n her lips
as that now made by Mrs. O'Hara,--whose demand was backed by such
circumstances,--how was it possible that he should tell the truth and
plead the honour of his family? His condition was so cruel that it was
no longer possible to him to be dignified or even true. The mother again
made her demand. "There is one thing that you must do for her before
other things can be thought of. When shall she become your wife?"

It was for a moment on his tongue to tell her that it could not be so
while his uncle lived;--but to this he at once felt that there were two
objections, directly opposed to each other, but each so strong as to
make any such reply very dangerous. It would imply a promise, which he
certainly did not intend to keep, of marrying the girl when his uncle
should be dead; and, although promising so much more than he intended
to perform, would raise the ungovernable wrath of the woman before him.
That he should now hesitate,--now, in her Kate's present condition,--as
to redeeming those vows of marriage which he had made to her in her
innocence, would raise a fury in the mother's bosom which he feared to
encounter. He got up and walked about the room, while she stood with her
eyes fixed upon him, ever and anon reiterating her demand. "No day must
now be lost. When will you make my child your wife?"

At last he made a proposition to which she assented. The tidings
which she had brought him had come upon him very suddenly. He was
inexpressibly pained. Of course Kate, his dearest Kate, was everything
to him. Let him have that afternoon to think about it. On the morrow he
would assuredly visit Ardkill. The mother, full of fears, resolving that
should he attempt to play her girl false and escape from her she would
follow him to the end of the world, but feeling that at the present
moment she could not constrain him, accepted his repeated promise as to
the following day; and at last left him to himself.

CHAPTER IV.

NEVILLE'S SUCCESS.

Neville sat in his room alone, without moving, for a couple of hours
after Mrs. O'Hara had left him. In what way should he escape from the
misery and ruin which seemed to surround him? An idea did cross his
mind that it would be better for him to fly and write the truth from
the comparatively safe distance of his London club. But there would
be a meanness in such conduct which would make it impossible that he
should ever again hold up his head. The girl had trusted to hi