“Worse, Kathleen.  I will have the fine for all Ahadarra to pay myself.”

“But can nothing be done.  Wouldn’t they let you off when they come to hear that, although the Still was found upon your land, yet it wasn’t yours, nor it wasn’t you that was usin’ it?”

“I don’t know how that may be.  Hycy Burke tells me that they’ll be apt to reduce the fine, if I send them a petition or memorial, or whatever they call it, an’ he’s to have one Written for me to-morrow.”

“I’m afraid Hycy’s a bad authority for anybody, Bryan.”

“I don’t think you do poor Hycy justice, Kathleen; he’s not, in my opinion, so bad as you think him.  I don’t know a man, nor I haven’t met a man that’s sorrier for what has happened me; he came to see me yesterday, and to know in what way he could serve me, an’ wasn’t called upon to do so.”

“I hope you’re right, Bryan; for why should I wish Hycy Burke to be a bad man, or why should I wish him ill?  I may be mistaken in him, and I hope I am.”

“Indeed, I think you are, Kathleen; he’s wild a good deal, I grant, and has a spice of mischief in him, and many a worthy young fellow has both.”

“That’s very true,” she replied; “however, we have h’ard bad enough of him.  There’s none of us what we ought to be, Bryan.  If you’re called upon to pay this fine, what will, be the consequence?”

“Why, that I’ll have to give up my farm—­that I won’t be left worth sixpence.”

“Who put the still up in Ahadarra?” she inquired.  “Is it true that it was the Hogan’s?”

“Indeed I believe there’s no doubt about it,” he replied; “since I left the landlord’s, I have heard what satisfies me that it was them and Teddy Phats.”

Kathleen paused and sighed.  “They are a vile crew,” she added, after a little; “but, be they what they may, they’re faithful and honest, and affectionate to our family; an’ that, I believe, is the only good about them.  Bryan, I am very sorry for this misfortune that has come upon you.  I am sorry for your own sake.”

“And I,” replied Bryan, “am sorry for—­I was goin’ to say—­yours; but it would be, afther all, for my own.  I haven’t the same thoughts of you now, dear Kathleen.”

She gazed quickly, and with some surprise at him, and asked, “Why so, Bryan?”

“I’m changed—­I’m a ruined man,” he replied; “I had bright hopes of comfort and happiness—­hopes that I doubt will never come to pass.  However,” he added, recovering himself, and assuming a look of cheerfulness, “who knows if everything will turnout so badly as we fear?”

“That’s the spirit you ought to show,” returned Kathleen; “You have before you the example of a good father; don’t be cast down, nor look at the dark side; but you said you had not the same thoughts of me just now; I don’t understand you.”

“Do you think,” he replied, with a smile, “that I meant to say my affection for you was changed?  Oh, no, Kathleen; but that my situation is changed, or soon will be so; and that on that account we can’t be the same thing to one another that we have been.”