“And is that all you’re afraid of, Nanny?”

“I’m afear’d of Almighty God, sir:  an’ if you had a little fear of Him, too, Mr. Hycy, you wouldn’t spake to me as you do.”

“Why, Nanny, you’re almost a saint on our hands.”

“I’m glad to hear it, sir, for the sinners is plenty enough.”

“Very good, Nanny; well said.  Here’s half a crown to reward your wit.”

“No, no, Mr. Hycy:  I’m thankful to you; but you know I won’t take it.”

“Nanny, are you aware that it was I who caused you to be taken into this family?”

“No,” sir; “but I think it’s very likely you’ll be the cause of my going out of it.”

“It certainly is not improbable, Nanny.  I will have no self-willed, impracticable girls here.”

“You won’t have me here long, then, unless you mend your manners, Mr. Hycy.”

“Well, well, Nanny; let us not quarrel at all events.  I will be late out to-night, so that you must sit up and let me in.  No, no, Nanny, we must not quarrel; and if I have got fond of you, how can I help it?  It’s very natural thing, you know, to love a pretty girl.”

“But not so natural to lave her, Mr. Hycy, as you have left others before now—­I needn’t name them—­widout name, or fame, or hope, or happiness in this world.”

“I won’t be in until late, Nanny,” he replied, coolly.  “Sit up for me.  You’re a sharp one, but I can’t spare you yet a while;” and, having nodded to her with a remarkably benign aspect he went out.

“Ay,” said she, after he had gone; “little you know, you hardened and heartless profligate, how well I’m up to your schemes.  Little you know that I heard your bargain this evenin’ wid Clinton, and that you’re now gone to meet the Hogans and Teddy Phats upon some dark business, that can’t be good or they wouldn’t be in it; an’ little you know what I know besides.  Anybody the misthress plaises may sit up for you, but I won’t.”

CHAPTEE XI.—­Death of a Virtuous Mother.

It could not be expected that Bryan M’Mahon, on his way home from Fethertonge’s, would pass Gerald Cavanagh’s without calling.  He had, in his interview with that gentleman, stated the nature of his mother’s illness, but at the same time without feeling any serious apprehensions that her life was in immediate danger.  On reaching Cavanagh’s, he found that family over-+shadowed with a gloom for which he could not account.  Kathleen received him gravely, and even Hanna had not her accustomed jest.  After looking around him for a little, he exclaimed—­“What is the matther?  Is anything wrong?  You all look as if you were in sorrow.”

Hanna approached him and said, whilst her eyes filled with tears—­“We are in sorrow, Bryan; for we are goin’, we doubt, to lose a friend that we all love—­as every one did that knew her.”

“Hanna, darling,” said Kathleen, “this won’t do.  Poor girl! you are likely to make bad worse; and besides there may, after all, be no real danger.  Your mother, Bryan,” she proceeded, “is much worse than she has been.  The priest and doctor have been sent for; but you know it doesn’t follow that there is danger, or at any rate that the case is hopeless.”