I am not able to listen to it; it would sicken me soon." "Very well, dear, we'll drop it; an' I hope I'm wrong; for I can't think, afther all, that a man with such a kind and tendher heart as my father--a pious man, too; could--" he paused a moment, and then added; "oh! no; I'm surely wrong; he never did the act.

However, as we said, I'll drop it; for indeed, dear Mave, I have enough that's sorrowful and heartbreakin' to spake about, over and above that unfortunate subject." "I hope," said Mave, "that there's nothing worse than your own illness; an' you know, thanks be to the Almighty, you're recoverin' fast from that." "My poor lovin' sister Nancy," said he, "was laid down yesterday morning with this terrible faver; she was our chief dependence; we could stand it out no longer; I could, an' can do nothing; an' my mother this mornin'"-- His tears fell so fast, and his affliction was so deep, that he was not able, for a time to proceed.
"Oh! what about her ?" asked Mave, participating in his grief; "oh! what about her that every one loves ?" "She was obliged to go out this mornin'," he proceeded, "to beg openly in the face of day among the neighbors! Now, Mave Sullivan, farewell!" said he rising, while his face was crimsoned over with shame; "farewell, Mave Sullivan; all, from this minute, is over between you an' me.

The son of a beggar must never become your husband; will never call you his wife; even if there was no other raison against it." The melancholy but lovely girl rose with him; she trembled; she blushed--and again got pale; then blushed once more; at length she spoke: "An' is that, dear Con, all that you yet know of Mave Sullivan's heart, or the love for you that's in it?
Your mother! Oh! an' is it come to that with her?
But--but--do you think that even that, or anything that wouldn't be a crime in yourself; or, do you think; oh! I know not what to say; I see now, dear Con, the raison for the sorrow that's in your face; the heart-break an' the care that's there; I see, indeed, how low in spirits an' how hopeless you are; an' I see that although your eye is clear still it's heavy; heavy with hard affliction; but then, what is love, Con dear, if it's to fly away when these things come on us?
Is it now, then, that you'd expect me to desert you ?--to keep cool with you, or to lave you when you have no other heart to go to for any comfort but mine?
Oh, no! Con dear.

You own Mave Sullivan is none of these.
God knows it's little comfort," she proceeded, weeping bitterly; "it's little comfort's in my poor heart for any one; but there's one thing in it, Con, dear; that, poor as I stand here this minute; an' where, oh! where is there or could' there be a poorer girl than I am; still there's one thing in it that I wouldn't exchange for this world's wealth; an' that, that, dear Con, is my love for you! That's the love, dear Con, that neither this world nor its cares, nor its shame, nor its poverty, nor its sorrow, can ever overcome or banish; that's the love that would live with you in wealth; that would keep by your side through good and through evil; that would share your sickness; that would rejoice with you; that would grieve with you; beg with you, starve with you, an', to go where you might, die by your side.

I cannot bid you to throw care and sorrow away; but if it's consolation to you to know an' to feel how your own Mave Sullivan loves you, then you have that consolation.