Her loving and beloved sister threw her arms around her neck, and burst into an irrepressible fit of bitter grief. “Oh, you are changed, most woefully, Kathleen, darlin',” she exclaimed, kissing her tenderly; “but if you could only bear up now, time would set everything right, and bring you about right, as it will still, I hope.” Her sister mused for some time, and then added--“I think I could bear up yet if he was to stay in the country; but when I recollect that he's going to another land--forever--I feel that my heart is broken: as it is, his disgrace and that thought are both killin' me. To-morrow the auction comes on, and then he goes--after that I will never see him. I'm afraid, Hanna, that I'll have to go to bed; I feel that I'm hardly able to sit up.” Hanna once more pressed her to her heart and wept. “Don't cry, Hanna dear--don't cry for me; the bitterest part of my fate will be partin' from you.” Hanna here pressed her again and wept aloud, whilst her spotless and great-minded sister consoled her as well as she could. “Oh, what would become of me!” exclaimed Hanna, sobbing; “if anything was to happen you, or take you away from me, it would break my heart, too, and I'd die.” “Hanna,” said her sister, not encouraging her to proceed any further on that distressing subject; “on to-morrow, the time I allowed for Bryan to clear himself, if he could, will be up, and I have only to beg that you'll do all you can to prevent my father and mother from distressing me about Edward Burke; I will never marry him, but I expect to see him your husband yet, and I think he's worthy of you--that's saying a great deal, I know. You love him, Hanna--I know it, and he loves you, Hanna, for he told me so the last day but one he was here;--you remember they all went out, and left us together, and then he told me all.” Hanna's face and neck became crimson, and she was about to reply, when a rather loud but good-humored voice was heard in the kitchen, for this dialogue took place in the parlor--exclaiming, “God save all here! How do you do, Mrs. Cavanagh? How is Gerald and the youngsters?” “Indeed all middlin' well, thank your reverence, barrin' our eldest girl that's a little low spirited for some time past.” “Ay, ay, I know the cause of that--it's no secret--where is she now? If she's in the house let me see her.” The two sisters having composed their dress a little and their features, immediately made their appearance. “God be good to us!” he exclaimed, “here's a change! Why, may I never sin, if I'd know her no more than the mother that bore her. Lord guard us! look at this! Do you give her nothing, Mrs. Cavanagh?” “Nothing on airth,” she replied; “her complaint's upon the spirits, an' we didn't think that physic stuff would be of any use to her.” “Well, perhaps I will find a cure for her. Listen to me, darling. Your sweetheart's name and fame are cleared, and Bryan M'Mahon is what he ever was--an honest an' upright young man.”