me kind of a song--the
pitifullest music ever you listened to. Only I wanted to wait a bit,
so as to come in right once for all, I'd have gone at him, hammer and
tongs, that very minute.

All this time Burke and Daly were goin' in steady at the brandy,
finished one bottle and tackled another. They began to get noisy and
talked a lot, and sung a kind of a chorus to Miss Mary's song.

After the song was over, Moran swore he'd have another one. She'd never
sing for him any more, he said, unless she took a fancy to him, and went
back to the Weddin Mountains with them.

'It ain't a bad name for a mountain, is it, miss?' says he, grinning.
Then, fixing his black snake's eyes on her, he poured out about half a
tumbler of brandy and drank it off.

'By gum!' he says, 'I must have a dance; blest if I don't! First chop
music--good room this--three gals and the missus--course we must. I'm
regular shook on the polka. You play us a good 'un, Polly, or whatever
yer name is. Dan Moran's goin' to enjoy himself this night if he never
sees another. Come on, Burke. Patsey, stand up, yer blamed fool. Here
goes for my partner.'

'Come, Moran,' says Burke, 'none of your larks; we're very jolly, and
the young ladies ain't on for a hop; are ye, miss?' and he looked over
at the youngest Miss Whitman, who stared at him for a moment, and then
hid her face in her hands.

'Are you a-goin' to play as I told yer?' says Moran. 'D'ye think yer
know when yer well off?'

The tone of voice he said this in and the look seemed to frighten the
poor girl so that she started an old-style polka there and then, which
made him bang his heels on the floor and spin round as if he'd been at
a dance-house. As soon as he'd done two or three turns he walks over to
the sofa and sits down close to Miss Falkland, and put his arm round her
waist.

'Come, Fanny Falkland,' says he, 'or whatever they call yer; you're so
dashed proud yer won't speak to a bush cove at all. You can go home by'n
by, and tell your father that you had a twirl-round with Dan Moran,
and helped to make the evening pass pleasant at Darjallook afore it was
burned.'

Anything like the disgust, misery, and rage mixed up that came into Miss
Falkland's face all in a moment and together-like, I never saw. She made
no sound, but her face grew paler and paler; she turned white to the
lips, as trembled and worked in spite of her. She struggled fierce
and wild for nigh a solid minute to clear herself