Such were these three youths when Peter Kavanagh, after a short illness, died, and left his property, such as it was, to be equally divided between his children. I may venture to say that Richard and Matt were not sorry for their father’s loss. On the night of the grand “wake” they collected all the idle and profligate young men of their acquaintance together at the house, and dreadful was the depth of drunkenness to which they sank, as might be expected. Every more prudent person present saw how it was--saw that the previous restraint was about to be amply atoned for, and many a shake of the head was intended to be prophetic of coming calamity. On that same night--early in the night too--little Alley perceived that all was not right with her brother Gerald. She had seen Richard plying him with liquor, which he at first refused, but afterwards accepted--stealthily, however, and with an abashed and crimsoning face as he met the first reproachful glance of Alice. Gradually the temptation worked, and again and again the draught was repeated with less hesitation at the request of his brothers, who seemed happy in the idea of making their innocent companion as guilty as themselves. The devil surely has those in his clutches who find comfort and consolation in the visible abandonment of the fair and innocent to the miserable pleasures for which _they_ have sold their own souls. At length she was frightened to perceive that Gerald had grown hardy and boastful of his feat--he _had asked_ for more whisky, and had been given it by Dick, who, half drunk himself already, was determined to make Gerald drunk for once in his life. The boy was now in the condition wished for by his brother; he had slunk behind Matt’s chair; Alice could see his head hanging upon one shoulder, while his eyes were closing in the stupor of intoxication--he was about to fall to the ground. Quietly she stole to his side, and leaning her head upon his shoulder she whispered, “Gerald, darling, I didn’t think _you_ would drink so much--why did you do it?” “Don’t tell uncle James, Alley, if he hasn’t seen me this way, and I’ll never drink so much again.” “Hold up your head for another bucket, you dog,” said Matt, with sundry drunken hiccupings, as he heard the boy speaking behind his chair, and proffering at the same time a fresh bumper. “Come, Gerald, my boy, it will do you no harm--sorrow’s dry, they say, and Lord knows but you’ve blubbered enough all day for a little fellow.” “Matt, dear Matt, don’t ask him,” said Alice. Matt, however, was not to be thwarted: with a brutal cuff he struck his little sister to the ground, and tried to force the liquor upon Gerald’s acceptance. In the attempt the glass fell from his hand, and Alice rose and drew her brother softly from the room.