“But what do you mean by violence—­of course violence of any description is beneath them.  Surely,—­John, you would not stoop—­”

She looked at them as she spoke, and, as before, there was no mistaking the meaning of the cold and deadly smile which lay upon their lips, and contrasted so strongly and strangely with their kindling eyes.

“What fearful expression is this,” she asked, with evident terror and trepidation; “my dear brothers, what does this mean?—­that is, if you be my brothers, for I can scarcely recognize you—­what is it, in the name of heaven?”

The brothers looked at her, but spoke not, nor moved.

“They have taken an oath, Mary, to wipe out your shame in his blood,” added the priest.

She immediately rose up without aid, and approached them.

“This is not true, my dear brothers,” said she, “this cannot be true—­deny it for your sister.”

“We cannot deny it, Mary,” said John, “for it is true, and must be done—­our vengeance is ripe, hot, burning, and will wait no longer.”

“John,” said she, calmly, “recollect ’vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, and I will repay it.’”

“I told them so,” said their father, “but I receive no attention at their hands.”

“Vengeance is ours,” said John, in a deeper and more determined voice than he had ever uttered, “vengeance is ours, and we shall repay it.”  The others repeated his words as before.

“Obstinate and unhappy young men,” said the priest, “you know not, or you forget, that this is blasphemy.”

“This, my dear sir,” observed their sister, getting still more deadly,pale than before, “is not blasphemy, it is insanity—­my three brothers are insane; that is it.  Relieve me, John,” said she, recovering herself, “and say it is so.”

“If we were insane, Mary,” replied her brother, calmly, “our words would go for nothing.”

“But, is it not a dreadful thing,” she continued, “that I should be glad of such an alternative?”

“Mary,” said the priest, “ask them to pray; they refused to join me and their father, perhaps you may be more successful.”

“They will certainly pray,” said she; “I never knew them to omit it a night, much less refuse it.  Surely they will join their poor sister Mary, who will not long—­” She hesitated from motives which the reader can understand, but immediately knelt down to prayer.

During prayer the three brothers stood and knelt not, neither did they speak.  When prayers were concluded, she arose, and with tears in her eyes, approached her eldest-brother.

“John,” said she, “can it be that the brother of Mary M’Loughlin is an assassin?  I will answer for you,” she said.  “Kiss me, for I am weak and feeble, and must go to bed.”

“I cannot kiss you,” he replied; “I can never kiss you more, Mary—­for it must be—­done.”

The tears still streamed copiously down her cheeks, as they did down those of her father and the amiable priest.  The latter, who never took his eye off her, was praying; incessantly, as might be seen by the motion, of his lips.