When the coffin was about to be lowered down, all the family, one after another, clasped their arms about it, and kissed it with a passionate fervor of grief that it was impossible to witness with firmness. At length her husband, who had been looking on, approached it, and clasping it in his arms like the rest, he said--“for ever and for ever, and for ever, Bridget--but, no, gracious God, no; the day will come, Bridget, when I will be with you here--I don't care now how soon. My happiness is gone, asthore machree--life is nothing to me now--all's empty; and there's neither joy, nor ease of mind, nor comfort for me any more. An' this is our last parting--this is our last farewell, Bridget dear; but from this out my hope is to be with you here; and if nothing else on my bed of death was to console me, it would be, and it will be, that you and I will then sleep together, never to be parted more. That will be my consolation.” “Now, father dear,” said Bryan, “we didn't attempt to stop or prevent you, and I hope you'll be something calm and come away for a little.” “Best of sons! but aren't you all good, for how could you be otherwise with her blood in your veins?--bring me away; come you, Dora darlin'--ay, that's it--support the: blessed child between you and Hanna, Kathleen darlin'. Oh, wait, wait till we get out of hearin, or the noise of the clay fallin' on the coffin will kill me.” They then walked to some distance, where they remained until the “narrow house” was nearly filled, after which they once more surrounded it until the last sod was beaten in. This being over, the sorrowing group sought their way home with breaking hearts, leaving behind them her whom they had loved so well reposing in the cold and unbroken solitude of the grave. CHAPTER XIV.--Mysterious Letter --Hycy Disclaims Sobriety--Ahadarra's in for it. One day about a month after Mrs. M'Mahon's funeral, Harry Clinton was on his way to Jemmy Burke's, when he met Nanny Peety going towards Ballymacan. “Well, Nanny,” he inquired, “where are you bound for, now?” “To the post-office with a letter from Masther Hycy, sir. I wanted him to tell me who it was for, but he would not. Will you, Mr. Clinton?” and she held out the letter to him as she spoke. Clinton felt a good deal surprised to see that it was addressed to his uncle, and also written in a hand which he did not recognize to be that of Hycy Burke. “Are you sure, Nanny,” he asked, “that this letter was written by Mr. Hycy?” “Didn't I see him, sir?” she replied; “he wrote it before my eyes a minute before he handed it to me. Who is it for, Mr. Clinton?” “Why are you so very anxious to know, Nanny?” he inquired. “Sorra thing,” she replied, “but curiosity--a woman's curiosity, you know.” “Well, Nanny, you know, or ought to know, that it would not be right in me to tell you who the letter is for, when Mr. Hycy did not think proper to do so.”