There was something peculiarly thrilling in her voice—its low tones breathed the sigh of a broken heart—the higher notes, wild and energetic enthusiasm. She appeared to have sung the first two stanzas unconsciously; for as she finished them, observing us listening, she blushed and stopped short. Through our persuasion she was induced to continue; but the glow of feeling which had before animated her was gone, the spell was broken, and although she still sung in a superior manner, her voice had lost much of its former heart-searching effect. With feelings of sorrow that I cannot express, I took leave of this happy family, whose existence, as it were by enchantment, in the midst of misery and crime, put me in mind of those green and fertile spots which we sometimes found embosomed among the wild and rugged Pyrenees. CHAPTER XIV. MARY. I had not proceeded far on my journey, when I was overtaken by Eugene—‘I have some little business in town,’ said he, ‘and I may as well accompany you.’ In the course of our conversation, I took occasion to revert to his sister Mary, whose character had made a strong impression on my mind,—‘She has too much feeling,’ said he, ‘for her own happiness; she lives in a constant state of excitement of one kind or another, which her scanty knowledge of the world has not been sufficient to subdue. Time and experience, however, may rectify that fault.’ ‘Good-morrow to you, Master Eugene,’ said a countryman who was working in a field by the road side. ‘Good-morrow, Rooney,’ said Eugene. ‘Have you got every thing put to rights again?’ ‘Indeed I have, sir; but it’s yourself I have to thank for it. May my blessing and the blessing of God attend you and yours wherever you go.’ ‘I will call in and see you as I come back.’ ‘Arrah do, master—don’t forget.’ ‘That poor fellow,’ said Eugene, as we passed on, ‘had his house burned some time since, by a band of those deluded wretches who infest the country. I have several times introduced myself at their meetings, for the purpose of reasoning with them on the wickedness and folly of their proceedings; and some of the most rational of them have been induced, through my persuasion, to live peaceably; but others have threatened to attack my own house, for daring to interfere with them. I might, by giving information to the magistrate, have had the ringleaders apprehended; but besides having the national horror of an informer, I am well aware that it would be productive of no good in the country. ‘On several occasions, by receiving timely information, I have been able to prevent the execution of their revenge; but in poor Rooney’s case I was too late.