fear,” he said, in a kind
tone, “you have not taken good care of yourself of
late, and are a little fevered. Go down to our hut,
if you can walk so far, and you will find a meal of
fish there, of my own taking, which I left my
grandsire preparing for me. Bid him give you my
portion. Good-night, Elpsy, I have business at
Castle More.”

As he spoke he stepped aside to pass her and
pursue his way. His hospitable and kind invitation
had touched her. She was not so seared that
gentleness and words of kindness could not find a
vibrating chord within her bosom. Gradually, as
he spoke she relaxed her hand from its grasp on the
poniard, which, on discovering him, she had instinctively
concealed in the folds of her scarlet cloak, and
extended it towards him in a grateful manner. But
the expression of his intention to proceed to the
abode of Lady Lester caused her suddenly to draw
it back, while in a quick, harsh tone of voice, and
with great vehemence of manner, in which alarm
and apprehension were visible, she cried,

“Castle More! What hast thou to do at Castle
More?”

“I bear a message to Robert of Lester! Detain

[figure description] Page 209.[end figure description]

me not, Elpsy; I have already lingered on the
way.”

“Who sends thee?”

“The young lady of Bellamont.”

“Thy message?”

“I know not. 'Tis in this sealed pacquet.”

“Is this all for which thou art sent?”

“It is.”

“No instructions—no commands?”

“None, save to make no delay at Castle More,
lest my young lord and I should renew a quarrel
we had this day.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing. But why these rapid questions—
this anxiety of manner? What has come over
thee, Elpsy?” he asked, with surprise.

She had put this series of interrogations to him
with an irresistible energy and rapidity, that left
him no alternative but direct and instant replies.
At first she gave him no answer; her face worked
convulsively, and she seemed to be contending
with some strong feelings, that she in vain strove
to get the mastery over. At length she muttered
within her lips,

“I had feared! But 'tis safe, safe. 'Tis a pity
to slay the fair young lad; but, if I do not, he will
know that which he never must know—become
that he never shall become! He must not see
Castle More. He must die rather! Mark, come
to me,” she said, in a hollow and unearthly tone;
“I would whisper in your ear what I would not
have the laughing and grinning devils that flit about
us in the air, hear! Come to me and listen!”

While she was speaking she nervously grasped
the handle of her dagger, and took a step towards
him. Her manner hitherto had already aroused
his watchfulness, and the tone of her invitation by

[figure description] Page 210.[end figure description]

no means increased his confidence. He did not,
indeed, suspect any attempt upon his life by her;
but, being familiar with her restless and violent nature,
he was prepared to expect some annoying
violence; and for this he was cautiously on the
watch.

“Wilt not approach?” she said, in a coaxing
tone. “'Tis a sweet and fair tale I would tell
thee! Ha, ha! as fair and sweet as I told the
Lord Robert yestere'en! Wilt not come?” she
shouted, as she saw he continued to step back as
she advanced; “then will I come!”

She, with these words, made a spring towards
him, seized him suddenly by the breast, and brandished
her poniard in the air. He was not unprepared
for this, sudden as it was: he caught her upraised
arm, and bent it backward over her head
till she shrieked with pain, and, with a cool and
determined exertion of his whole strength, cast her
from him so violently as to hurl her to the earth.
She sprang to her feet like a cat, and, with a yell
of rage, again leaped upon him. He avoided her
attack by lightly springing to one side, when, missing
her blow, she fell forward and struck her head
on the edge of a stone, and sunk to the ground
senseless and bleeding.

He instantly flew to her relief, lifted her from
the earth, and attempted to assuage the flow of
blood from a severe contusion that she had received
on the forehead. In a little time the loss of blood
restored her to consciousness; it also had the effect
of subduing her high fever of excitement, and
making her comparatively calm. She permitted
him to bind a handkerchief, that he took from his
own neck, across her temples; but she neither
spoke nor acknowledged his attentions, but sat in
sullen silence on the ground.

[figure description] Page 211.[end figure description]

“Elpsy,” asked the youth, at length, “why do
you seek my life?”

“You can never know!” she replied, slowly
shaking her head with morose inflexibility.

“Have I wronged you?”

“Ask me not!”

“Is it thirst for blood, evil woman, that drives
thee to this crime?”

“I would not slay thee, but thou and I, boy, can
never live in the same land!” she said, obstinately.

“Thou mightst have spared this attempt, then,
on my life, for soon the deep sea will roll between
me and my native isle.”

“How! Explain your words!” she asked, with
awakened interest.

“I am resolved, as nature has denied me nobility
of birth, to give it at least to those who come
after me.”

