this instance, there was added to the blush of modesty
that of offended pride at his unseasonable presumption.

"This, Mr. Hycy," she replied, "is neither a time nor a place for empty
compliments. When the son becomes as worthy as the father, I'll shake
hands with him; but not till that time comes."

On returning to the place she had left, her eyes met those of Bryan, and
for a period that estimable and true-hearted young fellow forgot
both grief and sorrow in the rush of rapturous love which poured
its unalloyed sense of happiness into his heart. Hycy, however, felt
mortified, and bit his lip with vexation. To a young man possessed of
excessive vanity, the repulse was the more humiliating in proportion to
its publicity. Gerald Cavanagh was as deeply offended as Hycy, and his
wife could not help exclaiming aloud, "Kathleen! what do you mane? I
declare I'm ashamed of you!"

Kathleen, however, sat down beside her sister, and the matter was soon
forgotten in the stir and bustle which preceded the setting out of the
funeral.

This was indeed a trying and heart-rending scene. The faithful wife, the
virtuous mother, the kind friend, and the pious Christian, was now about
to be removed for ever from that domestic scene which her fidelity, her
virtue, her charity, and her piety, had filled with peace, and love, and
happiness. As the coffin, which had been resting upon two chairs, was
about to be removed, the grief of her family became loud and vehement.

"Oh, Bridget!" exclaimed her husband, "and is it to come to this at
last! And you are lavin' us for evermore! Don't raise the coffin," he
proceeded, "don't raise it. Oh! let us not part wid her till to-morrow;
let us know that she's undher the same roof wid us until then. An',
merciful Father, when I think where you're goin' to bring her to! Oh!
there lies the heart now widout one motion--dead and cowld--the heart
that loved us all as no other heart ever did! Bridget, my wife, don't
you hear me? But the day was that you'd hear me, an' that your kind an'
lovin' eye would turn on me wid that smile that was never broken. Where
is the wife that was true? Where is the lovin' mother, the charitable
heart to the poor and desolate, and the hand that was ever ready to aid
them that was in distress? Where are they all now? There, dead and cowld
forever, in that coffin. What has become of my wife, I say? What is
death at all, to take all we love from us this way? But sure God forgive