Mrs. O’Hara said not a word to Kate of the doctrines which the priest had preached, but she found herself encouraged to mention their new friend’s name to the girl.  During Fred’s absence hardly a word had been spoken concerning him in the cottage.  Mrs. O’Hara had feared the subject, and Kate had thought of him much too often to allow his name to be on her tongue.  But now as they sat after dinner over their peat fire the mother began the subject.  “Mr. Neville is to dine with Father Marty on Thursday.”

“Is he, mother?”

“Barney Morony was telling me that he was back at Ennis.  Barney had to go in and see him about the boat.”

“He won’t go boating such weather as this, mother?”

“It seems that he means it.  The winds are not so high now as they were in October, and the men understand well when the sea will be high.”

“It is frightful to think of anybody being in one of those little boats now.”  Kate ever since she had lived in these parts had seen the canoes from Liscannor and Lahinch about in the bay, summer and winter, and had never found anything dreadful in it before.

“I suppose he’ll come up here again,” said the mother; but to this Kate made no answer.  “He is to sleep at Father Marty’s I fancy, and he can hardly do that without paying us a visit.”

“The days are short and he’ll want all his time for the boating,” said Kate with a little pout.

“He’ll find half-an-hour, I don’t doubt.  Shall you be glad to see him, Kate?”

“I don’t know, mother.  One is glad almost to see any one up here.  It’s as good as a treat when old Corcoran comes up with the turf.”

“But Mr. Neville is not like old Corcoran, Kate.”

“Not in the least, mother.  I do like Mr. Neville better than Corcoran, because you see with Corcoran the excitement is very soon over.  And Corcoran hasn’t very much to say for himself.”

“And Mr. Neville has?”

“He says a great deal more to you than he does to me, mother.”

“I like him very much.  I should like him very much indeed if there were no danger in his coming.”

“What danger?”

“That he should steal your heart away, my own, my darling, my child.”  Then Kate, instead of answering, got up and threw herself at her mother’s knees, and buried her face in her mother’s lap, and Mrs. O’Hara knew that that act of larceny had already been perpetrated.

And how should it have been otherwise?  But of such stealing it is always better that no mention should be made till the theft has been sanctified by free gift.  Till the loss has been spoken of and acknowledged, it may in most cases be recovered.  Had Neville never returned from Scroope, and his name never been mentioned by the mother to her daughter, it may be that Kate O’Hara would not have known that she had loved him.  For a while she would have been sad.  For a month or two, as she lay wakeful in her bed she would have thought of her dreams.