A hush ensued, and Sophia Dodona and her staff came from the kitchen to see the start off.
"No, doctor, I'm too ould," Nancy was saying to Dr. Dodona, who wished to set the pace for the younger guests. But her words did not ring true, and amidst the hearty plaudits of the rest she took the doctor's arm. The others fell in line as if by magic, and then the fiddles began with vim. Oh, how they danced! Everyone, old and young—quadrilles, reels, polkas, Irish Washerwoman, Old Dan Tucker, and all. Even Mrs. Conors, after much persuasion, did a jig as it was performed "whin I was a gal in ould Ireland," and Patrick Flynn, the aspiring County Member, was her partner. How the old tavern creaked and groaned with the unusual tax upon its timbers, and how bright the windows looked from every side of the rambling edifice! When midnight was past the tables were set in the bar-room of ancient times, and the cleverest productions of Sophia Dodona disappeared like snow before an April sun. As Dr. Dodona remarked afterwards to his wife, "'Twould be a round century of health to the bride and groom should the wishes of the feasters be realized."
When it was all over, and the last "Good-night" had passed the threshold, Nancy went to her room. She sat a long while, resting in her big rocking-chair and reflecting on the changes in the future which the day had meant for her. Her eyes gradually centred on her photographs of Cornelius, and her face immediately brightened.
"Heigho," she sighed, "it's no my religion to worry."
CHAPTER X.
THE HOME-COMING OF CORNELIUS McVEIGH.
Cornelius McVeigh sat in his private office, thinking. A telegram lay open before him on the desk, and its contents had all to do with the brown study into which he had fallen. Presently his senior clerk appeared in answer to a summons he had given a moment before.
"John, I'm going home for a holiday," he said.
Young John Keene's face brightened perceptibly at the announcement.