Art, who now forgot his own sorrow in apprehension for her, raised her up, assisted by little Atty, who, as did the rest of the children, cried bitterly, on seeing his mother’s eyes shut, her arms hanging lifelessly by her side, and herself without motion.  Water, however, was brought by Atty; her face sprinkled, and a little put to her lips, and with difficulty down her throat.  At length she gave a long deep-drawn sigh, and opening her eyes, she looked tenderly into her husband’s face—­

“Art dear,” she said, in a feeble voice, “did I hear it right?  And you said you were sorry?”

“From my heart I am, Margaret dear,” he replied; “oh, if you knew what I feel this minute!”

She looked on him again, and her pale face was lit up with a smile of almost ineffable happiness.

“Kiss me,” said she; “we are both young yet, Art dear, and we will gain our lost ground wanst more.”

While she spoke, the tears of delight fell in torrents down her cheeks.  Art kissed her tenderly, and immediately pulling out the medal, showed it to her.

She took the medal, and after looking at it, and reading the inscription—­

“Well, Art,” she said, “you never broke your oath—­that’s one comfort.”

“No,” he replied; “nor I’ll never break this; if I do,” he added fervently, and impetuously, “may God mark me out for misery and misfortune!”

“Whisht, dear,” she replied; “don’t give way to these curses—­they sarve no purpose, Art.  But I’m so happy this day!”

“An’ is my father never to be drunk any more, mammy?” asked the little ones, joyfully; “an he’ll never be angry wid you, nor bate you any more?”

“Whisht, darlins,” she exclaimed; “don’t be spakin’ about that; sure your poor father never beat me, only when he didn’t know what he was doin’.  Never mention it again, one of you.”

“Ah, Margaret,” said Art, now thoroughly awakened, “what recompense can I ever make you, for the treatment I gave you?  Oh, how can I think of it, or look back upon it?”

His voice almost failed him, as he uttered the last words; but his affectionate wife stooped and kissing away the tears from his cheeks, said—­

“Don’t, Art dear; sure this now is not a time to cry;” and yet her own tears were flowing;—­“isn’t our own love come back to us? won’t we now have peace? won’t we get industrious, and be respected again?”

“Ah, Margaret darling,” he replied, “your love never left you; so don’t put yourself in; but as for me—­oh, what have I done? and what have I brought you to?”

“Well, now, thanks be to the Almighty, all’s right.  Here’s something for you to ait; you must want it.”

“But,” he replied, “did these poor crathurs get anything? bekase if they didn’t, I’ll taste nothin’ till they do.”

“They did indeed,” said Margaret; and all the little ones came joyfully about him, to assure him that they had been fed, and were not hungry.