That was the end of Frederic Neville, Earl of Scroope, and the end, too, of all that poor girl’s hopes in this world.  When you stretch yourself on the edge of those cliffs and look down over the abyss on the sea below it seems as though the rocks were so absolutely perpendicular, that a stone dropped with an extended hand would fall amidst the waves.  But in such measurement the eye deceives itself, for the rocks in truth slant down; and the young man, as he fell, struck them again and again; and at last it was a broken mangled corpse that reached the blue waters below.

Her Kate was at last avenged.  The woman stood there in her solitude for some minutes thinking of the thing she had done.  The man had injured her,—­sorely,—­and she had punished him.  He had richly deserved the death which he had received from her hands.  In these minutes, as regarded him, there was no remorse.  But how should she tell the news to her child?  The blow which had thrust him over would, too probably, destroy other life than his.  Would it not be better that her girl should so die?  What could prolonged life give her that would be worth her having?  As for herself,—­in these first moments of her awe she took no thought of her own danger.  It did not occur to her that she might tell how the man had ventured too near the edge and had fallen by mischance.  As regarded herself she was proud of the thing she had accomplished; but how should she tell her child that it was done?

She slowly took the path, not to the cottage, but down towards the burial ground and Liscannor, passing the car which was waiting in vain for the young lord.  On she walked with rapid step, indifferent to the heat, still proud of what she had done,—­raging with a maddened pride.  How little had they two asked of the world!  And then this man had come to them and robbed them of all that little, had spoiled them ruthlessly, cheating them with lies, and then excusing himself by the grandeur of his blood!  During that walk it was that she first repeated to herself the words that were ever afterwards on her tongue; An Eye for an Eye.  Was not that justice?  And, had she not taken the eye herself, would any Court in the world have given it to her?  Yes;—­an eye for an eye!  Death in return for ruin!  One destruction for another!  The punishment had been just.  An eye for an eye!  Let the Courts of the world now say what they pleased, they could not return to his earldom the man who had plundered and spoiled her child.  He had sworn that he would not make her Kate Countess of Scroope!  Nor should he make any other woman a Countess!

Rapidly she went down by the burying ground, and into the priest’s house.  Father Marty was there, and she stalked at once into his presence.  “Ha;—­Mrs. O’Hara!  And where is Lord Scroope?”

“There,” she said, pointing out towards the ocean.  “Under the rocks!”

“He has fallen!”

“I thrust him down with my hands and with my feet.”  As she said this, she used her hand and her foot as though she were now using her strength to push the man over the edge.  “Yes, I thrust him down, and he fell splashing into the waves.  I heard it as his body struck the water.  He will shoot no more of the sea-gulls now.”