“I loved her as the core of my heart,” said the grandmother; “but you spoiled her yourselves, and indulged her too much in dress and everything she wished for.  Had you given her less of her own way, and kept her more from dances and merry-makings, it might be better for yourselves and her today; still, I grant you, it was hard to do it—­for who, mavrone, could refuse her anything?  O!  God sees my heart how I pity you, her father, and you, too, her mother, above all.  But, Torley, dear, if we only had her—­if we only had her back again safe with us—­then what darling Dora says might be true, and her repentance would wash away her shame—­for every one loved her, so that they wouldn’t judge her harshly.”

“I can bear witness to that,” said Barney; as it is, every one pities her, and but very few blame her.  It is all set down to her innocence and want of experience, ay, and her youthful years.  No; if you could only find her, the shame in regard of what I’ve said would not be laid heavily upon her by the people.”

“O,” exclaimed her father, starting up, “O, Granua, Granua, my heart’s life! where are you from us?  Was not your voice the music of our hearth?  Did not your light laugh keep it cheerful and happy?  But where are you now?  O, will no one bring me back my daughter?  Where is my child? she that was the light—­the breakin’ of the summer mornin’ amongst us!  But wait; they say the villain is recoverin’ that destroyed her—­well—­he may recover from the blow of Shawn-na-Middogue, but he will get a blow from me that he won’t recover from.  I will imitate Morrissy—­and will welcome his fate.”

“Aisy, Torley,” said Casey; “hould in a little.  You are spakin’ now of Masther Charles?”

“I am, the villain! warn’t they found together?”

“I have one question to ask you,” proceeded Barney, “and it is this—­when did you see or spake with Shawn-na-Middogue?”

“Not since that unfortunate night.”

“Well, all I can tell you is this—­that Masther Charles had as much to do with the ruin of your daughter as the king of Jerusalem.  Take my word for that.  He is not the stuff that such a villain is made of, but I suspect who is.”

“And who do you suspect, Barney?”

“I say I only suspect; but, so long as it is only suspicion, I will mention no names.  It wouldn’t be right; and for that reason I will wait until I have betther information.  But, after all,” he proceeded, “maybe nothing wrong has happened.”

The mother shook her head:  “I know to the contrairy,” she replied, “and intended on that very night to bring her to an account about her appearance, but I never had the opportunity.”

The father here wrung his hands, and his groans were dreadful.

“Could you see Shawn-na-Middogue?” asked Barney.

“No,” replied Davoren; “he, too, has disappeared; and although he is hunted like a bag-fox, nobody can find either hilt or hair of him.”