“Speak on!” she cried, hanging on his words
with intense expectation.

“I am going from my father's roof into the
world, to see if I cannot make men forget from what
I have sprung!”

“Is this thy purpose, boy? Speak truly!”

“It is, Elpsy. Seven hours ago I had nearly
linked my fortunes with the yacht that takes the
earl to England on the morrow—but—”

“But, what?” she eagerly demanded.

“My father—I thought of him, and—”

“Would not.”

“I cannot desert him to suffering and want.”

“And is this all?” she asked, her face lighting
up with a newly awakened thought.

“The sole cause.”

She began eagerly to search her belt, and drew
forth from it a heavy purse. Shaking it with a gratified
air, she then poured its glittering contents on
the ground beside her.

[figure description] Page 212.[end figure description]

“See that pile of gold! To-morrow go in this
king's ship, and it shall be yours—there are three
hundred guilders told—'twill give the old man food
and raiment for a longer life than his will be, and
afterward buy a coffin for his bones. Wilt go?”

“Mother,” said he, his heart leaping with joy
and hope, yet both tempered with the doubt to
which he gave utterance, “this wealth! is it thine?
How came you by it?”

“It matters not.”

“I dare not touch it. I fear 'tis the price of sin—
or, perhaps, of blood.”

“Fool; 'tis wealth I've had in store these eighteen
years, given to me by times by one who, if
there be justice in Heaven or hell, is now accursed
on earth. There is no more evil in it than in every
piece of gold that the earth contains—all gold is
evil—it is all but the price of honour, of honesty,
or of human blood. Take it, and depart from this
land.”

He gazed on the glittering heap, and hope, by its
aid, pictured bright visions of the future, and the
fruition of all his aspiring wishes. Ambition once
more awakened in his heart. Yet he hesitated.
But, while he did so, he thought of Kate Bellamont—
of the proud Lester—of his hopes of the future—
of all that he had loved to contemplate; he
even gave a thought to Grace Fitzgerald: all that
an aspiring mind like his, at such a time, could
be influenced by, had its effect upon him. She
narrowly watched his countenance, read rightly his
thoughts, and, feeling assured of his acceptance of
it, mentally congratulated herself that her object
could be effected without the shedding of his blood.
She waited till she thought his mind was sufficiently
ripe for her purpose, then replaced the gold in
the purse, and, balancing it in her hand, said,

[figure description] Page 213.[end figure description]

“Before you take this purse, I name one condition
of its acceptance.”

He looked to her to mention it.

“That you for ever drop your present name and
assume another; that you never breathe to mortal
ear the place of your birth, nor give clew to your
country.”

“I gladly promise this—for already I had resolved
on it, Elpsy. I have one great motive for
doing so. But what can be yours?”

“'Tis no matter. You promise this?”

“Cheerfully.”

“Then take the gold for thy grandsire's support.”

“Thanks, thanks, kind Elpsy—yet—”

“Not a word of objection. I have two favours
to ask of thee.”

“Name them,” said he, with an eagerness that
evinced a desire to serve her.

“Promise that you will hold no speech with any
one before thy departure.”

“I do,” he said, after an instant's hesitation.

“Swear that thou wilt never set foot on this isle
again.”

“Nay, I will not swear it,” he said, with determination.

“Wilt thou obey me? Swear it!” she cried, in
a tone of fierce command.

“Who art thou that I should yield thee obedience,
woman? I yield obedience to none save my
Maker!”

“Wilt thou swear?” she asked, with more composure.

“Never.”

The resolute attitude he so unexpectedly assumed
disconcerted her for an instant. At length
she said,

[figure description] Page 214.[end figure description]

“Wilt thou promise never to return here under
thy own, that is—thy present name?”

“Yes, most freely. Now farewell, Elpsy; I
must hasten to Castle More.”

“You go not to Castle More!” she exclaimed,
with singular emphasis.

“I am intrusted with a message, and must deliver
it.”

“Give it to me, I will be its bearer.”

“Nay, I must myself place it in Lord Robert's
hands, in person.”

“Give it me, boy! I will bear it safely to its
destination.”

“No, Elpsy.”

“Go to Castle More, and you sail not on the morrow,”
she said, in a determined tone, replacing the
gold in her belt.

He hesitated. After a brief struggle between
his duty to Grace Fitzgerald and her cousin, and
his own wishes, he at length said, falteringly,

“May I trust you to deliver it, Elpsy?”

“Yes.”

He turned the billet, with its lock of hair, over
and over, gazed on it long and fondly on every
side, and, from his reluctance to resign the precious
treasure, there appeared to have arisen a
new bar to Elpsy's purpose. At length he made
a compromise with his feelings by slipping off the
braid of hair, and hastily concealing it in his bosom,
while he gave her the unsecured packet.

