“I love you too well to destroy you, Denis.  I will never stand between you and God, for that would be my crime.  I will never bring disgrace, or shame, or poverty, upon you; for surely these things would fall upon you as a punishment for desartin’ him.  If you were another—­if you weren’t intended to be the servant of God, I could beg with you—­starve with you—­die with you.  But when I am gone, remember, that I gave up all my hopes, that you might succeed in yours.  I’m sure that is love.  Now, Denis, we must return our promises, the time is passin’, and we’ll both be missed from home.”

“Susan, for the sake of my happiness, both in this world and in the next, don’t take away all hope.  Make me not miserable and wretched; send me not into the church a hypocrite.  If you do, I will charge you with my guilt; I will charge you with the crimes of a man who will care but little what he does.”

“You will have friends, Denis; pious men, who will direct you and guide you and wean your heart from me and the world.  You will soon bless me for this.  Denis,” she added, with a smile of unutterable misery, “my mind is made up.  I belong now to the Virgin Mother of God.  I never will be so wicked as to forsake her for a mortal.  If I was to marry you—­with a broken vow upon me, I could not prosper.  The curse of God and of his Blessed Mother would follow us both.”

Denis felt perfectly aware of the view entertained by Susan, respecting such a vow as she had taken.  To reason with her, was only to attack a prejudice which scorned reason.  Besides this, he was not himself altogether free from the impression of its being a vow too solemn to be broken without the sanction of the Church.

“Let us go,” said Susan, “to the same spot where we first promised.  It was under this tree, in this month, last year.  Let us give it back there.”

The hand-promise in Ireland between the marriageable young of both sexes, is considered the most solemn and binding of all obligations.  Few would rely upon the word or oath of any man who had been known to break a hand-promise.  And, perhaps, few of the country girls would marry or countenance the addresses of a yoking person known to have violated such a pledge.  The vow is a solemn one, and of course, given by mutual consent, by mutual consent, also, must it be withdrawn, otherwise, it is considered still binding.  Whenever death removes one of the parties, without the other having had an opportunity of “giving it back,” the surviving party comes, and in the presence of witnesses first grasping the hand of the deceased, repeats the form of words usual in withdrawing it.  Some of these scenes are very touching and impressive, particularly one which the author had an opportunity of witnessing.  It is supposed that in cases of death, if the promise be not thus dissolved, the spirit of the departed returns and haunts the survivor until it be cancelled.

When Denis and Susan had reached the hawthorn, they both knelt down.  So exhausted, however, had Susan been by the agitation of her feelings, that Denis was under the necessity of assisting her to the place.  He could perceive, too, that, amid the workings of her religious enthusiasm, she trembled like an aspen leaf.