CHAPTER XV.

"Some men leave truth to such as love it. They are resolved to be cunning, let others run the hazard of being sincere."-SOUTH.

THE Earl did not go directly from the abbey to his friend's mansion, but made a circuit round the demesne. He did so for two reasons; first, to give himself time for thought, for maturing his line of conduct, and for allowing his feelings towards Archer-whom he thought it probable he should meet at the house-to cool down ; and secondly, to convey the impression to those about the place for he knew not whom he was to suspect as the spy upon his movements-that he had come from an opposite direction, and not from the abbey.

The passions of some men, when suddenly roused by what they consider faithless or base conduct, produce explosions which burn up all friendly compacts. They sometimes fire the mines by which they seek to counteract the treachery of their enemies, before their own mining and boring is completed. This produces an explosion on the

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surface, which informs their enemies of their intentions and mode of operations, without injuring them.

Now the Earl was not only a man of truthful impulses, he was also a skilful general, and a man of the world; and, what was better than all this, his love for Miss Cavendish was stronger than his detestation of Archer's wiles. The former was the master-passion of his soul, and kept the other in proper subjection, and gave his intellect time to work, to meet his enemy with his own weapons, those of secrecy and deception. He felt the more confidence in doing so, for in starting, fortune, or accident, had favoured him, by making him acquainted with one of his secret foes; and, to some extent, with his mode of attack; if he might judge from the mention of his cousin, Lady Margaret's name, at which the silent man in the abbey seemed to chuckle with malicious pleasure.

He met Mac Rory near the door of the mansion, who said to him, with much of apparently foolish and natural glee, "Daddy Archer is in! Daddy Archer in there!"

"Father Archer !" said the Earl, with well-feigned surprise, "Dost say so!-when came he?"

This is indeed a pleasure," said the bland Jesuit, ending his arms with a smile to the Earl, as he

entered; "I am delighted to see your lordship looking so well. How is the wound?"

"A thousand thanks, kind father," said the Earl, returning the salutation, "the wound is nearly healed. This is an unexpected pleasure."

"You did not expect to find me at the house, then?" replied Archer, watching the expression of the Earl's face. He first thought the Earl had accompanied Miss Cavendish home, but, when he came to the house, and found he had not been there, the suspicion flashed across his mind, that he might have returned to the abbey, and overheard his conversation with Mac Rory.

"I have but this moment learned of your being here," replied the Earl with ease.

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Are you used to walk so late, after sunset, or have your meditations led you to the old abbey ?"

The Earl smiled.

"If so, perhaps like the founder of our order,* who was a wounded soldier like yourself, you may think of joining the ranks of the Church militant.”

The cheeks of Miss Cavendish became suf fused with blushes, as the Jesuit spoke of the "old abbey"; but the Earl, who knew that the churchman intended the remark for him, and not for his

Ignatius Loyola.

fair companion, replied:-"I possess, Father, neither the mental nor the moral qualities for so high an honour; I was in the abbey to-day, before sunset.”

The replies of the Sugane Earl were so simple and unembarrassed, and his manner so devoid of suspicion, as to lead the churchman to conclude, that he had nothing to apprehend, and that his dialogue with the spy had not been overheard ; but he determined to be more on his guard for the future.

Mac Rory, on this occasion, had displayed more caution and cunning than Archer, for he never spoke above his breath.

The mind of Archer was of a far higher order than that of his companion, and engaged itself more about the weightier matters of Church and State, and gave less attention to those smaller details of examining corners and crannies, before speaking aloud, at which Mac Rory was au fait. Perhaps he felt this, and therefore chose for a confidant and companion a young man, possessing, to perfection, the close-scenting and sharp prying powers, in which he was deficient. But he imagined he could read the heart of man, and look into all its corners and crannies, and turn it inside-out, with the ease a lady could a kid glove; and hence concluded, that he could not be deceived by so fair and out

spoken a young man as James Fitz-Thomas, the Sugane Earl. But neither was the human heart his forte; nor was it his pianoforte. I pray you, gentle reader, excuse this horrid pun, but really I could not resist it. I mean it was not his instrument; one upon which he could play with the greatest ability: his was an intellect, better versed in the working of civil and ecclesiastical constitutions, or better acquainted with mind in the mass, than with individual minds; or with the operation of individual minds, when working on a mass of mind, than with mind engaged with its own affections. He, therefore, could read the mind of the young Earl far easier, when engaged in the councils of war, than when making war on the heart of Miss Cavendish. He could rule a nation, and govern a Church, with far more ability than he could have ruled his wife, or governed his own children, had he been fortunate enough to possess these treasures. He was scarcely the man, although a Jesuit, to forbid the banns between two such sincere and loving hearts as those of the young Earl and the fair niece of the old priest. He was something like Themistocles, who said, "he could not play the fiddle, but he could make a small town a great city." Vespasian once asked Appollonius "what was the