“Place it only in the hands of Robert of Lester,
Elpsy.”

“None else shall see it.”

“Speedily, if you are not too ill.”

“It will take many a harder buffet than that
thou gavest me to make me ill. He shall have it
ere thou art half a league on thy return.”

[figure description] Page 215.[end figure description]

“Then, Elpsy, I go. Fare thee well, and may
Heaven have you in better keeping than your life
now gives hope of. Will you call at times when
I am away to see my grandfather? He will be
lonely.”

“Many will be the gossip we'll yet have together.
Now go! Take my blessing—'twill do
thee no harm, if it can do no good! When does
the ship sail?”

“The Earl of Bellamont will return from Kinsale
in the morning, and 'tis said that before noon
she will be under weigh.”

“The sooner the better. Go at once on board,
nor let the rising sun find thee on the land. Farewell.”

“Farewell, Elpsy. Don't forget the poor old
man!”

“He shall never want while Elpsy lives. Now
fare thee well, and—remember!” she added, impressively.

They now separated; the young man rapidly retracing
his way to his hut, with a buoyant tread and
lightness of spirit, his imagination filled with dazzling
visions of the future; Elpsy bending her
steps steadily in the direction of Castle More, her
soul exulting in the master-stroke of policy she had
effected. When he was no longer visible, she
stopped, and, opening the packet, by the light of the
moon curiously examined the locket and its device,
the application of which, without understanding
its motto, she intuitively comprehended, and
then read the contents of the billet with a loud,
scornful laugh.

“And would she meet him now with love? Ha,
ha! The haughty maiden would toss her head, did
he bear this to her, she knowing his birth. Oh!”
she added, with a malignant chuckle, “that I had

[figure description] Page 216.[end figure description]

let him married her ere this secret had let out—
would it not have been a brave thing then to have
brought down the pride of these gentles! If I
could have kept the secret till their honeymoon
was over! Fiends!” she exclaimed, with maddened
disappointment, “what precious revenge I
have lost! Shall I not have a taste of what is left
me? Shall I not yet tell her who and what he is?
Oh, will it not be joy to my soul to witness her
ravings! I'll do't! I'll do't! There's something
left yet to live for! There's mischief yet to do in
the earth. But I must first watch this sprout of
Lester—this fisher's boy! I shall not have to
touch his life if he'll get off before he learns his
true rank; but I'll follow him like his shadow,
nor will I take eyes off him till the ship he sails
in goes out of my sight beyond the ocean's edge.
Then will I to Castle Cor, and see if Lady Kate
will receive me, the bearer of this locket, `with
love!' Haven't I a tale for her delicate ear! Oh,
there is yet something to live for! Elpsy'll not
die while there's devil's work to do! So! methinks
I feel a little giddy for walking,” she continued,
tottering against the trunk of a tree; “but I'll soon
fall into my old gait. A little bloodletting of a
moonshiny night is ever good for the health.”

Thus muttering to herself, she turned back towards
the ruin, and began to walk in the direction
taken by Mark, at first slowly; but, gradually gathering
strength with motion and excitement, she soon
strode through the long, dark glades of the forest
at a rate that soon brought her in sight of him.
Keeping so far in the rear as not to be discovered
by him should he chance to turn his head, she followed
him out of the wood, then down to the seaside
and along the beach, till she saw him, just as
the day broke, lift the latch of the door of his

[figure description] Page 217.[end figure description]

humble cot and disappear within. She then sought a
recess in the cliff in the rear of the hut, where, secreting
herself in a clump of low bushes that grew
about it, she remained concealed until some time after
sunrise, when she saw him reappear accompanied
by the fisherman, and beheld both go together
to the beach, launch their little fisher's bark, hoist
the sail, and leave the shore. She eagerly watched
them as they stood off from the land, and with unspeakable
triumph saw them run alongside of the
yacht. With emotions of malignant joy, she beheld
Mark take leave of his grandsire and get on
board, and the solitary old man quit the vessel alone
and steer in shore towards his desolate hut. As
his skiff grated upon the beach, she met him.

“So ho, father Meredith! thou hast been selling
thy fish to a good market. The English have
the silver coin, which thou wilt scarce find at the
Cove ayond. What price gave these warsmen for
thy herring the morn, gossip?” she inquired, assisting
him with her arm from the boat as she
spoke.

