“Oh, those deep sounds--those voices, rich and heavenly-- Proud bells! and do your peals already ring To greet the joyous dawn of Easter morn? And ye, rejoicing choristers! already Flows forth your solemn song of consolation-- That song, which once from angels’ lips resounding Around the midnight of the grave, was heard-- The pledge and proof of a new covenant.” Yes! indeed, those bells almost distinctly said to the heart as they swung in the soft air of that delicious noon, “Christ our passover is sacrificed for us; therefore let us keep the feast!” They passed the church--groups of joyous children were playing in the graveyard--five or six immense chestnuts towered, coeval and almost coequal with the ancient steeple, and in these there was a rookery, now in full din--the voices of the children and the cawing of the rooks, disturbed by the sudden peal of the bells, mingled with the chime without discord to the ear. Alice’s eyes glistened for a moment when she recognised her youthful playmates; but she suddenly felt she could not laugh with them--her heart was heavy. At length they stood before the door of the brothers’ house. No signs of wakefulness had it yet exhibited. “Let us go in, uncle, and tell them to get up,” said the little Alice. “Let them sleep it out, the scoundrels!” was the indignant reply of James Kavanagh. They passed on to the place of worship. In about an hour and a half from this time the same group were on their way homewards, with hearts elevated by the imposing service which they had just been witnessing. A gloom was, notwithstanding, perceptible upon the face of James Kavanagh and of his little niece, as they walked along in company with their happy and smiling neighbours. None of the three sons of Peter Kavanagh had ever before been known to have absented himself from Sunday mass, and their absence on that most holy day was of course a subject of much wonder. “I could not have thought it possible,” said James Kavanagh gravely, “that they could become so wicked all at once--God forgive them! God help them!” “Oh, uncle!” cried Alice, as they came in view of the house of guilt once more, “they are not up yet! See, the shutters are still closed!” They were now in front of the house. “Dear uncle,” said Alice entreatingly, “go into them--do, dear uncle, bring out poor Gerald to eat his Easter dinner with us.” A thought struck James--he knocked loudly at the door. There was no answer. Another loud knock, and a long pause; and still no sound within the house. Alice’s little heart echoed the last unsuccessful knock--it almost said. “Wake, Gerald, with the knocking.” She could endure the suspense no longer, and, running to the gripe at the road-side, she took up a heavy stone, with which she battered the panels of the hall-door as long as her strength permitted her. When she was obliged to desist, her screams might be heard afar off, and still there was no sound in the house.