'That wicked fellow will bring them all to the gallows,' she muttered to herself, frowning at some one she saw in her mind's eye who was not Major Sirr. 'And my lips are sealed! It's a fearsome thing to have to watch what's going on, and not dare speak a word of warning. If he only didn't know that I take Norah to the mass! Yet I'm bound to do my best for the child's soul, though my lord would have her brought up a Protestant. Sure Father Daly said I must bring the pet to chapel for her soul's sake as well as mine.' Then Madam Gillin, who was dividing the sheep from the goats in the matter of faded frippery in an untidy cupboard, resigned herself to unwonted meditation, with lines of gravity about her mouth which seldom rested there, as she recalled the day some time since, when he whom she had looked upon as friend unveiled himself to her in drunken frenzy as a viper; when she had stared into his big jolly face with an expression that had sobered him, while he explained that for the future she must do as she was bidden, or else all sorts of penalties would swoop upon her for tampering with the religion of a Protestant. On that occasion he fairly terrified her, and she kept the secret as to his being a viper in disguise, though it sickened her to think of it o' nights. She recalled the scene now for the thousandth time, and shuddered; and her best frock slipped out of her hands on the dirty floor while she contemplated that genial pleasant boon companion as she and only a few others knew him. Norah found her standing absently among crumpled gauzes when she returned from a jaunt to Dublin, and rallied her mother on her looks, with a smacking kiss like a whip-crack. 'Have ye heard a banshee, mamma?' she asked. 'See! I've done all the commissions. Feathers a foot long, lovely flowers for our skirts, and gloves to cover the elbow. I met Shane upon the road, and we went together; but I could not wheedle him into coming to the ball, though I did my best. He said the grand ladies frightened him--bored him more likely. He's mighty timid for a Blaster. It's a wonder he's not afraid of _me_.' As the girl surveyed herself archly in the glass, she perceived why her lover feared her not. Indeed there was little of the grand style about the colleen. A rosy cheek; a liquid merry eye; a large ripe mouth, and an impudent upturned nose. No classical belle was poor Norah--only a healthy, comely wench--just such an one as would be likely to enchain a man with no loftier aspirations than Glandore's.