"Indeed he was all that," said Mrs. Brennan. "I met him when I was away off in England. He was a rich, grand young man, and as fond of me as the day was long; but he was a Protestant and fearful of his people to change his religion, and to be sure I could not change mine. For the sake of me holy religion I gave up all thoughts of him and married Ned Brennan, whose likeness you see on the other page."
Rebecca lifted her eyes from the album and looked full at Mrs. Brennan. She wondered how much truth could be in this story. The dressmaker was a coarse woman and not at all out of place in this mean room. She imagined the heavy husband of her choice as a suitable mate for her.
This sudden adoption of the attitude of a kind of martyr did not seem to fit well upon her. Rebecca could not so quickly imagine her as having done a noble and heroic thing for which she had not received sufficient beatification.
Rebecca was still turning the leaves. She had hurried through this little pageant of other generations, and was at the last pages. Now she was among people of the present, and her attention was no longer held by the peculiarities of the costumes.... Her mind was beginning to wander. Suddenly she was looking down upon a photo in the older style and the anachronism was startling. Had it been placed in any other portion of the album she might not have so particularly noticed it. It was the likeness of a dark, handsome man on horseback.
"Who was he?" she said, almost unconsciously.
A flush passed over the face of Mrs. Brennan, but she recovered herself by an effort. She smiled queerly through her confusion and said:
"Indeed 'tis you who ought to know that."
"How should I know?"—Rebecca was amazed.
"Don't you know Ulick Shannon?"
It was now Rebecca's turn to be confused.