"Miss Monica is in no wise anxious about Mr. Brian Desmond," says Miss Priscilla, recovering from her nervousness with as much haste as though she had been subjected to an electric shock. "She is only distressed--as I am--by these lawless proceedings." "An' we hear they're boycotted, too, ma'am," says old Ryan, still oppressed with news that must be worked off. "John Bileman, the Protestant baker in the village they always dealt wid, has been forbidden to give 'em another loaf, and the butcher is threatened if he gives 'em a joint, an' the Clonbree butcher has been telegraphed to also, miss, an' there's the world an' all to pay!" "Do you mean that they are going to treat him as they did Mr. Bence Jones?" says Miss Penelope, indignantly. "Troth, I believe so, ma'am." "Will Mr. Brian have to milk the cows?" says Terence, at which astounding thought both he and Kit break into merry laughter until checked by Monica's reproachful gaze. How _can_ they laugh when Brian may be _starving_? "Faix, it's awful, miss; an' the ould man to be wantin' for things now,--he that allus kep' a fine table, to spake truth of him, and liked his bit an' sup amazin', small blame to him. I'm thinkin' 'tis hungry enough he'll be now for the future, the crathur! Oh, wirra! wirra!" says Timothy, sympathetically, as he shambles towards the door. When he is gone, Miss Priscilla turns upon Terence and Kit. "I must say, I think your mirth at such a time most unseemly," she says. "I am glad Monica takes no part in it. Terence, did you go up to the widow Driscoll with my message this morning?" "Yes, aunt." She had evidently expected him to say "no," because her tone is considerably mollified when she speaks again. "Was she pleased, do you think?" "Yes, aunt." "She said so, perhaps?" "No, aunt." "Then what _did_ she say? I wish, my dear boy, you would try to be a little less reticent." "She said, 'Her duty to you, aunt, and her very coarse veins were worse than ever.'" "Varicose, Terence--varicose!" "She said very coarse, aunt, and I suppose she knows more about them than any one else." He has a very sweet face, and it is more than usually so as he says all this. "And her son, how is he, poor soul?" asks Miss Penelope, as Miss Priscilla withdraws, beaten, into the background. "His duty to you, too, and 'he is better, but has been much afflicted with the egg-cups for the last two days.'" "_The what!_" says Miss Penelope, shifting her _pinceneze_ uneasily, and looking perplexed in the extreme. "Oh, Terry! how can you be so silly?" says Kit, with another merry laugh. "How am I silly?" with an impassible countenance. "Young Driscoll is silly, of course, and evidently looks upon part of the breakfast-ware as enemies of some sort. But that is not _my_ fault." "Hiccoughs he must have meant, my dear," says Miss Priscilla, hastily. "Dear--dear--dear! what a terrible shock he--they--must have got last night at Coole!" * * * * *