“It was no sale o' the herring at all, woman Elpsy,”
said the old man, shaking his head mournfully,
and placing the stone kedge of his boat in a crevice
in the rocks so as to secure it against being borne
off by the ebbing tide; “it's no a sale o' the fish,
woman dear, but o' my own flesh and blood. Och
hone! och hone! and it's the ould gray-headed
man'll never see his face more!”

He turned towards the yacht as he spoke, and
stretching forth his hands towards it, wailed aloud:
at length his lament ceased, or, rather, changed to
a flood of tender epithets, eloquent with the depth
of Irish sorrow, which he applied to the youth,
while his dim eyes were vainly strained towards

[figure description] Page 218.[end figure description]

the vessel, to distinguish once more his beloved
form.

“What means this sorrow, father Meredith?
Who hast thou sold?”

“The lad—my grandson! a-cush la-ma chree!
I have sold him for gold. There, woman, take
thine again! I will none of it!” he cried, with sudden
vehemence, drawing the purse she had given
Mark from his jacket, and throwing it at her feet.
“'Tis the price of blood, and I will not have it, evil
woman.”

“Hear me, father Meredith,” she said, deliberately
placing her hands upon his shoulders, and
looking him earnestly in the face. “I know the
purpose of thy visit to yonder king's ship. I know
whom thou hast left there. Thou hast done well
and wisely in permitting him to depart. He has
left gold for thy wants, and has told thee how he
came by it. 'Twas my gift to him and thee.”

“'Tis the price o' his blood, woman!” he said,
with a heavy moan of mingled grief and indignation.

“'Tis the price of his life, old man! Were he
not now in yonder brigantine, the sands ere this
would have drunken his blood,” she added, with
fierceness. “Hist! ask not what I mean. What
I have said is true. I have sent him away to save
his life, and that there may be one less murder on
the earth. Go to thy hut and content thee with this
gold. 'Tis a friendly gift, old father. 'Twill save
thee from labour so long as thy life shall last. I
will come and gossip with thee o' evenings, and, hey!
sirs,” she cried, skipping on before him with fantastic
gambols, as he placed his slender oars on his
shoulder, “won't we pass the time merrily? I will
make fairies dance before thy door o' moonshiny
nights for thy entertainment; call the mermaids up
from the bottom o' the blue sea to sing thee to sleep

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when thou art aweary; and tell thee tales o' hobgoblins
and spirits till the moon fades in the morning.
Oh, we will have times, father Meredith!”

“But will he come back, Elpsy, woman?”

“The devil forbid!” she responded, half aloud.
“Ay, father; thou wilt yet see him return a brave
sailor, and with piles o' wealth. Faith, sirs, I would
not wonder if he should build thee a castle with
his gold, and make a lord o' thee. Ha, ha, ha,
father Meredith! thou wouldst make a proper
lord!”

“He, he, he! Elpsy, thou art pleasant. If the
lad's gone, I'll make the best o't till the saints
give him back in good time. Come to my hut and
break thy fast, avourneen! He was ever o'er lofty,
and had notions above his class. He was unhappy,
the creature, because he was not equal with
the young Lord o' Castle More. Be-dad! Elpsy,
honey, one would ha' thought he were of gentle
blood!”

She started, and closely scrutinized the old fisherman's
face; but, seeing nothing to confirm her
now constantly active suspicions, she said,

“He was above his birth, as you say, gossip!
The sea will be a school for him, and teach him
his place. He will make a better sailor than lord.
Ha, ha, ha! will he not, father Meredith?” and
she laughed coldly and sarcastically as she spoke.

“He was always a good sailor, Elpsy, woman!
Ne'er a ship came int' the Cove he went not up to
her main truck; nor a craft lay becalmed i' the sight
o' the bay he went not aboard and through every
part o' her. He knew every rope in a ship as well
as an admiral, the crathur! Ah, woman, he could
do an officer's duty this day as well as the keptain
o' the yacht yonder. He seemed to take to a seaman's
life nat'rally, and it was ever discontented

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he was in the skiff. He loved to talk o' big ships,
and foreign lands, battles by sea, and storms, and
shipwreck, and the likes o' them things; and, with
all his high notions, he ever loved a sailor betther
than a lord, and the sailors all liked him, the
jewil!”

“He is in his place, then, father Meredith,”
said Elpsy, chiming in with the favourable train of
the old fisherman's garrulous praises of the youth.
“Thou wouldst not call him ashore now an thou
couldst.”

“Nay, I would not say that, Elpsy, woman.
Yet I begin to think the lad be best where he is.
Yet it will be a dark day to my soul when the ship
sails a-sea with him — the light o' my eyes! the
core o' my heart! Och, hone! Sad will be the day
to the soul o' me, Elpsy, woman! Come in, crathur,
honey, an' take a bite o' the breakfast. It's
you it is that's the comfort o' my lone bosom now,
avourneen!”

