se than in the old days. He had put his
business in the hands of a disreputable attorney from a neighbouring
town, and if the rent was not paid to the day the roof was torn off
the cabin, and the people flung out into the ditch to rot.

So the years went, and folk ever looked for a judgment of God on the
pair. And when many years were over, there came to Father Hugh,
wringing her hands, the wife of the Frenchman, with word that the two
were dying, and she dared not let them die in their sins.

But Mauryeen Holion, Dark Mauryeen, as they called her, would not to
her last breath yield up the death-spancel which she had knotted round
her waist, and which held Robert Molyneux's love to her. When the
wicked breath was out of her body they cut it away, and it lay twisted
on the ground like a dead snake. Then on Robert Molyneux, dying in a
distant chamber, came a strange peace. All the years of sin seemed
blotted out, and he was full of a simple repentance such as he had
felt long ago when kneeling by the gown of the good woman whom he had
loved. So Father Hugh absolved him before he died, and went hither and
thither through the great empty rooms shaking his holy water, and
reading from his Latin book.

And lest any in that place, where they have fiery southern blood in
their veins, should so wickedly use philtres or charms, he hung the
death-spancel in Aughagree Chapel for a terrible reminder.

XI

A SOLITARY

There was a difference of twenty years between the brothers, yet, to
look at them, it might have been more. Patrick, the younger, was
florid and hearty; the elder, James, was unpopular--a gray, withered
old churl, who carried written on his face the record of his life's
failure. His conversation, when he made any, was cynical. When he came
into a room where young people were enjoying themselves, playing cards
or dancing, his shadow came before him and lay heavily on the
merry-makers. Fortunately, he did not often so intrude; he was happier
in his room at the top of the fine house, where he had his books and
his carpenter's tools. If one of those young people whom his cynicism
withered could have seen him at his carpentry, how different he would
have seemed! They would have seen him with his grimness relaxed, and
his gray face lit up with interest, and would have been amazed to hear
his low, cheery whistle, full and round as the pipe of a bullfinch; at
night, when his telescope swept the stars, and he trem