them, in readiness to start upon whatever day or hour they might
choose for their departure. It was arranged that Mr. Carew was, as
soon as the day upon which they were to leave Dublin was definitely
fixed, to write to my father, who intended that the two last stages
should be performed by his own horses, upon whose speed and safety
far more reliance might be placed than upon those of the ordinary
_post-horses_, which were, at that time, almost without exception, of
the very worst order. The journey, one of about ninety miles, was to
be divided; the larger portion to be reserved for the second day. On
Sunday, a letter reached us, stating that the party would leave Dublin
on Monday, and, in due course, reach Ashtown upon Tuesday evening.
Tuesday came: the evening closed in, and yet no carriage appeared;
darkness came on, and still no sign of our expected visitors. Hour
after hour passed away, and it was now past twelve; the night was
remarkably calm, scarce a breath stirring, so that any sound, such
as that produced by the rapid movement of a vehicle, would have
been audible at a considerable distance. For some such sound I was
feverishly listening. It was, however, my father's rule to close the
house at nightfall, and the window-shutters being fastened, I was
unable to reconnoitre the avenue as I would have wished. It was nearly
one o'clock, and we began almost to despair of seeing them upon that
night, when I thought I distinguished the sound of wheels, but so
remote and faint as to make me at first very uncertain. The noise
approached; it become louder and clearer; it stopped for a moment. I
now heard the shrill screaking of the rusty iron, as the avenue
gate revolved on its hinges; again came the sound of wheels in rapid
motion.

"It is they," said I, starting up, "the carriage is in the avenue." We
all stood for a few moments, breathlessly listening. On thundered