“No, no, I have much to do the mornin', old
man!” she said, turning from the door as the fisherman,
after standing his oars up beside it, placed
his hand upon the latch. “Take the gold freely;
it is thine!” she added, casting it through the window
upon the earthen floor of the cabin. “When
the ship sails I will eat.”

“Take a drap o' the dew, Elpsy, dear!” continued
the old man, the grief, which at his age is always
superficial, having, like a child's, been diverted
for the time by the rattling gossip of the weird
woman.

“Elpsy will fast from all save water till the
masts of yonder yacht are shut from my sight by
the meeting of sea and sky!”

She waved her hand with a lofty gesture as she
spoke, as if she sought to impress the fisherman

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by her manner alone, and strode away from the
hut towards the path that led up to the castle.

Grace Fitzgerald, after communicating the result
of her interview with Mark, had left Kate to
her repose. But, with grief at her feud with Lester,
and her lively anticipations of beholding him at
her feet, to be raised from that humble posture to
her forgiving embrace, her mind was too active for
rest, and sleep fled from her pillow, leaving it in the
sole possession of her ardent thoughts. With the
first blush of day, her face scarce less roseate than
the morning sky with the consciousness of her object,
she rose and threw open her lattice, and turned
her face, with earnest expectation, towards the forest-path
which led northward towards Castle More.
From time to time she would lean far out of the
window, and, with eager ear, listen as if to catch
some distant sound. At length, with a look and
exclamation of disappointment, not undivested of a
slight shade of feminine pique, she closed the lattice
and cast herself upon her pillow again, saying,
in a tone of wounded pride,

“I care not! he is unworthy of a thought! I
will forget him and try to sleep!”

She closed her eyelids, as if, at the same time,
she expected her fevered thoughts, like the flower
which folds its leaves together when the sun withdraws
its light, would also shut themselves up and
leave her to repose. But she now thought more
vividly and acutely than before. It at length occurred
to her that there might have been some delay
on the part of the messenger. Perhaps Lester
had not yet got her pacquet, or had just received
it, and was now on his way to her!

“I will wait a little longer!” she said, unclosing
her eyes, and rising and going to the lattice.

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A long time she remained here, with her eyes
fixed on the forest path, and her ears acutely set,
to catch the most distant sound of horses' feet.

“He comes not yet!” she sighed, with deep disappointment.
“Yet he may soon be here! Hark!
is not that his horse? No, 'tis a deer bounding
along to the spring!”

At the moment a cool vein of wind from the sea
chilled her, and, glancing at her dress as she drew
it together across her bosom, she discovered, what
she had hitherto been inattentive to, that she was in
her night-robes.

“And I dare say I should have run to meet him
as I am! What a foolish child!” she said, blushing
with confusion and innocent shame. “'Tis
fortunate he did not come before! I will dress, and
by that time he may be here!”

Hope, hope, hope! Star of woman's love! In
thy celestial journeyings, thou dost never set on the
limitless empire of her affections. Her wide heart
has no horizon beneath which thou canst go down
and disappear. Patient, long suffering, ever hoping
to the last, she steers by thee her bark of love
through storm and danger, faithfully and fearlessly,
never losing sight of thee till, from her expectant
eye, death steals the power of reflecting longer thy
radiance!

When she had completed her toilet, and found
that there were still no indications of Lester's approach,
she became impatient, and, throwing a hood
and veil over her head, she left her chamber and hastened
below. For what purpose she hardly knew—
impulse alone prompted her footsteps. She hastened
through the hall, and descended into the castle
yard, and directed her course towards the forest.
She had entered the verge of its gloomy shades,
which the morning sun had scarcely yet driven out,

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and was penetrating its depths, when she suddenly
stopped.

“Where am I going? what am I doing?” she
exclaimed, as if her feet had been involuntarily
obeying her thoughts hitherto, and she for the first
time had discerned that she was really doing what
she supposed she was only thinking of doing. Such
absent reveries are peculiar to young persons in
love!

“Am I really going to meet him? I did not
know that I did love Lester so. But he would scorn
me to find me here—I will hasten back as I came—
though I scarce have any consciousness how that
was! What a simple creature I have made of myself.
I am afraid of my own ridicule. Oh love,
love, you do play the mischief with maiden's hearts
when once you get into them!” she said, sportively,
yet ending her words with a deep sigh.

