den, the day I struck
Donnel Dhu," Dalton proceeded, "I tould him what I then believed to be
true, that my father never had a hand in your uncle's death. Mave, dear,
I cannot tell a lie; nor I will not. I couldn't say as much to him now;
I'm afeard that his death is on my father's sowl."

Mave started and got pale at the words. "Great God!" she exclaimed,
"don't say so, Con dear. Oh, no, no--is it your father that was always
so good, an' so generous to every one that stood in need of it at his
hands, an' who was also so charitable to the poor?"

"Ay," said he, "he was charitable to the poor; but of late I've heard
him say things that nobody but a man that has some great crime to answer
for could or would say. I believe too that what the public says is
right: that it's the hand of God Himself that's upon him an' us for that
murdher."

"But maybe," said Mave, who still continued pale and trembling; "maybe
it was accidentally afther all; a chance blow, maybe; but whatever it
was, dear Con, let us spake no more about it. I am not able to listen to
it; it would sicken me soon."

"Very well, dear, we'll drop it; an' I hope I'm wrong; for I can't
think, afther all, that a man with such a kind and tendher heart as my
father--a pious man, too; could--" he paused a moment, and then added;
"oh! no; I'm surely wrong; he never did the act. However, as we said,
I'll drop it; for indeed, dear Mave, I have enough that's sorrowful and
heartbreakin' to spake about, over and above that unfortunate subject."

"I hope," said Mave, "that there's nothing worse than your own illness;
an' you know, thanks be to the Almighty, you're recoverin' fast from
that."

"My poor lovin' sister Nancy," said he, "was laid down yesterday morning
with this terrible faver; she was our chief dependence; we could stand
it out no longer; I could, an' can do nothing; an' my mother this
mornin'"--His tears fell so fast, and his affliction was so deep, that
he was not able, for a time to proceed.

"Oh! what about her?" asked Mave, participating in his grief; "oh! what
about her that every one loves?"

"She was obliged to go out this mornin'," he proceeded, "to beg openly in
the face of day among the neighbors! Now, Mave Sullivan, farewell!" said
he rising, while his face was crimsoned over with shame; "farewell, Mave
Sullivan; all, from this minute, is over between you an' me. The son of
a beggar must never become your husband; will never call you his wife;