“But, father,” said Hanna, “you know there’s not a word of truth in that report; and mayn’t all that has been said, or at least some of what has been said against Bryan, be as much a lie as that?  Who on earth:  could sich a report come from?”

“I axed Mr. Clinton the same question,” said the father, “and it appears that it came from Bryan himself.”

“Oh, God forbid!” exclaimed Hanna; “for, if it’s a thing that he said that, he’d say anything.”

“I don’t know,” returned the father, “I only spake it as I hard it, and, what is more, I believe it—­I believe it after what I hard this day; everybody knows him now—­man, woman, an’ child, Gheernah! what an escape that innocent girl had of him!”

Kathleen rose up, went over to her father, and, placing her hand upon his shoulder, was about to speak, but she checked herself; and, after looking at them all, as it were by turns, with a look of distraction and calm but concentrated agony, she returned again to her seat, but did not sit down.

“After all,” she exclaimed, “there has been no new crime brought against him, not one; but, if I acted wrongly and ungenerously once, I won’t do so again.  Hanna, see his sister Dora, say I give him the next three weeks to clear himself; and, father, listen! if he doesn’t do so within that time, take me, marry me to Edward Burke if you wish—­of course Hycy’s out of the question—­since you must have it so, for the sooner I go to my grave the better.  There’s his last chance, let him take it; but, in the mean time, listen to me, one and all of you.  I cannot bear this long; there’s a dry burning pain about my heart, and a weight upon it will soon put me out of the reach of disappointment and sorrow.  Oh, Bryan M’Mahon, can you be what is said of you! and, if you can, oh, why did we ever meet, or why did I ever see you!”

Her sister Hanna attempted to console her, but for once she failed.  Kathleen would hear no comfort, for she said she stood in need of none.

“My mind is all dark,” said she, “or rather it is sick of this miserable work.  Why am I fastened upon by such suffering and distraction?  Don’t attempt at present to console me, Hanna; I won’t, because I can’t be consoled.  I wish I knew this man—­whether he is honest or not.  If he is the villain they say he is, and that with a false mask upon him, he has imposed himself on me, and gained my affections by hypocrisy and deceit, why, Hanna, my darling sister, I could stab him to the heart.  To think that I ever should come to love a villain that could betray his church, his country, me—­and take a bribe; yes, he has done it,” she proceeded, catching fire from the force of her own detestation of what was wrong.  “Here, Hanna, I call back my words—­I give him no further warning than he has got:  he knows the time, the greater part of it is past, and has he ever made a single attempt to clear himself?  No, because he cannot.  I despise him; he is unworthy