“Mightn’t you see him, however, an’ hear what he has to say for himself?” asked Hanna.

“No,” the other replied; “he heard my message, and was silent.  You may rest assured if he had anything to say in his own defence, he would have said it, or asked to see me.  Oh, no, no, because I feel that he’s defenceless.”

In this peculiar state of circumstances our readers need not feel surprised that every possible agency was employed to urge her beyond the declaration she had made, and to induce her to receive the addresses of Edward Burke.  Her own parents, old Jemmy Burke, the whole body of her relatives, each in turn, and sometimes several of them together, added to which we may mention the parish priest, who was called in by both families, or at least by old Jemmy Burke and the Cavanaghs—­all we say perpetually assailed her on the subject of a union with Edward Burke, and assailed her so pertinaciously, that out of absolute apathy, if not despair, and sick besides of their endless importunities, she at last said—­“If Edward Burke can be satisfied with a wife that has no heart to give him, or that cannot love him, I don’t care much how I am disposed of; he may as well call me wife as another, and better, for if I cannot love, I can at least respect him.”

These circumstances, together with the period allowed to M’Mahon for setting himself, if possible, right with Kathleen, in due time reached his ears.  It soon appeared, however, that Kathleen had not all the pride—­if pride it could be called—­to herself.  M’Mahon, on being made acquainted with what had occurred, which he had heard from his sister Dora, simply said—­“Since she has not afforded myself any opportunity of tellin’ her the truth, I won’t attempt to undeceive her.  I will be as proud as she is.  That is all I say.”

“And you are right, Tom,” replied Dora, “the name of M’Mahon mustn’t be consarned with anything that’s mane or discreditable.  The pride of our old blood must be kept up, Tom; but still when we think of what she’s sufferin’ we musn’t open our lips against her.”

“Oh, no,” he replied; “I know that it’s neither harshness nor weakness, nor useless pride that makes her act as she’s doin’, but a great mind and a heart that’s full of truth, high thoughts, and such a love for her religion and its prosperity as I never saw in any one.  Still, Dora, I’m not the person that will ever sneak back to entreat and plead at her feet like a slave, and by that means make myself look still worse in her eyes; I know very well that if I did so she’d despise me.  God bless her, at all events, and make her happy! that’s the worst I wish her.”

“Amen,” replied Dora; “you have said nothing but the truth about her, and indeed.  I see, Tom, that you know her well.”