bitt, which, as you perhaps know, is equal to fivepence in British
money, such as you and I used to spend when you were Queen of
Ireland and I was your slave.

Then I worshipped you as few women have been worshipped in all the
days of the world--oh, cursed spite of life and time that I should
have been jailed for killing your bad father! Aye, he was a bad
man, and he is better in his grave than out of it, but it puts a
gulf between you and me which nothing will ever bridge--unless it
should some day be known I did not kill him, and then, no doubt, it
will be too late.

On my soul, I don't believe I put my sword into him; but if I did,
he well deserved it, for he was worse than faithless to your mother,
he was faithless to his country--he was a traitor! I did not tell
that story of his treachery in court--I did not tell it because of
you. You did not deserve such infamy, and the truth came not out at
the trial. I, in my view, dared not, lest it might injure you, and
you had suffered enough--nay, more than enough--through him.

I wonder how you are, and if you have changed--I mean in appearance.
I am sure you are not married; I should have felt it in my bones,
if you were. No, no, my sweet lass, you are not married. But
think--it is more than seven long years since we met on the hills
above Playmore, and you put your hand in mine and said we should be
friends for all time. It is near three years since a letter came to
me from you, and in the time I have made progress.

I did not go to the United States, as you asked me to do. Is it not
plain I could not? My only course was to avoid you. You see, your