coming back with the clatter of a horse's hoofs through the fading
sunlight over the dew of the daisies.

"Well," said Mrs. Ravenel, her eyes dancing with merry light, "isn't he
delightful?"

"Delightful!" Frank repeated. "Is he? I wonder. Shrewd, cool-headed,
cruel, I think--subtle as well."

"Nonsense," Mrs. Ravenel interrupted, with a smile which might not have
been so mirthful had she seen at that moment the man of whom she spoke.

Near the north gate McDermott had brought his horse suddenly to a walk.
There was no longer gayety in his manner or his face. The merry light
had left his eyes, and in its place shone a gleam, steady and cold, as
only the eye of the intellectual Irish can be.

"And so that is the son! An unco man for the lassies, like his father
before him." His eyelids drew together as he spoke. "Handsome, too--with
a knowledge of life. It's a pity!" he said. "It's a pity! But he may not
interfere. If he does, well--even if he does, the gods are with the
Irish!"




II

THE MEETING IN THE WOODS