The animated sparkle of her face was so delightful and fascinating that her lover attempted to press her to his bosom; but she would not suffer it.

“Behave now,” she said firmly; “sorra bit—­no,” she proceeded; “and whilst all the world was against him, runnin’ him down and blackenin’ him—­was she ever the girl to stand up behind his back and defend him like a—­hem—­defend him, I say, as a girl that loved him ought, and a generous-girl would?”

“But how could she when she believed, him to be wrong?”

“Why did she believe him to be wrong upon mere hearsay? and granting that he was wrong! do you think now if you had done what they say he did (and they lie that say it), an’ that I heard the world down on you for your first slip, do you think, I say, that I’d not defend you out of clane contrariness,—­and to vex them—­ay, would I.”

“I know, darlin’, that you’d do everything that’s generous an’ right; but settin’ that affair aside, my dear Dora, what are you and I to do?”

“I don’t know what we’re to do,” she replied; “it’s useless for you to ax me from my father now; for he wouldn’t give me to you,—­sorra bit.”

“But you’ll give me yourself, Dora, darling.”

“Not without his consent, no nor with it,—­as the families stand this moment; for I tell you again that the sorra ring ever I’ll put on you till your sister sends for my brother, axes his pardon, and makes up with him, as she ought to do.  Oh why, James dear, should she be so harsh upon him,” she said, softening at once; “she that is so good an’ so faultless afther all? but I suppose that’s the raison of it—­she doesn’t know what it is to do anything that’s not right.”

“Dora,” said her lover, “don’t be harsh on Kathleen; you don’t know what she’s sufferin’.  Dora, her heart’s broke—­broke.”

The tears were already upon Dora’s cheeks, and her lover, too, was silent for a moment.

“She has,” resumed the warm-hearted girl, “neither brother nor sister that loves her, or can love her, better than I do, afther all.”

“But in our case, darling, what’s to be done?” he asked, drawing her gently towards him.

“I’ll tell you then what I’d recommend you to do,” she replied; “spake to my brother Bryan, and be guided by him.  I must go now, it’s quite dusk.”

There was a moment’s pause, then a gentle remonstrance on the part of Dora, followed, however, by that soft sound which proceeds from the pressure of youthful lips—­after which she bade her lover a hasty good-night and hurried home.

[Illustration:  PAGE 623—­ I must leave you—­I must go]

CHAPTER XXV.—­The Old Places—­Death of a Patriarch.