“But I ought, at least, to appear in the battery, my dear. They 'll say that I stayed away on account of that young fellow Nelligan; he has a brief in that cause, and I know he 'd like another tussle with me. By the way, Miss Mary, that reminds me that I promised him to make his--no, not his excuses, he was too manly for that; but his--his explanations to you about yesterday's business. He was sorely grieved at the part assigned him; he spoke feelingly of all the attentions he once met at your uncle's hands, but far more so of certain kindnesses shown to his mother by yourself; and surmising that you might be unaware of the exacting nature of our bar etiquette, that leaves no man at liberty to decline a cause, he tortured himself inventing means to set himself right with you.” “But I know your etiquette, sir, and I respect it; and Mr. Nelligan never stood higher in my estimation than by his conduct of yesterday. You can tell him, therefore, that you saw there was no necessity to touch on the topic; it will leave less unpleasantness if we should meet again.” “What a diplomatist it is!” said Repton, smiling affectionately at her. “How successful must all this tact be when engaged with the people! Nay, no denial; you know in your heart what subtle devices it supplies you with.” “And yet, I 'm not so certain that what you call my diplomacy may not have involved me in some trouble,--at least, there is the chance of it.” “As how, my dear child?” “You shall hear, sir. You know the story of that poor girl at Barnagheela, whom they call Mrs. Magennis? Well, her old grandfather--as noble a heart as ever beat--had never ceased to pine after her fall. She had been the very light of his life, and he loved her on, through her sorrow, if not her shame, till, as death drew nigh him, unable to restrain his craving desire, he asked me to go and fetch her, to give her his last kiss and receive his last blessing. It was a task I had fain have declined, were such an escape open to me, but I could not. In a word, I went and did his bidding. She stayed with him till he breathed his last breath, and then--in virtue of some pledge I hear that she made him--she fled, no one knows whither. All trace of her is lost; and though I have sent messengers on every side, none have yet discovered her.” “Suicide is not the vice of our people,” said Repton, gravely. “I know that well, and the knowledge makes me hopeful. But what sufferings are yet before her, what fearful trials has she to meet!” “By Jove!” cried Repton, rising and pacing the room, “you have courage, young lady, that would do honor to a man. You brave the greatest perils with a stout-heartedness that the best of us could scarcely summon.” “But, in this case, the peril is not mine, sir.”