"I shall try to be very brave," she answered; "and then perhaps I'll be happy. Father Owen says so, anyway."
"He is a wise man and a saint," I answered.
"Oh, yes!" she assented, with pretty enthusiasm. "He is just like St. Patrick himself."
After that she accepted the situation cheerfully, and I never again heard her protest against going to America. Father Owen had won the day.
CHAPTER XV. THE CAVE IN THE MOUNTAINS.
The time fixed for our departure was drawing all too near; for the summer had been a delightful one, with much of fine weather and almost constant sunshine—rare in that land where Nature's tear is always very near her smile. I had visited the Devil's Glen, with its wondrous falls, its turbulent streams, its mountain heights, reached by a path of tangled bloom. I had seen the "sweet Vale of Avoca" and Avonmore, and Glendalough, with its seven ruined churches; and St. Kevin's Bed, and all the other delights of Wicklow, the garden of Ireland.
On most of these expeditions I had been accompanied by Winifred, with Barney and Moira. If we were driving, Barney acted as driver and guide at once; if we were on foot, he carried the luncheon basket. Very often we set out when the dew was still on the grass and the morning-star had scarcely faded from the sky.
But there was one more spot to be visited, and this time Barney and Moira were not to be of the party. Winifred had persuaded Niall to take us to the Phoul-a-Phooka, and show us there a mysterious cavern in which he kept hidden his treasures. I looked forward to this visit with a curious blending of fear and curiosity. Niall was so variable in his moods, and Father Owen agreed with me in thinking that at times his mind was unsettled and his temper dangerous. Still, I determined to take the risk.