She gave a mournful smile, and replied, “Fergus, I can't join in your mirth now as I used to do. Many a pleasant conversation we've had; but then our hearts were light, and free from care. No, Fergus, you must lave all thoughts of me aside, for I will have nothing of either love or courtship till I know her fate. Who can say but I may be brought back? She said she'd try what she could do with her father to effect it. You know how whimsical the old Squire is; and who knows whether she may not stand in need of me again? But, Fergus, there's one thing strikes me as odd, and, indeed, that doesn't rise you much in my good opinion. But first, let me ask you, what friend it is who'd give you the means of going to another country?” “Why, who else but Reilly?” he replied. “And could you,” she returned, with something like contempt stamped upon her pretty features--“could you be mane and ungrateful enough to leave him now in the trouble and sorrow that he's in, and think only of yourself?” “No, indeed, my dear Ellen; but I was only layin' the plan whenever we might be able to put it in practice. I'm not exactly a boy of that kidney--to desart my friend in the day of his trouble--devil a bit of it, my darlin'.” “Well, I am glad to hear you speak as you do,” she said, with a smile; “and now, to reward your constancy to him, I tell you that whenever they're settled, or, at all events, out of their troubles, if you think me worth your while, I won't have any objection to become your wife; and--there--what are you about, Fergus? See this, now--you've almost broken the tortoise-shell crooked-comb that she made me a present of.” “Why, blood alive, Ellen, sure it was only sealin' the bargain I was.” “But remember it is a bargain, and one I'll stick to. Now leave me; it's gettin' quite dark; or, if you like, you may see me across the fields.” Such, in fact, was the indomitable attachment of this faithful girl to her lovely and affectionate mistress that, with a generosity as unselfish as it was rare, and almost heroic, she never for a moment thought of putting her own happiness or prospects in life in competition with those of the _Cooleen Bawn_. The latter, it is true, was conscious of this unparalleled attachment, and appreciated it at its true value. How nobly this admirable girl fulfilled her generous purpose of abiding by the fate and fortunes of her unhappy mistress will be seen as the narrative goes along. Ellen's appearance in her father's house surprised the family not a little. The expression of sorrow which shaded her very handsome features, and a paleness which was unusual to her, alarmed them considerably--not so much from any feeling connected with herself, as from an apprehension that some new-distress or calamity had befallen the _Cooleen Bawn_, to whom they all felt almost as deeply attached as she did herself. After the first affectionate salutations were over, she said, with a languid smile: