He was riding all over the country trying to get a loan from his
different friends. He was visiting one house after another. Some of
the houses were neat and well-to-do, but most of them sadly required
funds to put them in order. At every house Squire O'Shanaghgan
received a hearty welcome, an invitation to dinner, and a bed for
the night; but when he made his request the honest face that looked
into his became sorrowful, the hands stole to the empty pockets, and
refusals, accompanied by copious apologies, were the invariable result.

"There's no one in all the world I would help sooner, Pat, if I
could," said Squire O'Grady; "but I have not got it, my man. I am as
hard pressed as I can be myself. We don't get in the rents these
times. Times are bad--very bad. God help us all! But if you are
turned out, what an awful thing it will be! And your family the
oldest in the place. You're welcome, every one of you, to come here.
As long as I have a bite and sup, you and yours shall share it with
me." And Squire Malone said the same thing, and so did the other
squires. There was no lack of hospitality, no lack of good will, no
lack of sorrow for poor Squire O'Shanaghgan's calamities; but funds
to avert the blow were not forthcoming.

The Squire more and more avoided Nora's eyes; and Nora, who now had
a secret of her own, and a hope which she would scarcely dare to
confess even to herself, avoided looking at him.

Mrs. O'Shanaghgan was a little more fretful than usual. She forgot
all about the lessons she had set her daughter in her laments over
her absent son, over the tattered and disgraceful state of the
Castle, and the ruin which seemed to engulf the family more and
more.