to think of Anthony Cardew.

He had the most romantic stories attaching to him, such stories as were
sure to please a young girl's fancy. It was to be sure not a name we
mentioned at Aghadoe. Indeed, even before I knew about Uncle Luke there
was something that forbade my talking of the Cardews before Lord and
Lady St. Leger or before my godmother.

Only old Maureen, who so often mixed up the present and the past, would
talk of the Cardews as though their name had never been banned, as
though they still came and went as friends and intimates at Aghadoe
Abbey as in the days before the trouble came about Uncle Luke.

I knew that Captain Cardew had long since retired from the army, and
that one never knew in what corner of the world he might not be, since
wherever adventures were to be found he was.

I knew that he had spent many years of his life--he must be now nearly
forty, which was a great age to me--in the service of an unhappy great
lady whose little kingdom had been unjustly taken from her, and in her
cause he had spent his patrimony which had once been great. And now
since she no longer lived, having given up her gentle soul some two
years after she had sought the shelter of the convent against a rough
world, he was free once more to devote his sword of Don Quixote to some
other lost cause.

I knew, furthermore, that he was reported to have raised money from Mr.
Dawson of Damerstown at ruinous interest to spend it in the service of
the Princess Pauline, and that he was now very poor, too poor to keep
his old home from going to pieces and being consumed by the damp and by