But the cold, sneering tones of a masculine voice sent the blood back again into my youthful cheek.
"Very likely the ragged scion of one of these banditti Irish gentry, who has taken naturally to 'the road.' He should be at school--though I warrant me his knowledge of Terence will not extend beyond his own name," said Lord Henry Somerset, aid-de-camp to the Lord Lieutenant.
A moment and I was perfectly calm, though cold as ice.

Dismounting, and stepping to the side of the speaker, I said in a low, firm voice:-- "Had your Lordship read Terence more carefully, you would have learned that banditti are sometimes proficient in other arts beside horsemanship," and I touched his holster significantly with my hand.

I had not read Terence myself, but with the skilful audacity of my race I calculated that a vague allusion, coupled with a threat, would embarrass him.

It did.
"Ah--what mean you ?" he said, white with rage.
"Enough, we are observed," I replied; "Father Tom will wait on you this evening; and to-morrow morning, my lord, in the glen below Pilwiddle we will meet again." "Father Tom--glen!" ejaculated the Englishman, with genuine surprise.
"What?
do priests carry challenges and act as seconds in your infernal country ?" "Yes!" I answered, scornfully, "why should they not?
Their services are more often necessary than those of a surgeon," I added significantly, turning away.
The party slowly rode off, with the exception of the Hon.

Blanche Sackville, who lingered for a moment behind.