ill gain most by your association with it, take my word
for that."

How was it that these words sent a color to her cheek and a courage to
her heart that made her for a moment forget she was poor and fatherless
and friendless? What was it, too, that made them seem less flattery
than sound, just, and due acknowledgment? He that spoke them was neither
young, nor handsome, nor fascinating in manner; and yet she felt his
praise vibrate within her heart strangely and thrillingly.

He spoke much to her about her early life,--what she had read, and how
she was led to reflect upon themes so unlikely to attract a young girl's
thoughts. By degrees, as her reserve wore off, she ventured to
confess what a charm the great men of former days possessed for
her imagination,--how their devotion, their courage, their
single-heartedness animated her with higher hopes for the time when
Ireland should have the aid of those able to guide her destinies and
make of her all that her great resources promised.

"The world of contemporaries is seldom just to these," said Dunn,
gravely; "they excite envy rather than attract friendship, and then
they have often few of the gifts which conciliate the prejudices around
them."

"What matter if they can live down these prejudices?" cried she, warmly;
then blushing at her own eagerness, she said, falteringly, "How have I
dared to speak of these things, and to _you?_"

Dunn arose and walked to the window, and now a long pause occurred in
which neither uttered a word.

"Is this cottage yours, Miss Kellett?" said he, at last.

"No; we had rented it, and the time expires in a week or two."

"And the furniture?"

"It was hired also, except a very few articles of little or no value."

Dunn again turned away, and seemed lost in deep thought; then, in a
voice of some uncertainty and hesitation, said: "Your father's affairs
were complicated and confused,--there were questions of law, too, to
be determined about them,--so that, for the present, there is no saying
exactly how they stand; still, there will be a sum,--a small one,
unfortunately, but still a sum available to you, which, for present
convenience, you must allow me to advance to you."

"You forget, sir, that I have a brother. To him, of right, belongs
anything that remains to us."

"I had, indeed, forgotten that," said Dunn, in some confusion, "and it
was just of him I wanted now to speak. He is serving as a soldier with a
Rifle regiment in