he would have been a good landlord; but the fact being otherwise, he was, in Fethertonge’s hands, anything but what a landlord ought to be.  Be this as it may, the period of M’Mahon’s illness passed away, and, on rising from his sick bed, he found the charge of bribery one of universal belief, against which scarcely any person had the courage to raise a voice.  Even Hycy suffered himself, as it were, with great regret and reluctance, to become at length persuaded of its truth.  Kathleen, on hearing that he himself had been forced to admit it in the chapel, felt that the gloom which had of late wrapped her in its shadow now became so black and impervious that she could see nothing distinctly.  The two facts—­that is to say, the vote and the bribery—­seemed to her like some frightful hallucination which lay upon her spirits—­some formidable illusion that haunted her night and day, and filled her whole being with desolation and sorrow.

With respect to his own feelings, there was but one thought which gave him concern, and this was an apprehension that Kathleen might be carried away by the general prejudice which existed against him.

“I know Kathleen, however,” he would say; “I know her truth, her good sense, and her affection; and, whatever the world may say, she won’t follow its example and condemn me without a hearing.  I will see her tomorrow and explain all to her.  Father,” he added, “will you ask Dora if she will walk with me to the Long-shot Meadow?  I think a stroll round it will do me good.  I haven’t altogether recovered my strength yet.”

“To be sure I will go with you, Bryan,” said the bright-eyed and affectionate sister; “to be sure I will; it’s on my way to Gerald Cavanagh’s; and I’m going down to see how they are, and to know if something I heard about them is thrue.  I want to satisfy myself; but they musn’t get on their high horse with me, I can tell them.”

“You never doubted me, Dora,” said Bryan, as they went along—­“you never supposed for a moment that I could”—­he paused.  “I know,” he added, “that it doesn’t look well; but you never supposed that I acted from treachery, or deceit, or want of affection or respect for my religion?  You don’t suppose that what all the country is ringin’ with—­that I took a bribe or made a bargain with Vanston—­is true?”

“Why do you ask me such questions?” she replied.  “You acted on the spur of the minute; and I say, afther what you heard from the landlord and agent, if you had voted for him you’d be a mane, pitiful hound, unworthy of your name and family.  You did well to put him out.  If I had been in your place, ‘out you go,’ I’d say, ‘you’re not the man for my money.’  Don’t let what the world says fret you, Bryan; sure, while you have Kathleen and me at your back, you needn’t care about them.  At any rate, it’s well for Father M’Pepper that I’m not a man, or, priest as he is, I’d make a stout horsewhip tiche him to mind his religion, and not intermeddle in politics where he has no business.”