Crime is not a means to honourable victory and O'Connell was ashamed of the miscreants who blackened the fair name of his country by their ruthless and despicable methods.
He avoided the possibility of imprisonment again for the sake of Peg. What would befall her if he were taken from her?
The continual thought that preyed upon him was that he would have nothing to leave her when his call came. Do what he would he could make but little money—and when he had a small surplus he would spend it on Peg—a shawl to keep her warm, or a ribbon to give a gleam of colour to the drab little clothes.
On great occasions he would buy her a new dress, and then Peg was the proudest little child in the whole of Ireland.
Every year, on the anniversary of her mother's death, O'Connell had a Mass said for the repose of Angela's soul, and he would kneel beside Peg through the service, and be silent for the rest of the day. One year he had candles, blessed by the Archbishop, lit on our Lady's altar and he stayed long after the service was over. He sent Peg home. But, although Peg obeyed him, partially, by leaving the church, she kept watch outside until her father came out. He was wiping his eyes as he saw her. He pretended to be very angry.
"Didn't I tell ye to go home?"
"Ye did, father."
"Then why didn't ye obey me?"
"Sure an' what would I be doin' at home, all alone, without you? Don't be cross with me, father."
He took her hand and they walked home in silence. He had been crying and Peg could not understand it. She had never seen him do such a thing before and it worried her. It did not seem right that a MAN should cry. It seemed a weakness—and that her father, of all men, should do it—he who was not afraid of anything nor anyone—it was wholly unaccountable to her.