better for us to thry our fortune in America; bekaise, if we stay here, we must only come to poverty an’ destitution, an’ sorrow; an’ you know how it ’ud break my heart to see our childre’ brought to that, in the very place where they wor always respected.  They’re all good to me, as they ever wor to’ us both, acushla machree; but poor Bryan, that you loved so much—­your favorite and your pride—­has had much to suffer, darlin’, since you left us; but blessed be God, he bears it manfully and patiently, although I can see by the sorrow on my boy’s brow that the heart widin him is breakin’.  He’s not, afther all, to be married, as you hoped and wished he would, to Kathleen Cavanagh.  Her mind has been poisoned against him; but little she knows him, or she’d not turn from him as she did.  An’ now, Bridget, asthore machree, is it come to this wid me?  I must lave you for ever.  I must lave—­as my father said, that went this day to heaven as you know, now—­I must lave, as he said, the ould places.  I must go to a strange country, and sleep among a strange people; but it’s for the sake of our childre’ I do so, lavin’ you alone there where you’re sleepin’?  I wouldn’t lave you if I could help it; but we’ll meet yet in heaven, my blessed wife, where there won’t be distress, or injustice, or sorrow to part us.  Achora machree, I’m come, then, to take my last farewell of you.  Farewell, then, my darlin’ wife, till we meet for evermore in heaven!”

He departed from the grave slowly, and returned in deep sorrow to his own house.

About twelve o’clock the next morning, the family and those neighbors who were assembled as usual at the wake-house, from respect to the dead, were a good deal surprised by the appearance of Mr. Vanston and their landlord, both of whom entered the house.

“Gentlemen, you’re welcome,” said old M’Mahon; “but I’m sorry to say that it’s to a house of grief and throuble I must welcome you—­death’s here, gentlemen, and more than death; but God’s will be done, we must be obaidient.”

“M’Mahon,” said Chevydale, “give me your hand.  I am sorry that either you or your son have suffered anything on my account.  I am come now to render you an act of justice—­to compensate both you and him, as far as I can, for the anxiety you have endured.  Consider yourselves both, therefore, as restored to your farms at the terms you proposed originally.  I shall have leases prepared—­give up the notion of emigration—­the country cannot spare such men as you and your admirable son.  I shall have leases I say prepared, and you will be under no necessity of leaving either Carriglass or Ahadarra.”

Need we describe the effect which such a communication had upon this sterling-hearted family?  Need we assure our readers that the weight was removed from all their hearts, and the cloud from every brow?  Is it necessary to add that Bryan M’Mahon and his high-minded Kathleen were married? that Dora and James followed their example, and that Edward Burke, in due time, bestowed his hand upon sweet and affectionate Hanna Cavanagh?