When the day of their departure had at length arrived, Art felt his affections strongly divided, but without being diminished, between Margaret Murray and his family; while Frank, who was calm and thoughtful, addressed himself to the task of getting ready such luggage as they had been provided with. “Frank,” said Art, “don't you think we ought to go and bid farewell to a few of our nearest neighbors before we lave home?” “Where's the use of that?” asked Frank; “not a bit, Art; the best plan is jist to bid our own people farewell, and slip away without noise or nonsense.” “You may act as you plaise, Frank,” replied the other; “as for me, I'll call on Jemmy Hanlon and Tom Connolly, at all events; but hould,” said he, abruptly, “ought I to do that? Isn't it their business to come to us?” “It is,” replied Frank, “and so they would too, but that they think we won't start till Thursday; for you know we didn't intend to go till then.” “Well,” said Art, “that's a horse of another color: I will call on them. Wouldn't they think it heartless of us to go off widout seein' them? An' besides, Frank, why should we steal away like thieves that had the hue and cry at their heels? No, faith, as sure as we go at all, we'll go openly, an' like men that have nothing to be afraid of.” “Very well,” replied his brother, “have it your own way, so far as you're consarned, as for me, I look upon it all as mere nonsense.” It is seldom that honest and manly affection fails to meet its reward, be the period soon or late. Had Art been guided by Frank's apparent indifference--who, however, acted in this matter solely for the sake of sparing his brother's feelings--he would have missed the opportunity of being a party to an incident which influenced his future life in all he ever afterwards enjoyed and suffered. He had gone, as he said, to bid farewell to his neighbors, and was on his return home in order to take his departure, when whom should he meet on her way to her father's house, after having called at his father's “to see the girls,” as she said, with a slight emphasis upon the word girls, but Margaret Murray. As was natural, and as they had often done before under similar circumstances, each paused on meeting, but somehow on this occasion there was visible on both sides more restraint than either had ever yet shown. At length, the preliminary chat having ceased, a silence ensued, which, after a little time, was broken by Margaret, who, Art could perceive, blushed deeply as she spoke. “So, Art, you and Frank are goin' to lave us.” “It's not with my own consint I'm goin', Margaret,” he replied. As he uttered the words he looked at her; their eyes met, but neither could stand the glance of the other; they were instantly withdrawn. “I'll not forget my friends, at all events,” said Art; “at least, there's some o' them I won't, nor wouldn't either, if I was to get a million o' money for doin' so.”