Hanna observed, or rather we should say, felt, that as Finigan proceeded with his reminiscences of M’Mahon’s school-boy days and the enumeration of his virtues, her sister’s heart and bosom quivered with deep and almost irrepressible emotion.  There was a good deal of enthusiasm in the man’s manner, because he was in earnest, and it was quite evident that Kathleen’s spirit had caught it as he went along, and that her heart recognized the truth of the picture which he was drawing.  We say she literally felt the quiverings of her sister’s heart against her own, and to do the admirable girl justice, she rejoiced to recognize these manifestations of returning affection.

“It was only yesterday,” continued Finigan, resuming the discourse, “that I met Bryan M’Mahon, and by the way, he has sorrow and distress, poor fellow, in his face.  ‘Bryan,’ said I, ’is it true that you and your father’s family are preparing to go to that refugium peccatorum, America—­that overgrown cupping-glass which is drawing the best blood of our country out of it?’

“‘The people of Ireland,’ he replied, ’have a right to bless God that there is such a country to fly to, and to resave them from a land where they’re neglected and overlooked.  It is true, Mr. O’Finigan,’ he proceeded—!’ we have nothing in this country to live for now.’

“‘And so you are preparing?’ I asked.

“‘I ought rather say,’ he replied, ’that we are prepared; we go in another month; I only wish we were there already.’

“‘I fear, Bryan,’ said I, ‘that you have not been well trated of late.’  He looked at me with something like surprise, but said nothing; and in a quarter, I added, ’that was the last from which you were prepared to expect justice without mercy.’

“‘I don’t understand you,’ he replied sharply; ‘what do you mean?’

“‘Bryan,’ said I, ’I scorn a moral circumbendibus where the direct truth is necessary; I have heard it said, and I fear it is burthened wid too much uncomfortable veracity, that Kathleen Cavanagh has donned the black cap* in doing the judicial upon you, and that she considers her sentence equal to the laws of the Medes and Persians, unchangeable—­or, like those of our own blessed church—­wid reverence be the analogy made—­altogether infallible.’  His eye blazed as I spoke; he caught me where by the collar wid a grip that made me quake—­’Another word against Kathleen Cavanagh,’ he replied, ’and I will shake every joint of your carcass out of its place.’  His little sister, Dora, was wid him at the time; ‘Give him a shake or two as it is,’ she added, egging him on, ’for what he has said already;’ throth she’s a lively little lady that, an’ if it wasn’t that she has a pair of dark shining eyes, and sweet features—­ay, and as coaxin’ a figure of her own—­however, sorra may care, somehow, I defy any one to, be angry wid her.”

     * Alluding to the practice of putting on the black cap when
     the Judge condemns a felon to death.