"Don't cry, Niall!" said Winifred. "I shall always remember you and your cave and dear old Granny and Wicklow and Ireland."
She said the words as solemnly as if they were a vow; and they had a weird sound there in that hole in the rocks which had sheltered many a noble and saintly soul.
"There spoke my own lady!" cried Niall, triumphantly.
"Nothing shall ever make me forget," added Winifred.
"I, for my part," I broke in, "shall do my best to help you to remember; and so I solemnly promise here on this holy ground, where Mass has been said and where martyrs have trod."
It was near evening when we left that wonderful spot, and, deafened once more by the noise of the Phoul-a-Phooka, retraced our steps in silence.
CHAPTER XVI. IN THE CAPITAL.
The August morning which was to see our departure dawned at last. The leave-taking with old Granny Meehan was very pathetic. The poor woman, with her deep resignation, her confidence in God's providence, was a striking illustration of the best virtues of her race. Calmly she bade us farewell, praying many a prayer, invoking many a blessing on the beloved head of her little charge. We left her sitting at her accustomed seat near the hearth, with Tabby purring against her and the pleasant sunshine flooding the apartment.