“I don't know, Dora, whether I'd have strength or courage to do so, but I know one who would.”
“I know too—Kathleen.”
“Kathleen? you have said it. She would, I am certain, lay down her life for either her religion or the welfare of her country, if such a sacrifice could be necessary.”
“Bryan, I have heard a thing about her, and I don't know whether I ought to tell it to you or not.”
“I lave that to your own discretion, Dora; but you haven't heard, nor can you tell me anything, but what must be to her credit.”
“I'll tell you, then; I heard it, but I won't believe it till I satisfy myself—that your family daren't name your name to her at home, and that everything is to be over between you. Now, I'm on my way there to know whether this is true or not; if it is, I'll think less of her than I ever did.”
“And I won't Dora; but will think more highly of her still. She thinks I'm as bad as I'm reported to be.”
“And that's just what she ought not to think. Why not see you and ask you the raison of it like a—ha! ha!—I was goin' to say like a man? Sure if she was as generous as she ought to be, she'd call upon you to explain yourself; or, at any rate, she'd defend you behind your back, and, when the world's against you, whether you wor right or wrong.”
“She'd do nothing at the expense of truth,” replied her brother.
“Truth!” exclaimed the lively and generous girl, now catching the warmth from her own enthusiasm, “truth! who'd regard truth—”