Turning back, she retraced her steps slowly towards
the castle. As she approached it, her eyes
were attracted by the pavilions, which still remained
standing, and, bending her steps towards the lawn,
she entered that which had been the scene of the
yesterday's festival. No signs of the banquet remained—
all, save the curtains of the tent, and one
or two rustic sofas within it, were removed. She
seated herself on one of these, and raising the north
side of the tent-hangings by one of the silken cords
attached to them, was enabled, without being seen,
to command the avenue to the forest. With her
person bent a little forward, and holding her handkerchief
in her hand, as if prepared to wave it at
an instant's notice, she sat watching in the direction
in which she expected Lester to appear.

“I will meet him here,” she said; “I would not
have even cousin Grace, good as she is, to witness
our interview of reconciliation. Oh, why does he

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linger so! Well, Robert, I have been taught a lesson
in a knowledge of my own heart by this; and,
let us but meet in peace once more, I will bear much
ere I will make either you or myself so miserable
again.”

She sighed deeply as she spoke, and a glittering
tear, like a drop of dew shaken from a spray, fell
upon her hand.

“Surely he cannot love me, to linger so!” she
said, dropping her aching eyes, which had long kept
watch on the distant path.

“Proud maiden, thou hast spoken truly! he loves
thee not!”

Kate turned in alarm as the stern, harsh voice
that spoke these words sounded close to her ear,
and beheld the weird woman.

“Elpsy!” she cried, rising and speaking between
terror and surprise.

“The witch Elpsy, lady,” added the sorceress,
sarcastically.

“What would you, woman?”

“Thyself.”

“How mean you?” exclaimed the maiden, shrinking
involuntarily back.

“Fear me not, lady!” she said, slowly and with
mysterious emphasis, as she gazed on the face of
the fair girl, her eyes gloating with a diabolical
light; “I would not harm thy body, while I hold
the key to thy soul.”

“Fearful woman, if woman, or even human, thou
art, what terrible meaning lies hidden beneath your
words?”

“Thou lovest Robert of Lester?”

“Elpsy, I will not be questioned. Leave me,”
said Kate, her brow glowing between maidenly
shame and anger.

But Elpsy, without heeding her command or

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seeming to observe her emotion, said, with the sardonic
quiet that malice can put on when it would
wound,

“Thou didst despatch a messenger to Castle
More the last night, lady?”

“How knowest thou this?” she demanded, evasively,
startled at her knowledge of what she believed
known only to the parties immediately interested.

“Is there aught, daughter of the house of Bellamont,
that happens among mortals,” she said, in
the elevated tone of mystery and supernatural
power she was wont to assume at such times,
“that Elpsy the sorceress is ignorant of?”

“I know thou art a dread and fearful woman,”
said Kate, with a thrill of aversion, “and have
power to do evil, which, rather than good, I have
heard it is thy delight to do.”

“Ha, ha! thou hast well spoken,” she responded,
with a chuckling laugh, that caused the maiden,
with all her firmness, to shudder and start back to
the extremity of the pavilion.

“You fear me. Well, it is what I would have.
Ho! 'Tis pleasant to be feared by the lovely and the
pure—by the strong and the mighty; to be sought
out by the noble, and have the homage of the low!
Oh, it's a brave thing, this holding sway over the
minds of mortals. Kings may govern their bodies—
we hold the empire of their souls! Ha, ha! So
you fear me, trembler?”

“An angel would tremble before thee, guilty
one!”

“Ha, ha! I know it. Thou hast spoken it. It
is the reward held out to us that we shall one day
master the good spirits.”

“And how? Alone by the power of darkness
and of sin! You conquer through fear, not by

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strength. Therefore it is that good spirits dare not
enter the abodes of the prince of evil. Woman,
thou art fearful; thy spells sinful; thy soul lost for
ever!” she cried, with virtuous horror united to the
natural enthusiasm of her character.

“Soul!” repeated the sorceress, with a writhing
lip of derision; “soul!”

“Hast thou no soul, woman, in the name of God!”
exclaimed the maiden, appalled by the emphasis
she laid on the word as she repeated it a second
time.

The sorceress gazed on her a moment fixedly ere
she replied, and then advancing a pace towards her,
said hoarsely,

“Yes!”

“Woman,” continued Kate, with solemn earnestness,
turning pale at the manner in which she pronounced
this monosyllable, “I know thou art wicked
and full of evil; but thou canst not have bartered
thy eternal life? have made compact with Sathanas,
at the hazard of thy salvation?”

Elpsy was moved with surprise by the energy
with which she was addressed, and, banishing her
derisive smile, answered in a more natural tone,

“By compact no, lady! none save but with my
own nature; even as all who are mortal do barter
away their souls when they obey the devil within.
I have served him in the shape of evil passions till
his I am, soul and body!”

