bear. He had not gone forth that morning feeling very confident of success, but he had at least hoped much from his long friendship with Mr. Mildmay, and the very evident state of his affections; the hope had been but short-lived. Mr. Mildmay, though not intentionally cruel, could be very harsh and stern when his anger was roused. Directly Val came into the room, he knew well enough what was coming, but had at first pretended to misunderstand him, and then had treated his proposition as too ridiculous to be entertained for a moment. Val's income was not large, but it was sufficient to maintain his wife in comfort, and as he could not plead that it was less than his daughter had been accustomed to, Mr. Mildmay had recourse to other objections, of which the first was that he wished her to marry in England. He very soon gave Val plainly to understand that though he valued him as a friend, he had no intention of making him his son-in-law.

I do not blame him. It was perhaps natural that hating Ireland as he did, he should not wish Doris to spend her days there, and his ambitious dreams for his much-loved child had that morning taken tangible form when Horace Mudie had asked his consent to "paying his addresses" to Doris. A less considerate man would have told Val at once that a rival had been beforehand, but he really wished to spare him as far as possible, and was also anxious that the result of his interview with Mudie should not come round to Doris prematurely. Val thought him bitterly cruel and unjust, and a stormy scene was the result, for the younger man was possessed of an Irish temper of the most passionate description, and though he generally had it well under control, his friends were occasionally startled by a violent outburst. Mr. Mildmay became angry likewise, and finally told him of Mudie's proposal, implying further that Doris returned his affection. Val staggered back and his powerful hands clenched convulsively. For an instant the two men stood silently facing one another, the one flushed and angry, the other pale with the rage of despair; then Val turned and left the house without a word. He knew well enough that his violent conduct had ruined any chance he might have had, for Mr. Mildmay rarely forgave an injury.

Fury, like a wild beast with its teeth in his throat, seemed suffocating him, yet the thought of his vanished hopes drove him on at random, until at last he stopped trembling, exhausted, and gasping for breath, and looked round for the first time. He was on a dreary heath, many miles from home, yet not far from a lonely high road

which led to the county town. The sun was getting low, but Val did not heed it; to go quietly home in his present state of mind was a sheer impossibility, and resting his arms upon a low stone wall, he watched the sun as it sank lower and lower, tinging the clouds with gorgeous colours, and casting its royal mantle of crimson over the dark heather and lichen-covered boulders.

Suddenly there flashed across him those words which had so often before checked his paroxysms of anger: "Let not the sun go down on your wrath, neither give place to the devil." He laughed hoarsely; nothing short of a miracle, he thought, could conquer his fury now. Little did he know of the fiery trial which was so close at hand.

"Good evening, Mr. O'Brien," said a familiar voice presently. Val started round and beheld John Halloran-a man whom no one really liked, in spite of his plausible exterior, but who had obtained great influence over the lower classes in the neighbourhood by his cunning and by declaiming against the landlords and making the people believe themselves oppressed and ill-used. In person he was tall and spare, with a sallow face, receding chin and forehead, and restless black eyes, set very close together; his voice was very good -sympathetic, manly and mellow, and though Val despised him as a cowardly humbug, he never found any proof against him, as no one knew better how to adapt his conversation to his hearers.

This evening Val was too angry and miserable to be discreet, and when Halloran remarked, in a tone of great concern, upon his pale face and disturbed looks, he clenched his fists and poured forth his griefs in a torrent of bitter words, only feeling that it was a relief to be able to tell them to any one. A few dexterous remarks from his companion elicited from the poor frenzied fellow some wild words about being grateful to any one who would rid the world of the English land-agent, uttered in a state in which he was scarcely responsible for his actions. He was soon to repent of them.

There was a short pause; Val turned away and resumed his former moody attitude, while Halloran watched him with a strange eager light in his eyes.

"We cannot safely rid the world of him, Val O'Brien," he said, presently; "but sure, 'twould be a noble deed to rid Ochnaballagh of him, and send him back to England entirely! Has he done anything at all at all, but oppress the poor since he set his foot in Erin Mavourneen, bad luck to him!" and the speaker proceeded to give a

detailed and highly coloured account of various atrocities of which Mr. Mildmay was supposed to have been guilty. "But I know some lads who are too brave and independent to bear his tyrannies like a flock of driven sheep, and faith! we mean to get rid of him too,” and Halloran unfolded his scheme, which was briefly as follows. False reports and slanders of all kinds concerning the agent were to be circulated by Halloran, whose intimacy with the bailiffs, labourers and tenants of the estate afforded him ample opportunities for tampering with the affairs of the landlord and the agent's character. When the way had been prepared, the accounts were to be falsified with the help of one of the bailiffs, and finally a deputation of tenants was to make formal complaint to Colonel Baldwin, who having only lately inherited the property, was anxious to be on good terms with all his dependents, and would therefore probably dismiss the agent at once. The part which Halloran wished Val to play was mainly passive. Colonel Baldwin, who had known and trusted Val from a lad, would most likely question him about Mr. Mildmay, and Halloran knew his thorough-going, straightforward ways too well not to dread the result of his investigations. "All I will ask of you is to keep silence when you are questioned; you need not tell any lie, only shut your mouth tight. Remember that by your silence you can save our poor from misery and oppression. And when he is in disgrace, his Saxon pride will be brought down fast enough, and he will be glad to give you his daughter; his London dandy will be off like a butterfly when trouble comes, and faith! the bonniest maid in all Ireland will be your bride! Say, will you join with us ?”

