“They say Edward Burke is still a finer-looking young fellow than Hycy. Now, Kathleen,” she added, laughing, “if you should spoil a priest afther all! Well! un-likelier things have happened.”
“That may be,” replied Kathleen, “but this won't happen for all that, Hanna. Go, there he's calling for you again.”
“Yes—yes,” she shouted; “throth, among you all, Kathleen, you're making a regular go-between of me. My father thinks I can turn you round my finger, and Bryan M'Mahon thinks—yes, I'm goin',” she answered again. “Well, keep up your spirits; I'll soon have news for you about this spoiled priest.”
“Poor Hanna,” thought Kathleen; “where was there ever such a sister? She does all she can to keep my spirits up; but it can't be. How can I see him ruined and beggared, that had the high spirit and the true heart?”
Hanna, her father, and mother, held a tolerably long discussion together, in which Kathleen could only hear the tones of their voices occasionally. It was evident, however, by the emphatic intonations of the old couple, that they were urging some certain point, which her faithful sister was deprecating, sometimes, as Kathleen could learn, by seriousness, and at other times by mirth. At length she returned with a countenance combating between seriousness and jest; the seriousness, however, predominating.
“Kathleen,” said she, “you never had a difficulty before you until now. They haven't left me a leg to stand upon. Honest Jemmy never had any wish to make Edward a priest, and he tells my father that it was all a trick of the wife to get everything for her favorite; and he's now determined to disappoint them. What will you do?”
“What would you recommend me?” asked Kathleen, looking at her with something of her own mood, for although her brow was serious, yet there was a slight smile upon her lips.
“Why,” said the frank and candid girl, “certainly to run away with Bryan M'Mahon; that, you know, would settle everything.”
“Would it settle my father's heart,” said Kathleen, “and my mother's?—would it settle my own character?—would it be the step that all the world would expect from Kathleen Cavanagh?—and putting all the world aside, would it be a step that I could take in the sight of God, my dear Hanna?”
“Kathleen, forgive me, darlin',” said her sister, throwing her arms about her neck, and laying her head upon her shoulder; “I'm a foolish, flighty creature; indeed, I don't know what's to be done, nor I can't advise you. Come out and walk about; the day's dry an' fine.”