inner space enclosed by all that was left of the dismantled house. A
cry of alarm escaped her. Was she the victim of destiny, or the sport
of chance? There was the wild lord whom she had vowed never to see
again: the master of her heart--perhaps the master of her fate!

Any other man would have been amazed to see her, and would have asked
how it had happened that the English lady presented herself to him in
an Irish wood. This man enjoyed the delight of seeing her, and accepted
it as a blessing that was not to be questioned. "My angel has dropped
from Heaven," he said. "May Heaven be praised!"

He approached her; his arms closed round her. She struggled to free
herself from his embrace. At that moment they both heard the crackle of
breaking uuderwood among the trees behind them. Lord Harry looked
round. "This is a dangerous place," he whispered; "I'm waiting to see
Arthur pass safely. Submit to be kissed, or I am a dead man." His eyes
told her that he was truly and fearfully in earnest. Her head sank on
his bosom. As he bent down and kissed her, three men approached from
their hiding-place among the trees. They had no doubt been watching
him, under orders from the murderous brotherhood to which they
belonged. Their pistols were ready in their hands--and what discovery
had they made? There was the brother who had been denounced as having
betrayed them, guilty of no worse treason than meeting his sweetheart
in a wood! "We beg your pardon, my lord," they cried, with a thoroughly
Irish enjoyment of their own discomfiture--and burst into a roar of
laughter--and left the lovers together. For the second time, Iris had
saved Lord Harry at a crisis in his life.

"Let me go!" she pleaded faintly, trembling with superstitious fear for
the first time in her experience of herself.