d if nothing else on my
bed of death was to console me, it would be, and it will be, that you
and I will then sleep together, never to be parted more. That will be my
consolation."

"Now, father dear," said Bryan, "we didn't attempt to stop or prevent
you, and I hope you'll be something calm and come away for a little."

"Best of sons! but aren't you all good, for how could you be
otherwise with her blood in your veins?--bring me away; come you, Dora
darlin'--ay, that's it--support the: blessed child between you and
Hanna, Kathleen darlin'. Oh, wait, wait till we get out of hearin, or
the noise of the clay fallin' on the coffin will kill me."

They then walked to some distance, where they remained until the "narrow
house" was nearly filled, after which they once more surrounded it until
the last sod was beaten in. This being over, the sorrowing group sought
their way home with breaking hearts, leaving behind them her whom they
had loved so well reposing in the cold and unbroken solitude of the
grave.

CHAPTER XIV.--Mysterious Letter

--Hycy Disclaims Sobriety--Ahadarra's in for it.

One day about a month after Mrs. M'Mahon's funeral, Harry Clinton was
on his way to Jemmy Burke's, when he met Nanny Peety going towards
Ballymacan.

"Well, Nanny," he inquired, "where are you bound for, now?"

"To the post-office with a letter from Masther Hycy, sir. I wanted him
to tell me who it was for, but he would not. Will you, Mr. Clinton?" and
she held out the letter to him as she spoke.

Clinton felt a good deal surprised to see that it was addressed to his
uncle, and also written in a hand which he did not recognize to be that
of Hycy Burke.

"Are you sure, Nanny," he asked, "that this letter was written by Mr.
Hycy?"

"Didn't I see him, sir?" she replied; "he wrote it before my eyes a
minute before he handed it to me. Who is it for, Mr. Clinton?"

"Why are you so very anxious to know, Nanny?" he inquired.

"Sorra thing," she replied, "but curiosity--a woman's curiosity, you
know."

"Well, Nanny, you know, or ought to know, that it would not be right in
me to tell you who the letter is for, when Mr. Hycy did not think proper
to do so."

"True enough, sir," she replied; "an I beg your pardon, Mr. Clinton, for
asking you; indeed it was wrong in me to tell you who it came from even,
bekaise Mr. Hycy told me not to let any one see it, only jist to slip it
into the post-office unknownst, as I passed it; an'