While this well-laid plot was being detailed to him, Val did not move or speak; his face had turned a shade more deathly, and great drops of cold sweat stood on his brow, while he leant heavily upon the wall for support. The awful struggle which was going on within him, was known only to Him Who sees into the hearts of all men. As he listened to the subtle words, it seemed as if all Satan's army were assailing him at once. "There cannot be any harm in keeping silence," whispered the tempter on one side, "and he is hard upon the poor folk." Then came Self with its murmur, "How can I go on living so close to them, living without hope? If they were far away I might forget her in time." And finally came that quick intoxicating vision of bliss, illogical though it was.

For full three minutes there was a dead silence, while Halloran, who

was fully alive to the advantages of having such a popular ally, awaited his answer in unconcealed anxiety. Then Val raised his head.

"GOD help me!" he cried from the bottom of his heart; and then it seemed as if an angel were strengthening him, the choking in his throat vanished, and he turned with a deep-drawn breath, and faced his tempter.

One glance told Halloran that he had made a fatal mistake, one of those mistakes which men of his stamp and cunning occasionally fall into, through their low estimate of the characters of those with whom they deal. Instinctively he shrank before the indignant blaze of the young man's eyes, and a terrible gulf seemed to yawn at his feet. For some moments the two men confronted each other without speaking; Val, with bared head, the evening breeze stirring the damp dark locks which strayed over his pale forehead, looking taller and more commanding than ever against the background of glowing sky; the other, with his furtive eyes and vindictive face looking much like a snake to which some one had just given a blow; they would have served as models of noble manly strength and mean cowardice.

Sure, Halloran, you're the meanest blackguard I ever met at all!" cried Val at last, with intense disgust. "Just tell me now, who was

it paid your debts when you were in trouble five years ago and gave you money to take you to America? Och! ye're ashamed to tell me, and though Mr. Mildmay's too great a gentleman to tell them himself, all your friends shall know how you show your gratitude to him, you cowardly spalpeen, or I'm not Val O'Brien." (Val's brogue always became more apparent under excitement.)

Halloran ground his teeth with fury; he had not known that any one was aware how far the agent had befriended him in days gone by, and though since his return to Ireland enmity had sprung up between them, obliterating any gratitude he might have felt towards his benefactor, he knew that those upon whose support he counted would be the first to condemn his ingratitude.

Val turned away with an impatient "Faugh!" but he had not gone many paces before Halloran caught hold of his arm.

"Look here, Val O'Brien, you know the penalty of betraying us? If one word of what has passed between us becomes known, by Heaven, you will find a bullet in your heart some night! You understand, I have warned you."

Val burst into a scornful laugh.

"One would think you were a

play-actor. If you think to frighten me with that theatrical nonsense, you're mistaken entirely !"

And Val went off at a swinging pace with firm steps. Halloran drew a revolver from his pocket, then thrust it back with a muttered curse, and stood watching the tall athletic figure until it was out of sight.

"He does not know how little I care for my life now," sighed poor "Ah! Doris Mavourneen!"

Val;

All anger against Mr. Mildmay had died out of his heart; he was too much humbled by the danger into which his fury had led him, to feel unkindly towards the cause of that fury, and as he walked home weary and faint for want of food, a silent hymn of thankfulness, mingled with prayers for forgiveness, rose from his heart to the GOD Who had saved him from so great a crime.

CHAPTER II.

FOR two or three weeks Val heard and saw nothing of Halloran and his revengeful schemes. He took care to spread the story of Mr. Mildmay's kindness to Halloran amongst the villagers, but he was listened to with an incredulous coldness and suspicion, which showed that Halloran's tongue had been at work.

They were dreary weeks for him, poor fellow! Several times he had met Horace Mudie when riding and walking about the neighbourhood, and the latter had always been most friendly, generally finding some pretext for entering into conversation with him. Mudie felt himself irresistibly drawn towards the honest young Irishman, and pitied him sincerely, as he saw him growing more pale and wan day by day. As for Val, he met all these advances coldly, though he felt his dislike diminishing daily, almost against his will.

At last rumours reached Val's ears that all was not well with the agent. At first they were only hazy whispers, which began and ended with an ominous shake of the head. And Val, who was on the lookout for these symptoms, noticed that when Mr. Mildmay passed through the village the men scowled at him openly, and even the children called some insult after him or threw mud at his back, of course incited thereto by their parents.

In a short time the complaints against him took more tangible forms; Farmer Mulligan's corn had been ridden over by Mr. Mildmay