ve the remainder in the
funds. After about three months' search he found a property which
suited him, and, as it so happened, about six miles from the domains
held by Mr Austin. He had taken possession and furnished it. As a
retired officer in the army he was well received; and if Mrs McShane
was sometimes laughed at for her housekeeper-like appearance, still her
sweetness of temper and unassuming behaviour soon won her friends, and
McShane found himself in a very short time comfortable and happy. The
O'Donahues were expected to arrive very shortly, and McShane had now a
domicile fit for the reception of his old friend, who had promised to
pay him a visit as soon as he arrived.

Of the Austins little more can be said that has not been said already.
Austin was a miserable, unhappy man; his cup of bliss--for he had every
means of procuring all that this world considers as bliss, being in
possession of station, wealth, and respect--was poisoned by the one
heavy crime which passion had urged him to commit, and which was now a
source of hourly and unavailing repentance. His son, who should have
inherited his wealth, was lost to him, and he dared not mention that he
was in existence. Every day Austin became more nervous and irritable,
more exclusive and averse to society; he trembled at shadows, and his
strong constitution was rapidly giving way to the heavy weight on his
conscience. He could not sleep without opiates, and he dreaded to sleep
lest he should reveal everything of the past in his slumbers. Each year
added to the irascibility of his temper, and the harshness with which he
treated his servants and his unhappy wife. His chief amusement was
hunting, and he rode in so reckless a manner that people often thought
that he was anxious to break his neck. Perhaps he was. Mrs Austin was
much to be pitied; she knew how much her husband suffered; how the worm
gnawed within; and, having that knowledge, she submitted to all his
harshness, pitying him instead of condemning him; but her life was still
more embittered by the loss of her child, and many were the bitter tears
which she would shed when alone, for she dared not in her husband's
presence, as he would have taken them as a reproof to himself. Her
whole soul yearned after our hero, and that one feeling rendered her
indifferent, not only to all the worldly advantages by which she was
surrounded, but to the unkindness and hard-heartedness of her husband.
Mary, w