“The daughters of The O’Mahonys of Muirisc, with only here and there a thrifling exception, have been Ladies of the Hostage’s Tears since the order was founded here in the year of Our Lord 1191,” said the foremost nun, stiffly. “After long years, in which it seemed as if the order must perish, our prayers were answered, and this child of The O’Mahonys was sent to us, to continue the vows and obligations of the convent, and restore it, if it be the saints’ will, to its former glory.” “Middlin’ big job they’ve cut out for you, eh, siss?” commented The O’Mahony, smilingly. The pleasant twinkle in his eye seemed to attract the child. Her face lost something of its scared look, and she of her own volition moved a step nearer to his outstretched hands. Then he caught her up and seated her on his knee. “So you’re goin’ to sail in, eh, an’ jest make the old convent hum again? Strikes me that’s a pritty chilly kind o’ look-out for a little gal like you. Wouldn’t you now, honest Injun, rather be whoopin’ round barefoot, with a nanny-goat, say, an’ some rag dolls, an’--an’--climbin’ trees an’ huntin’ after eggs in the hay-mow--than go into partnership with grandma, here, in the nun business?” The O’Mahony had trotted the child gently up and down, the while he propounded his query. Perhaps it was its obscure phraseology which prompted her to hang her head, and obstinately refuse to lift it even when he playfully put his finger under her chin. She continued to gaze in silence at the floor; but if the nuns could have seen her face they would have noted that presently its expression lightened and its big eyes flashed, as The O’Mahony whispered something into her ear. The good women would have been shocked indeed could they also have heard that something. “Now don’t you fret your gizzard, siss,” he had whispered--“you needn’t be a nun for one solitary darned minute, if you don’t want to be.” CHAPTER VIII--TWO MEN IN A BOAT. A fishing-boat lay at anchor in a cove of Dun-manus Bay, a hundred rods from shore, softly rising and sinking with the swell of the tide which stirred the blue waters with all gentleness on this peaceful June morning. Two men sat in lounging attitudes at opposite ends of the little craft, yawning lazily in the sunshine. They held lines in their hands, but their listless and wandering glances made it evident that nothing was further from their thoughts than the catching of fish. The warm summer air was so clear that the hamlet of Muirisc, whose gray walls, embroidered with glossy vines, and tiny cottages white with lime-wash were crowded together on the very edge of the shore, seemed close beside them, and every grunt and squawk from sty or barn-yard came over the lapping waters to them as from a sounding-board. The village, engirdled by steep, sheltering cliffs, and glistening in the sunlight, made a picture which artists would have blessed their stars for. The two men in the boat looked at it wearily.