There is scarcely anything so painful to hearts naturally generous, like those of the Sullivans, as the contest between the shame and exposure of the conscious poverty on the one hand, and the anxiety to indulge in a hospitable spirit on the other.  Nobody unacquainted with Ireland could properly understand the distress of mind which this conflict almost uniformly produces.  On the present occasion it was deeply felt by this respectable but declining family, and Mave, the ingenuous and kind-hearted girl, felt much of her unaccountable horror of this man removed by its painful exercise.  Still her aversion was not wholly overcome, although much diminished; for, ever as she looked at his swollen and disfigured face, and thought of the mysterious motions of the murdered man’s coat, she could not avoid turning away her eyes, and wishing that she had not seen him that evening.  The scanty meal was at length over; a meal on which many a young eye dwelt with those yearning looks that take their character from the hungry and wolfish spirit which marks the existence of a “hard year,” as it is called in our unfortunate country, and which, to a benevolent heart, forms such a sorrowful subject for contemplation.  Poor Bridget Sullivan did all in her power to prevent this evident longing from being observed by M’Gowan, by looking significantly, shaking’ her head, and knitting her brows, at the children; and when these failed she had recourse to threatening attitudes, and all kinds of violent gestures:  and on these proving also unsuccessful, she was absolutely forced to speak aloud—­

“Come, childhre, start out now, an’ play yourselves; be off, I say, an’ don’t stand ready to jump down the daicent man’s throat wid every bit he aits.”

She then drove them abroad somewhere, but as the rain fell heavily the poor creatures were again forced to return, and resume their pitiable watch until the two men had finished their scanty repast.

Seated around the dull and uncomfortable fire, the whole family now forgot the hunger and care for a time, in the wild legends with which M’Gowan entertained them, until the hour of rest.

“We haven’t the best bed in the world,” observed Sullivan, “nor the best bed-clothes aither, but, as I said before, I wish, for all our sakes, they were betther.  You must take your chance with these two slips o’ boys to-night as well as you can.  If you wish to tumble in now you may; or, may be you’d join us in our prayers.  We sthrive, God! help us, to say a Rosary every night; for, afther all, there’s nothin’ like puttin’ oneself! undher the holy protection of the Almighty, blessed be His name!  Indeed, this sickness that’s goin’ is so rife and dangerous that it’s good to sthrive to be prepared, as it is indeed, whatever comes, whether hunger or plenty, sickness or health; an’ may God keep us prepared always!”

M’Gowan seemed for a moment at a loss, but almost immediately said in reply—­