what is love, Con dear, if it’s to fly away when these things come on us?  Is it now, then, that you’d expect me to desert you?—­to keep cool with you, or to lave you when you have no other heart to go to for any comfort but mine?  Oh, no!  Con dear.  You own Mave Sullivan is none of these.  God knows it’s little comfort,” she proceeded, weeping bitterly; “it’s little comfort’s in my poor heart for any one; but there’s one thing in it, Con, dear; that, poor as I stand here this minute; an’ where, oh! where is there or could’ there be a poorer girl than I am; still there’s one thing in it that I wouldn’t exchange for this world’s wealth; an’ that, that, dear Con, is my love for you!  That’s the love, dear Con, that neither this world nor its cares, nor its shame, nor its poverty, nor its sorrow, can ever overcome or banish; that’s the love that would live with you in wealth; that would keep by your side through good and through evil; that would share your sickness; that would rejoice with you; that would grieve with you; beg with you, starve with you, an’, to go where you might, die by your side.  I cannot bid you to throw care and sorrow away; but if it’s consolation to you to know an’ to feel how your own Mave Sullivan loves you, then you have that consolation.  Dear Con, I am ready to marry you, an’ share your distress tomorrow; ay, this day, or this minute, if it could be done.”

There was a gentle, calm, but firm enthusiasm about her manner, which carried immediate conviction with it, and as her tears fell in silence, she bestowed a look upon her lover which fully and tenderly confirmed all that her tongue had uttered.

Both had been standing; but her lover, taking her hand, sat down, as she also did; he then turned around and pressed her to his heart; and their tears in this melancholy embrace of love and sorrow both literally mingled together.

“I would be ungrateful to God, my beloved Mave,” he replied, “and unworthy of you—­and, indeed, at best I’m not worthy of you—­if I didn’t take hope an’ courage, when I know that sich a girl Joves me; as it is, I feel my heart aisier, an’ my spirits lighter; although, at the same time, dear Mave, I’m very wake, and far from being well.”

“That’s bekaise this disturbance of your mind is too much for you yet—­but keep your spirits up; you don’t know,” she continued, smiling sweetly through her tears; “what a delightful prophecy was fulfilled for us this day—­ay, awhile ago, even when I met you.”

“No,” he replied, “what was it?” She then detailed the particulars of Donnel Dhu’s prediction, which she dwelt upon with a very cheerful spirit, after which she added: 

“And now, Con dear, don’t you think that’s a sign we’ll be yet happy?”

Dalton, who placed no reliance whatever on Donnel Dhu’s impostures, still felt reluctant to destroy the hope occasioned by such an agreeable illusion.  “Well,” he replied, “although I don’t much believe in anything that ould scoundrel says; I trust, for all that, that he has tould you truth for wanst.”