CHAPTER XIII. THE TEMPTER AT THE WOMAN, 129 CHAPTER XIV. THE FRUITS OF THE CROSS, 136 CHAPTER XV. THE CONVERSION, 145 CHAPTER XVI. THE ENLIGHTENED CITIZENS, 155 CHAPTER XVII. "HE AND HIS WHOLE HOUSE BELIEVED," 164 CHAPTER XVIII. "TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION," 178 CHAPTER XIX. WHAT HAPPENED TO LITTLE EUGENE O'CLERY, 187 CHAPTER XX. THE SAME, CONTINUED, 201 CHAPTER XXI. CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS, 213 CHAPTER XXII. THE DESERTED HOME OF THE ORPHANS, 223 CHAPTER XXIII. IN WHICH THE SCENE OF OUR TALE IS CHANGED, 240 CHAPTER XXIV. SHOWS HOW THE CROSS AND SHAMROCK WERE PERMANENTLY UNITED AFTER A LONG SEPARATION, 251 CHAPTER XXV. CONCLUSION, 260 CHAPTER I. A DEATH-BED SCENE. A cold evening in the month of January, a drizzling rain storm blowing from the south-west, a cheerless sky, a dull, threatening atmosphere, together with almost impassable roads,--these are the chilling and uninviting circumstances with which, if we pay regard to truth, we must introduce our narrative to our readers. It is usual, with writers of fiction and romance, to preface their literary exhibitions with high-wrought and dazzling descriptions of natural and artificial objects--the sun, moon, and stars; the clouds, meteors, and other fantastic creations of the atmosphere; the seas, rivers, and lakes; the mountains, fields, and gardens; the birds, fishes, and the inhabitants of the savage forests, as well as the forests, groves, and woods themselves,--in a word, all nature seems as if conscious of the effects likely to result to the morals, habits, and projects of men, while some of your modern novelists are arranging their matter, sharpening their scissors, preparing pen, ink, and paper, and taking indigestible suppers to make way into the world for the offspring of their creative fancies. Ours being a tale of truth,--yes, of bare, unvarnished truth, yet of truth more interesting, if not "stranger, than fiction,"--it is not to be wondered that, when we acknowledge the homely dame, and her alone, as our guide, inspirer, and preceptor, we lack the advantage of romancers, and cannot command "a special sunset," or a storm made to order, or other enchanting scenery, to introduce us to our patrons.