“Say not so, Elpsy,” said Kate, touched with
pity by the sullen despair and abandonment of her
manner, although in it not a shade of remorse or
penitence was apparent even to her charitable gaze;
“if you have sinned, there is forgiveness to be had
of Heaven! It is not too late to secure your soul's
future happiness. I know there is much that is
kind and humane in you when you are not gored

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by insults, or under the influence of angry emotions.
Abandon your course of life; seek forgiveness of
Him who died for the chiefest of sinners. I pity
you, Elpsy.”

The sorceress hung her head upon her breast in
silence: her bosom heaved with inward struggles;
her harsh features became convulsed, and the maiden
thought she saw a tear fall from her eyes to the
ground. Encouraged by these signs of good, she
added, approaching her in a kindly manner,

“Cast off this assumed character, if, as I sincerely
trust, it is not irrevocably made thine own
by thy soul's price. I will furnish for thee a neat
cottage not far from Cormac, the forester's, and
thou shalt have the comforts about thee thy old
age craves. Do not despair of forgiveness, Elpsy.
God is merciful, and will meet thee in kindness
more than half the way if—”

“Angel! fiend! mock me not!” shrieked the
woman, suddenly lifting her face furrowed with
tears, gnashing her glittering teeth, her eyes flashing,
her clinched hands shaking with nervous excitement,
and her whole bearing that of a pythoness
enraged and fear-stricken. “There is no God—no
heaven for me! Yes, I am bought, body and soul!
Talk not to me of your Christ! For a moment
I was carried back to childhood as you spoke,”
she continued, with a sudden change of manner;
“for I have been once innocent as thyself. But 'tis
past!” she cried, fiercely. “Your words can move
me no more! They have pressed out the last drop
of moisture that remained in my heart! I am
adamant now—hard—hard—hard as iron! Ha, ha,
ha! Elpsy a Christian! Accursed be the name!”

Kate Bellamont, at this sudden and terrific outbreak
from one whom she believed had been softened
by her words, retreated from the vehemence

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of her language and the savage wildness of her
manner, with the look and attitude of one who
suddenly beholds the lion which he has tamed
start suddenly from his playful embrace, and assume
all at once the savage ferocity of his nature.
She was astonished beyond expression by this unexpected
ebullition of feeling, and her mind was appalled
both by her terrible language and the new
ground she had assumed.

“Elpsy, stand from the door and let me pass!”
she said, with firmness, yet trembling through every
fibre of her body, as Elpsy, after speaking, continued
to gaze on her in gloomy silence, and with a
lowering and menacing aspect.

“Nay,” said the sorceress, placing herself full in
the way, and speaking with more mildness even
than was usual to her, “I have news that concerns
thee.”

“Me?”

“None else.”

“Of what?”

“The young Lord of Lester.”

“What of him? Thy looks—thy language—
that fearful smile!”

“Dost love him?”

“It matters not to thee. Speak what thou hast
to say, and quickly,” she cried, with an indefinable
foreboding of evil.

“Thou dost, maiden. It is written in every lineament;
speaks in every action—yea, Robert of
Lester is thy second self. Ha, ha, ha! Did I
not say I held the key to thy soul—ay, and I can
unlock it, too!”

Having, in the first heat of her vengeance at finding
herself defeated by the course taken by Lester,
resolved to divulge to Kate Bellamont the secret
of his birth that she might triumph in her

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humility and wretchedness, Elpsy's fertile mind soon
taught her how best to effect her malicious, and,
save its wickedness, aimless purpose. She now,
therefore, in a tone of assumed carelessness, added,

“But thou lovest him because he is noble like
thyself! Were he lowly in name and humble in
birth, thou wouldst scorn him,” she added, with the
manner of one who is trying the moral pulse of
her victim: “this is ever the way with the highborn.”

“Were he lower born than the hind who herds
my father's kine, he would still be Lester, and noble
to me!” she said, with a spirit that became her
lofty beauty and devoted love.

“This will never do,” muttered Elpsy, thoughtfully,
intent on her cruel design, and forgetful of,
and insensible to, the gratitude due to the maiden
for the kindly interest she had so recently expressed
in her welfare; in repayment of which,
with all the maliciousness of a demon, she was
now taxing her ingenuity to dash from her lips the
cup of happiness which young love had offered to
them.

“Were he a cowherd, he would have a cowherd's
common soul, maiden!”

“Being common he then could not be Lester.
But being Lester, though a swineherd, that inherent
nobleness, that is the birthright of his nature,
would shine out through his mean garb and calling,
and make him still, to my eyes, the Lester I
love.”

