e
brother who killed him? Of course she loved him better than her
brother, as every woman loves the man she does love better than all
the world. How can she forget him? Be gentle to her, Father John, and
I think she will do what you desire."

Father John promised that he would comply with Mrs. McKeon's advice,
and he was as good as his word.

On reaching the hall-door of Mrs. McKeon's house Feemy looked
cautiously about her, but seeing that no one belonging to the house
was in sight, she passed on through the little garden into the
street. She pulled her old veil down over her face, and walked on
through the village as quickly as she could. She felt that every
one's eye was on her; that all the country was looking at her; but
she had made up her mind to go through it all, and she persevered.
The last time she had been out of the house was the day she had been
taken from Ballycloran to the inquest. That was a horrid day, but the
present seemed worse; she had now a greater sorrow than any of which
she was then conscious, and she had to bear it alone, unpitied and
uncomforted. Indeed, her only rest, her only respite from absolute
torture was now to consist in being alone; and yet bad as the present
was, there was a worse,--she felt that there was a worse in store for
her. She already anticipated the tortures of that day, when she would
again be dragged out from her resting-place before the eyes of all
mankind, and placed in the very middle of the crowd, conspicuous
above the rest, to be stared at, bullied, and questioned horridly
about that dread subject, which it even racked her mind to remember.
Would she be able on that long, long day--days, for what she knew--to
conceal her shame from all who would be looking at her, and to bear
in patience the agonies which it would be necessary for her to
endure? She walked on quickly, and was soon out of Drumsna, and in
the lane leading by the cottage to Ballycloran. By the time she
had walked half a mile she was in a dreadful heat, although it was
still in March, for she was so weak and ill that her exertion, in
proportion to her strength, had been immense. She sat down by the
side of the road for a time, and then continued; and then again
sat down. Her sufferings were soon so great that she was unable to
walk above two hundred yards at a time, and she began to fear that
she would be utterly unable to get to the house. Once when she was
sitting, panting on the bank by the road-s