Maureen was not exactly pretty, but she had what is called a lovable face, and her uncle, the Reverend Patrick O'Brien, loved her quite as much as he did his only daughter Kitty, aged six years, and his brave young son Dominic, a boy who, according to the well-known Irish saying, could lure the birds out of the bushes by the love-light that always seemed to shine out of his honest, deep-blue eyes—those truly Irish eyes with their thick jet-black upward-curled lashes.
Then there was Denis, a dear little fellow, some years younger than Dominic, but on the other hand some years older than Kitty, with her sweet ways and angelic dimples and masses of bright golden hair.
Maureen was the only child of Major O'Brien, twin-brother of the Reverend Patrick O'Brien. The gallant and noble Major had died of a wound inflicted in battle. He died in rescuing a brother soldier, but lived long enough to obtain the Victoria Cross and to put his only child, a little girl of six years of age, into his brother's care.
Thus Maureen came to Templemore, and while her Aunt—Patrick O'Brien's first wife—lived, she was a truly happy child. It was her nature to be happy; but when she reached her eighth birthday the sweet woman who alone ever stood in the place of a mother to the child passed on to a happier home, and the Rector, who was so terribly broken down that he did not recover quickly, was ordered abroad.
A woman, sharp and knowing, fell in love with the really fascinating widower. She was determined to win him, and win him she did. He did not even pretend to love her; but she so worked on his feelings that when at the end of a year he returned to Templemore, Mrs. O'Brien Number Two accompanied him. All too quickly he found her out—all too soon were his life and the lives of his children and that other child—in many ways the dearest of all—rendered miserable.
The second Mrs. O'Brien was a widow of the name of Mostyn when the Rector married her. She was a rich woman, but in certain ways she was stingy. She placed her two daughters at a very cheap school near Dublin, and never allowed them to come home for the holidays. At last, however, she knew that they would soon be old enough to return.
Being obliged to consult her husband on the subject, she spoke cheerfully about the life her handsome young daughters would bring into the old place. Some day, she declared, they would be rolling in wealth, and they should have every advantage that money even now could bestow upon them. A rough-looking youth called Larry should be their groom; they should have a smart little pony-carriage of their own, and could go into Kingsala as often as the fancy pleased them. Kingsala was a garrison town, and the poor beautiful weans should have every chance of marrying well and of enjoying themselves.
The Rector gave a heavy sigh.
"Yes, that will be excellent work," pursued Mrs. O'Brien. "I shall have one of the best rooms in the house refurnished for my girls, and get them a Parisian maid and give them every chance. We shall have company here then, and Maureen can help in the house. She is a very plain child, and, eating the bread of charity as she does, she must make herself useful in some way. Kitty will by-and-by follow in her steps; but my children will have a very different future. You seem sometimes to forget that fact, Patrick."