'Do not curse your old mother!' my lady implored, with a humility which jarred upon his nerves. 'Have pity on her that she should have to tell her shame. I would gladly have gone to the tomb as your father did, carrying my secret--I would have hugged it close for your sake. But the hand of God is heavy on me--it will out! You must know the truth--alas, alas!--even if you curse me! It was not my fault--indeed it was not--it was all your father's; and he went to his rest, whilst I remained to bear the penalty. He carried me off; you know that much. He was a member of the abduction-club. Placing me in a coach with a scarf about my mouth, he threatened me with a pistol if I should let down the glass and scream. Then I was borne away to Ennishowen, to the islet of Glas-aitch-é. Oh, Shane! I endured the pang of living there again for your sake--do not judge me harshly! We dwelt there a year, then returned to Dublin to assume our position in society. We were married in the blue bedroom by the parson of Letterkenny; but, Shane, it was not my fault! Your father was fierce as you are--you are his image, but more unstable. I was as an infant under his iron will; how could I resist him? The parson of Letterkenny married us--_the night before we came back to Dublin_.' My lady buried her face in her thin hands and sobbed, while Shane looked on. He could not comprehend. Finding that her son said no kind word to ease the bitter task, his mother went on in a hoarse voice--even and unbroken now by sobs--with eyes fixed doggedly upon the ground.