“Now,” said she, “you are stronger than I am, begin and repeat the words; I will repeat them with you.”

“No,” replied Denis, “I will never begin.  I will never be the first to seal both your misery and mine.”

“I am scarcely able,” said she; “dear Denis, don’t ask me to do what I have not strength for.  But it’s useless,” she added; “you will never begin unless I do.”

They then blessed themselves after the form of their church, and as they extended their right hands to each other, the tears fell fast from the eyes of both.  The words they repeated were the same, with the difference of the name only.

“I, Susan Connor, in the presence of God, do release you, Denis O’Shaughnessy, from your promise of marriage to me, and from all promises of marriage that you ever made me.  I now give you back that promise of marriage, and all promises of marriage you ever made me.  To which I call God to witness.”

Denis repeated the same words, substituting the name of Susan Connor.

The sobs of Susan were loud and incessant, even before she had concluded the words; their eyes were fixed upon each other with a hopeless and agonizing expression:  but no sooner were they uttered, than a strong hysteric sense of suffocation rose to her throat; she panted rapidly for breath; Denis opened his arms, and she fell, or rather threw herself, over in a swoon upon his bosom.  To press his lips to hers, and carry her to the brink of the well, was but the work of a moment.  There he laid her, and after having sprinkled her face with water, proceeded to slap the palms of her hands, exclaiming,—­

“Susan, my beloved, will you not hear me?  Oh, look upon me, my heart’s dearest treasure, and tell me that you’re living.  Gracious God! her heart is broken—­she is dead!  This—­this—­is the severest blow of all!  I have killed her!”

She opened her eyes as he spoke, and Denis, in stooping to assist her, weeping at the same time like a child; received—­a bang from a cudgel that made his head ring.

“Your sowl to the divil, you larned vagabone,” said her father, for it was he, “is this the way you’re preparin’ yourself for the church?  Comin’ over that innocent colleen of a daughter o’ mine before you set out,” he added, taking Denis a second thwack across the shoulders—­“before you set out for Maynewth!!”

“Why, you miserable vulgarian,” said Denis, “I scorn you from the head to the heel.  Desist, I say,” for the father was about to lay in another swinger upon his kidney—­“desist, I say, and don’t approximate, or I will entangle the ribs of you!”

“My sowl to glory,” said the father, “if ever I had a greater mind to ate my dinner, than I have to anoint you wid this cudgel, you black-coated skamer!”

“Get out, you barbarian,” replied Denis, “how dare you talk about unction in connection with a cudgel?  Desist, I say, for I will retaliate, if you approximate an inch.  Desist, or I will baptize you in the well as Philip did the Ethiopian, without a sponsor.  No man but a miserable barbarian would have had the vulgarity to interrupt us in the manner you did.  Look at your daughter’s situation!”