“Were he a slave—a serf—ay, chained to a galley,
wouldst thou love him still?”

“If misfortune, and not crime, brought him to
this degradation—then should I not love him less,
but love him more!”

“If 'twere crime?”

[figure description] Page 230.[end figure description]

“Couple it not with his name, woman,” she said,
with flashing eyes. “But why this dark and subtle
questioning? Speak, I command thee!”

“Thou hast no power to command me—I no
will to obey. I will probe her yet deeper!” she
muttered. “If, maiden, there were a stain upon
his birth—”

“Well—” she quickly interrupted, with painful
eagerness visible in every lineament of her beautiful
countenance: for her feelings were highly
wrought up, and, excited to expectation of something
evil by the manner of her interrogator, she
was all nerves and on the rack of torturing suspense.
“Well—speak, prithee, woman! Why
do you pause?”

“If 'twere proven he were a—a—”

“Say—”

“A—nay, 'twill wound thy ears!”

“Speak—I fear not—for I know thou canst lay
no crime to his charge!”

“A bastard!” she said, laying a deliberate stress
upon each syllable.

“Evil woman! away! Leave me!”

“It may be proved that he is not only this,
but—”

“Away! Oh that I should listen to thy foul
and slanderous speech.”

“Low-born!”

“In the name of Heaven, woman, cease! and
give me way out, or I will alarm the castle, and
have thee punished for this insolence!”

As the indignant girl spoke she prepared to pass
her, when the woman laid her hand firmly on her
wrist and detained her, while she said, in a serious
and imperious manner,

“Maiden, hear me! I am not mocking thee!
What if I can prove him to thee to be a lowborn

[figure description] Page 231.[end figure description]

bastard—the son of a peasant-girl, and palmed on
Lady Lester as her own?”

“Thou canst do no such thing with all thy wicked
arts to aid thee,” scornfully replied the maiden.

“What if I could do it! Wouldst love him
then?”

“Yes.”

“The bastard?”

“Yes, I tell thee.”

“The son of a lowborn peasant?”

“He would still be Lester to me, so long as
honour and truth were the habitants of his bosom.”

“Wouldst thou love him then?”

“Better and better for each misfortune he brought
not on himself.”

“Or serf—or galley-slave—or peasant—or bastard,
he would still be Lester in the eyes of thy
love?”

“Yes! Stand aside, and let me pass forth.”

“One word more, fair virgin. I must try,” continued
she to herself, “my last card now. Her
love outwits my invention. 'Tis a shield that turns
aside all my shafts. I think I now know her weakness,
and so will put it to trial. Suppose,” she
asked, in an indifferent tone, “this Robert of Lester
should take offence at thee—”

“Well—” she said, with interest.

“And should ride from thee in anger—”

“Proceed—prithee—”

“And, being too proud to atone, lets his pride
grow till it beget hatred and scorn of thee—”

“Well—”

“And so, from wounded love and rage, he forswears
his noble name, and leagues himself with
pirates; and, out of revenge to thee, goes forth to
slay, and deluge the earth with blood and rapine!”

“Have you done?” she asked, in a tone of

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disdain for what she deemed the idle words of the
speaker.

“I have,” she answered, with a peculiar smile,
that troubled and perplexed her. “But I would
ask thee—wouldst love him then?”

“I will answer thee—if such things could be,
which ne'er can be—No. In this case, guilt would
place for ever an impassable gulf between us.
But, as thou hast so much interest in him, let me
pass that I may meet him, for I hear his horse's
feet in the forest,” she said, with the contempt of
incredulity, yet trembling—so well the supposed
case advanced by Elpsy tallied with the circumstances
under which Lester left her—lest there
might be some dreadful truth at the bottom.

“His horse's feet thou wilt never hear more.
Himself thou wilt never see more, save to thy
sorrow.”

“Explain, woman,” she almost shrieked, grasping
her by the shoulders, and speaking with wild
vehemence.

“Robert of Lester has become even as I have
spoken. Maddened by thy coldness—his pride
stung—his self-love wounded—his feelings lacerated,
he has fled his home, and leagued himself
with bucaniers.”

“In the name of the blessed Heaven above, do
you speak but a tithe of the truth, woman?” she
demanded, with fearful emotion.

“He galloped to the seaside, and a Danish bucanier
being by chance in shore, he threw himself on
board, and put to sea with her.”

“One word, only one word more! You saw
this?”

“I did, and came hither to tell thee.”

“Would to God I knew if thou didst tell the
truth or no,” she cried, almost sinking upon the
ground.

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