' That woman is yon heretic queen. A usurper,
an intruder on our birthright. Never were the O'Neales conquered but by
woman! I have lingered here when the war-cry hath rung from the shores
of my country. Again the shout hath come, and the impatient chiefs wait
for my return. But"----
The warrior seemed to writhe during the conflict. His hands were
clenched, and every muscle stiffened with agony. Scorn at his own
weakness, and dread, horrible undefinable dread, as he felt the
omnipotent power mastering his proud spirit. The man who would have
laughed at the shaking of a spear, and the loud rush of the battle,
quailed before a woman's hate and a woman's love.
"And what is thy request to-night?" said Holt.
The stranger answered in a voice of thunder--
"Thy daughter!"
Tyrone, for it was he, seemed nigh choking with the emotion he sought to
suppress.
"Nay," he continued, "it must not be. Oh! did I love her less, she had
been mine!"
"Thine?" suddenly retorted her father, somewhat scornfully. "And who
gave thee this power over woman's spirit? Thou hast not even had speech
of her, much less the means to win her favour.
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