The drive through the beautiful country, now in the glory of early summer, charmed both Cleve and Palma.
“It is a boundless Garden of Eden!” exclaimed the latter.
But beauty and glory in nature was quite lost on The O’Melaghlin, who employed the time in descanting to his son-in-law upon the ancient royalty and grandeur of the O’Melaghlins until the carriage turned into the park gate, where Longman stood to welcome them.
“There, that was a foine sivin-footer—that retainer of yours, Haymore. Jist such min me ancestor, Roderick O’Melaghlin, last monarch of Meath, had for his bodyguard, armed with spears and battle-axes, iviry man of them,” said the chieftain, as the carriage rolled up the avenue toward the house.
When it drew up in front of the Hall, there stood Mike and Judy, the beautiful young pair, as much alike in their dark loveliness as twin brother and sister could possibly be. Both in evening dress; Mike in the conventional black swallowtail and patent leathers, with a sprig of shamrock in his buttonhole in honor of the visitor. Judy in a dark blue satin dress, trained, and with low body and short sleeves, showing the plump neck and round arms, which were now dimly veiled with fine lace and adorned with the Haymore diamonds in honor of the guests.
Behind them stood an array of servants.
“There is your son and daughter, O’Melaghlin,” whispered Palma in the ear of the chief, as he sat beside her.
He looked out and saw the beautiful pair, with their lovely faces lighted up now with the joy of expectancy.
“What! thim? You don’t mane thim!” he exclaimed, gazing at them.
“Yes, I do. They are Mike and Judy.”