“Bryan,” she replied, “you may always depend upon this, that so long as you are true to your God and to yourself, I will be true to you.  Depend upon this once and forever.”

“Kathleen, that’s like yourself, but I could not think of bringing you to shame.”  He paused, and turning his eyes full upon her, added—­“I’m allowin’ myself to sink again.  Everything will turn out better than we think, plaise God.”

“I hope so,” she added, “but whatever happens, Bryan do you always act an open, honest, manly part, as I know you will do; act always so as that your conscience can’t accuse you, or make you feel that you have done anything that is wrong, or unworthy, or disgraceful; and then, dear Bryan, welcome poverty may you say, as I will welcome Bryan M’Mahon with it.”

Both had paused for a little on their way, and stood for about a minute moved by the interest which each felt in what the other uttered.  As Bryan’s eye rested on the noble features and commanding figure of Kathleen, he was somewhat started by the glow of enthusiasm which lit both her eye and her cheek, although he was too unskilled in the manifestations of character to know that it was enthusiasm she felt.

They then proceeded, and after a short silence Bryan observed—­“Dear Kathleen, I know the value of the advice you are giving me, but will you let me ask if you ever seen anything in my conduct, or heard anything in my conversation, that makes you think it so necessary to give it to me?”

“If I ever had, Bryan, it’s not likely I’d be here at your side this day to give it to you; but you’re now likely to be brought into trials and difficulties—­into temptation—­and it is then that you may think maybe of what I’m sayin’ now.”

“Well, Kathleen,” he replied, smiling, “you’re determined at all events that the advice will come before the temptation; but, indeed, my own dearest girl, my heart this moment is proud when I think that you are so full of truth, an’ feelin’, and regard for me, as to give me such advice, and to be able to give it.  But still I hope I won’t stand in need of it, and that if the temptations you spoke of come in my way, I will have your advice—­ay, an’ I trust in God the adviser, too—­to direct me.”

“Are you sure, Bryan,” and she surveyed him closely as she spoke—­“are you sure that no part of the temptation has come across you already?”

He looked surprised as she asked him this singular question.  “I am,” said he; “but, dear Kathleen, I can’t rightly understand you.  What temptations do you mane?”

“Have you not promised to vote for Mr. Vanston, the Tory candidate, who never in his life voted for your religion or your liberty?”

“Do you mane me, dearest Kathleen?”

“You, certainly; who else could I mean when I ask you the question?”

“Why, I never promised to vote for Vanston,” he replied; “an’ what is more—­but who said I did?”