“Kathleen,” whispered her sister, “will you come out, darlin'? this talk must be painful to you.” Kathleen gave her a look of much mingled sorrow and entreaty as went to her heart. Hanna, whose head had been lovingly reclining on her sister's bosom, pressed her gently but affectionately to her heart, and made no reply. “You wor always a friend of his,” replied Mrs. Cavanagh, “an' of course you spake as a friend.” “Yes,” said Finigan, “I always was a friend of his, because I always knew his honesty, his love of truth, his hatred of a mane action, ay, and his generosity and courage. I knew him from the very egg, I may say--_ab ovo_--Mrs. Cavanagh; it was I instilled his first principles into him. Oh! I know well! I never had a scholar I was so proud out of. Hycy Burke was smart, quick, and cunning; but then he was traicherous--something of a coward when he had his match--strongly addicted to fiction in most of his narratives, and what was still a worse point about him, he had the infamous ingenuity, whenever he had a point to gain--such as belying a boy and taking away his characther--of making truth discharge all the blackguard duties of falsehoood. Oh! I know them both well! But who among all I ever enlightened wid instruction was the boy that always tould the truth, even when it went against himself?--why, Bryan M'Mahon. Who ever defended the absent?--why, Bryan M'Mahon. Who ever and always took the part of the weak and defenceless against the strong and tyrannical?--why, Bryan M'Mahon. Who fought for his religion, too, when the young heretics used to turn it, or try to turn it, into ridicule--ay, and when cowardly and traicherous Hycy used to sit quietly by, and either put the insult in his pocket, or curry favor wid the young sneering vagabonds that abused it? And yet, at the time Hycy was a thousand times a greater little bigot than Bryan. The one, wid a juvenile rabble at his back, three to one, was a tyrant over the young schismatics; whilst Bryan, like a brave youth as he was, ever and always protected them against the disadvantage of numbers, and insisted on showing them fair play. I am warm, Mrs. Cavanagh,” he continued, “and heat, you know, generates thirst. I know that a drop o' the right sort used to be somewhere undher this same roof; but I'm afraid if the _fama clamosa_ be thrue, that the side of the argument I have taken isn't exactly such as to guarantee me a touch at the native--that is, taking it for granted that there's any in the house.” This request was followed by a short silence. The Cavanagh's all, with the exception of Kathleen, looked at each other, but every eye was marked either by indecision or indifference. At length Hanna looked at her sister, and simply said, “dear Kathleen!” “He has done,” replied the latter, in a low voice, “what I had not the generosity to do--he has defended the absent.”