“Well,” observed Goodwin, his eyes moist with tears, “after this day, I shall never place confidence in man.  I did imagine that if ever there was an individual whose heart was the source of honor, truth, generosity, disinterestedness, and affection, your brother Charles was that man.  I am confounded, amazed—­and the whole thing appears to me like a dream; at all events, thank God, our daughter has had a narrow escape of him.”

“Pray, by the way, how is Miss Goodwin?” asked.  Harry; “I hope she is recovering.”

“So far from that,” replied her father, “she is sinking fast; in truth we entertain but little hopes of her.”

“On the occasion of my last visit here you forbade me your house, Mr. Goodwin,” said Woodward; “but perhaps, now that you are aware of the steps I have taken to detach your daughter’s affections from an individual whom I knew at the time to be unworthy of them, you may be prevailed on to rescind that stern and painful decree.”

Goodwin, who was kind-hearted and placable, seemed rather perplexed, and looked towards his wife, as if to be guided by her decision.

“Well, indeed,” she replied, “I don’t exactly know; perhaps we will think of it.”

“No,” replied Sarah Sullivan, who was toasting a thin slice of bread for Alice’s breakfast.  “No; if you allow this man to come about the place, as God is to judge me, you will both have a hand in your daughter’s death.  If the devils from hell were to visit here, she might bear it; but at the present moment one look from that man would kill her.”

This remonstrance decided them.

“No, Mr. Woodward,” said Goodwin, “the truth is, my daughter entertains a strong prejudice against you—­in fact, a terror of you—­and under these circumstances, and considering, besides, her state of health, we could not think of permitting your visits, at least,” he added, “until that prejudice be removed and her health restored—­if it ever shall be.  We owe you no ill-will, sir; but under the circumstances we cannot, for the present, at least, allow you to visit us.”

“Well,” replied Woodward, “perhaps—­and I sincerely trust—­her health will be restored, and her prejudices against me removed, and when better times come about I shall look with anxiety to the privilege of renewing my intimacy with you all.”

“Perhaps so,” returned Mr. Goodwin, “and then we shall receive your visits with pleasure.”

Woodward then shook hands with him and his wife, and wished them a good morning.

On his way home worthy Suil Balor began to entertain reflections upon his prospects in life that he felt to be rather agreeable.  Here was his brother, whom he had kindly sent to apologize to Grace Davoren for the impossibility from illness of his meeting her according to their previous arrangement; yes, we say he feigned illness on that evening, and prevailed on the unsuspecting young man to go in his stead, in