A beautiful little boy now pushing his way through the crowd, plainly pronounced the words, "O'Kelly come home; I am very tired." The man, hastily descending from the cart, called him his young prince—his treasure; and lifted him up in his arms. "He is about the same age as Henry Mowbray," said Calantha, "and very like him. What is your name, my pretty child?" "Clare of Costally," said the boy; "and it should by rights be Lord Clare—should it not, O'Kelly?" As he spoke, he smiled and put his little rosy hands to O'Kelly's mouth, who kissed them, and making a slight bow, would have retired. "What, are you going? will you not stay a moment?" "I fear I intrude too much on your honour's time." "Not in the least—not in the least, good Mister Wailman; pray stay a little longer." "Why, fair and honest, if I don't intrude too much on your time, my lord, you do on mine; and so your servant."
