“It always had mine, then,” replied Hanna, “an’ I think we ought not to judge our fellow creatures too severely, knowin’ as we do that there’s no such thing as perfection in this world.  What the sorra could have come over him, or tempted him to vote as he did?  What did he say, father, when you brought him the message?”

“Afther I declared it,” replied her father, “he was struck dumb, and never once opened his lips; but if he didn’t spake, his sister Dora did.”

“An’ what did she say—­generous and spirited little Dora!—­what did she say, father?”

He then repeated the message as accurately as he could—­for the honest old man was imbued with too conscientious a love for truth to disguise or conceal a single syllable that had been intrusted to him on either side—­“Throth,” said he, “the same Dora has the use of her tongue when she pleases; ‘ax her,’ said she, spakin’ of Kathleen, here, ’if it’s either religion or common justice that makes her condemn my brother without hearin’ his defence.  Good-bye, now,’ says she; ’give my love to Hanna, and tell her ‘she’s worth a ship-load of her stately sister.’”

“Poor Dora!” exclaimed Hanna, whilst the tears came to her eyes, “who can blame her for defending so good and affectionate a brother?  Plague on it for an election!  I wish there was no sich thing in the country.”

“As for me,” said Kathleen, “I wouldn’t condemn him without a hearing, if I had any doubt about his conduct, but I have not.  He voted for Vanston—­that can’t be denied; and proved himself to have less honesty and scruple than even that profligate Hycy Burke; and if he made a bargain with Vanston, as is clear he did, an’ voted for him because the other got his fine reduced, why that is worse, because then he did it knowingly an’ with his eyes open, an’ contrary to his conscience—­ay, an’ to his solemn promise to myself; for I’ll tell you now what I never mentioned before, that I put him on his guard against doing so; and he knew that if he did, all would and must be over between him and me.”

“Is that true, Kathleen?” said Hanna with surprise; “but why need I ask you such a question—­it’s enough that you say it—­in that case then I give him up at last; but who, oh, who could a’ believed it?”

“But that is not all,” continued Kathleen, in the same mournful and resigned tone of voice—­“there’s the bribe—­didn’t hundreds hear him acknowledge publicly in the chapel that he got it?  What more is wanting?  How could I ever respect a man that has proved himself to be without either honesty or principle? and why should it happen, that the man who has so openly and so knowingly disgraced his religion and his name fall to my lot?  Oh, no—­it matters little how I love him, and I grant that in spite of all that has happened I have a lingering affection for him even yet; still I don’t think that affection will live long—­I can now neither respect or esteem him, an’ when that is the case I can’t surely continue long to love him.  I know,” she proceeded, “that it’s not possible for him ever to clear himself of this shocking and shameful conduct; but lest there might be any chance of it, I now say before you all, that if something doesn’t come about within three months, that may and ought to change my feelings towards him, I’ll live afterwards as if I had never known him.”