her from him; and when the strength of several men could scarce restrain him, then came the mildness of her power.  With her gentle hands and her fond, kind words she laid him in peace once more, and, kneeling by his side, cooled his burning temples with her pale fingers, and wetted his parched lips with the draught prescribed by the physician.  When the crisis, however, approached, she saw by the keen glance of observant affection, that the doctor’s manner betrayed his hopelessness of her husband’s recovery.  Then did her strength give way, and one violent fit of hysteric sobbing almost broke down her reason and physical powers.  Unavailing was all their tenderness, and fruitless every attempt at consolation.  Even her own beloved mother failed.  “Alley, asthore agruc machree,” said she, “don’t give way to this, for it’s sinful; it’s wrong to cry so bitterly for the livin’.  You know that while there’s life there’s hope.  God is merciful, and may think fit to pity you, anien machree, and to spare him for the sake of our prayers, that your heart mayn’t be broken.  Here’s the priest, too, an’ sure it’s a comfort, if the Lord does take him from us, that he’s not goin’ widout the holy sacraments of the Church, to clear away any stain of sin that may be on him.”

Felix, tranquilized by the satisfaction that always results from the consciousness of having received the rites of the Church, yet moved by the deep sobbings of his miserable brother, took his hand, and thus addressed him—­

“Hugh dear!”

“Oh, Felix, Felix, Felix darling, if you spake kind to me my brain will turn, and my heart will burst to pieces!  Harsh, harsh, avourneen, speak harshly, cruelly, blackly—­oh, say you won’t forgive me—­but no, that I couldn’t bear—­forgive me in your heart, and before God, but don’t spake wid affection to me, for then I’ll not be able to bear it.”

“Hugh,” said Felix, from whose eyes the keenness of his brother’s repentance wrung tears, despite his burning agony; “Hugh dear”—­and he looked pitifully in the convulsed face of the unhappy man.  “Hugh, dear, it was only an accident, for if you had thought—­that it would turn out—­as it has done——­But no matter now—­you have my forgiveness—­and you deserve it; for Hugh dear, it was as much and more my own thoughtlessness and self-will that caused it.  Hugh dear, comfort and support Alley here, and Maura, too, Hugh; be kind to them both for poor Felix’s sake.”  He sank back, exhausted, holding his brother’s hand in his left, and his mute heart-broken bride’s in his right.  A calm, or rather torpor, followed, which lasted until his awakening spirit, in returning consciousness of life and love, made a last effort to dissolve in a farewell embrace upon the pure bosom of his virgin wife.