that
beautiful creature has a sorrowful look, poor thing."

These words were accompanied by a most insinuating glance of curiosity,
mingled up with an air of strong benevolence, to show Alley that it
proceeded only from the purest of good feeling. "Thank you," replied
Alley, "I will take a cup sure enough. What family have you here? if
it's a fair question."

"Sorra one but ourselves," replied Nancy, without making her much the
wiser.

"But, I mane," proceeded Alley, "have you children? bekase if you have I
hate them."

"Neither chick nor child there will be under the roof wid you here,"
responded Nancy, whilst putting the dry tea into a tin tea-pot that
had seen service; "there's only the three of us--that is, myself, the
misthress, and the masther--for I am not countin' a slip of a girl that
comes in every day to do odd jobs, and some o' the rough work about the
house."

"Oh, I suppose," said Alley, indifferently, "the childre's all married
off?"

"There's only one," replied Nancy; "and indeed you're right enough--she
is married, and not long either--and, in truth, I don't envy her the
husband, she got. Lord save and guard us! I know I wouldn't long keep my
senses if I had him."

"Why so?" asked Alley. "Has he two heads upon him?"

"Troth, no," replied the other; "but he's what they call a mad docther,
an' keeps a rheumatic asylum--that manes a place where they put mad
people, to prevent them from doin' harm. They say it would make the hair
stand on your head like nettles even to go into it. However, that's not
what I'm thinkin' of, but that darlin' lookin' creature that's wid
the misthress. The Lord keep sorrow and cross-fortune from her, poor
thing--for she looks unhappy. Avillish! are you and she related? for,
as I'm a sinner, there's a resemblance in your faces--and even in your
figures--only you're something rounder and fuller than she is."

"Isn't she lovely?" returned Alley, making the most of the compliment.
"Sure, wasn't it in Dublin her health was drunk as the greatest toast in
Ireland." She then added after a pause, "The Lord knows I wouldn't--"

"Wouldn't what--avourneen?"

"I was just thinkin', that I wouldn't marry a mad docther, if there was
ne'er another man in Ireland. A mad docther! Oh, beetha. Then will you
let us know the name that's upon him?" she added in a most wheedling
tone.

"His name is Scareman, my misthress tells me--he's related by the
mother's side to the Moontides of Ba