break--break my heart--my heart! Now, Hanna, come
out and walk, dear--come out, and let us chat of other matters; yes,
of other matters; and you can tell me candidly whether you think Bryan
M'Mahon such a villain." Struck by her own words she paused almost
exhausted, and, bending down, put her face upon her hands, and by a long
persevering effort, at length raised her head, and after a little time
appeared to have regained a good deal of composure; but not without
tears--for she had wept bitterly.

On that night she told her sister that the last resolution she had come
to was that by which she was determined to abide.

"You would not have me like a mere girl," she said, "without the power
of knowing my own mind--no; let what may come I will send no messages
after him--and as sure as I have life I will marry Edward Burke after
the expiration of three weeks, if Bryan doesn't--but it's idle to talk
of it--if he could he would have done it before now. Good-night, dear
Hanna--good-night," and after many a long and heavy sigh she sank to an
uneasy and troubled slumber.

The next morning Gerald Cavanagh, who laid great stress upon the
distracted language of his daughter on the preceding night paid an early
visit to his friend, Jemmy Burke. He found the whole family assembled
at breakfast, and after the usual salutations, was asked to join them,
which invitation, however, having already breakfasted, he declined. Hycy
had of late been very much abroad--that is to say he was out very much
at night, and dined very frequently in the head-inn of Ballymacan,
when one would suppose he ought to have dined at home. On the present
occasion he saluted honest Gerald with a politeness peculiarly ironical.

"Mr. Cavanagh," said he, "I hope I see you in good health, sir. How
are all the ladies?--Hannah, the neat, and Kathleen--ah, Kathleen, the
divine!"

"Troth, they're all very well, I thank you, Hycy; and how is yourself?"

"Free from care, Mr. Cavanagh--a chartered libertine."

"A libertine!" exclaimed the honest farmer; "troth I've occasionally
heard as much; but until I heard it from your own lips divil a word of
it I believed."

"He is only jesting, Mr. Cavanagh," said his brother; "he doesn't mean
exactly, nor indeed at all, what you suppose he does."

"Does he mean anything at all, Ned?" said his father, dryly, "for of
late it's no aisy matther to understand him."

"Well said, Mr. Burke," replied Hycy; "I am like yourself,