“What is it then?—spake it out free.”
“'Tis just to wait for the chaise—she'll come in a chaise, it's likely.”
But what was Kerry's plan, neither Mrs. Branagan nor the reader are destined to hear, for at that moment a loud summons at the hall door—a very unusual sound—announced the arrival of a stranger; Kerry, therefore, had barely time for a hasty toilet with a pocket-comb, before a small fragment of looking-glass he carried in his pocket, as he hastened to receive the visitor.
CHAPTER XVII. KATE O'DONOGHUE
Before Kerry O'Leary had reached the hall, the object around whose coming all his schemes revolved, was already in her uncle's arms.
“My dear, dear Kate!” said the old man, as he embraced her again and again, while she, overcome by a world of conflicting emotions, concealed her face upon his shoulder.
“This is Mark, my dearest girl—cousin Mark.”
The girl looked up, and fixed her large full eyes upon the countenance of the young man, as, in an attitude of bashful hesitation, he stood, uncertain how far the friendship of former days warranted his advances. She, too, seemed equally confused; and when she held out her hand, and he took it half coldly, the meeting augured but poorly for warmth of heart on either side.
“And Herbert—where is he?” cried she eagerly, hoping to cover the chilling reception by the inquiry—“and my uncle Archy——”