Ravenshoe. By Henry Kingsley.

414 RAVENSHOE.
" Not one," said Charles. "Is one of those dark figures which
have frightened us so much Father Mackworth? My dear sir,
I am so sorry. Come to the fire; and who is the other?"
" Only Murtagh Tiernay," said a soft voice.
"Why did you stand out there these few minutes? Father
Mackworth, your arm."
William and Charles helped him in towards the fire. He
looked terribly ill and ghastly. The dear old General took him
from them, and sat him down in his own chair by the fire; and
there he sat, looking curiously around him, with the light of the
wood-fire and the candles strong on his face, while Ellen stood
behind him, with her hood thrown back, and her white hands
folded on her bosom. If you have ever seen a stranger group
than we were, I should be glad to hear of it.
Poor Mackworth seemed to think that it was expected of him
to speak. He looked up to General Mainwaring, and he said," I hope you are the better of your wound, sir. I have had a
sharp stroke of paralysis, and I have another coming on, sir, and
my memory is going. When you meet my Lord Saltire, whom
I am surprised to find absent to-night, will you tell him that I
presented my compliments, and thought he had used me very
well on the whole. Had she not better begin, sir? or it may be
too late, - unless you would like to wait for Lord Saltire."
Father Murtagh Tiernay knelt down, and whispered to him.
" Ay, ay! " he said; " dead? Ay, so he is; I had forgotten.
We shall all be dead soon. Some of us will to hell, General,
and some to heaven, and all to purgatory. I am a priest, sir. I
have been bound, body and soul, to the Church from a child; and
I have done things which the Church will disapprove of when
they are told, though not while they are kept secret; and I tell
them because the eyes of a dead man, of a man who was drowned
bathing in the bay, haunt me day and night, and say, Speak out!
- Murtagh!"
Little Tiernay was kneeling beside him, and called his attention to him.
" You had better give me the wine; for the end is getting very
near. Tell her to begin."
And while poor Mackworth was taking some wine (poor fellow, it was little enough he had taken in his lifetime), Ellen
began to speak. I had some notion that we should know everything now. We had guessed the truth for a long while. We
had guessed everything about Petre Ravenshoe's marriage. We
believed in it. We seemed to know all about it, from Lady
Ascot. No link was wanting in the chain of proof, save one, -
the name of the place in which that marriage took place. That
had puzzled every one. Lady Ascot declared it was a place in