“It’s the least,” said the humble girl, “that I may look towards the house that the only one I ever loved, or ever will love, lives in.  Little I thought when I loved him that I was standin’ between him an’ God.  Loved him!  I wish I could say it was past.  I wish I could:  for I am afeared that till my weak heart breaks it will love him still.  God pity me!  It would be well for me I had never seen him!  But why he should go to Maynooth without givin’ me back my promise I cannot tell.”

Denis rose and approached her.  Susan, on seeing him, started, and her lover could perceive that she hastily wiped the tears from her eyes.  A single glance, however, convinced her that it was he; and such was the guileless simplicity of her heart, joined to the force of habit, that her face beamed with one of her wonted smiles at his appearance.  This soon passed away, and her features again resumed an expression of deep melancholy.  Our hero now forgot his learning; his polysyllables were laid aside, and his pedantry utterly abandoned.  His pride, too, was gone, and the petty pomp of artificial character thing aside like an unnecessary garment which only oppresses the wearer.

“Susan,” said he, “I am sorry to see you look so pale and unhappy.  I deeply regret it; and I could not permit this day to pass, without seeing and speaking to you.  If I go to-morrow, Susan, may I now ask in what light will you remember me?”

“I’ll remember you without anger, Denis; with sorrow will I remember you, but not, as I said, in anger; though God knows, and you know, the only token you lave me to remember you by is a broken heart.”

“Susan,” said Denis, “it was an unhappy attachment, as circumstances have turned out; and I wish for both our sakes we had never loved one another.  For some time past my heart has been torn different ways, and, to tell you the truth, I acknowledge that within the last three or four months I have been little less than a villain to you.”

“You speak harshly of yourself, Denis; I hope, more so than you deserve.”

“No, Susy.  With my heart fixed upon other hopes, I continued to draw your affections closer and closer to me.”

“Well, that was wrong, Denis; but you loved me long before that time, an’ it’s not so asy a thing to draw away the heart from what we love; that is, to draw it away for ever, Denis, even although greater things may rise up before us.”

As she pronounced the last words, her voice, which she evidently strove to keep firm, became unsteady.

“That’s true, Susan, I know it; but I will never forgive myself for acting a double part to you and to the world.  There is not a pang you suffer but ought to fall as a curse upon my head, for leading you into greater confidence, at a time when I was not seriously resolved to fulfil my vows to you.”

“Denis,” said the unsuspecting girl, “you’re imposin’ on yourself—­you never could do so bad, so treacherous an act as that.  No, you never could, Denis; an’, above all the world, to a heart that loved and trusted you as mine did.  I won’t believe it, even from your own lips.  You surely loved me, Denis, and in that case you couldn’t be desateful to me.”