“But, is it not a dreadful thing,” she continued, “that I should be glad of such an alternative?”
“Mary,” said the priest, “ask them to pray; they refused to join me and their father, perhaps you may be more successful.”
“They will certainly pray,” said she; “I never knew them to omit it a night, much less refuse it. Surely they will join their poor sister Mary, who will not long—” She hesitated from motives which the reader can understand, but immediately knelt down to prayer.
During prayer the three brothers stood and knelt not, neither did they speak. When prayers were concluded, she arose, and with tears in her eyes, approached her eldest-brother.
“John,” said she, “can it be that the brother of Mary M'Loughlin is an assassin? I will answer for you,” she said. “Kiss me, for I am weak and feeble, and must go to bed.”
“I cannot kiss you,” he replied; “I can never kiss you more, Mary—for it must be—done.”
The tears still streamed copiously down her cheeks, as they did down those of her father and the amiable priest. The latter, who never took his eye off her, was praying; incessantly, as might be seen by the motion, of his lips.
“Alick,” she proceeded, turning to her second brother, “surely won't refuse to kiss and embrace his only sister, before she withdraws for the day.”
“I cannot kiss you, my pure sister; I can never kiss you more. We have sworn, and it must be done.”
“I thought I had brothers,” said she, “but I find I am now brotherless—yet perhaps not altogether so. I had once a young, generous, innocent, and very affectionate playfellow. It was known that I loved him—that we all loved him best. Will he desert his loving sister, now that the world has done so? or will he allow her to kiss, him, and to pray that the darkness of guilt may never overshadow his young and generous spirit. Bryan,” she added, “I am Mary, your sister, whom you loved—and surely you are my own dearest brother.”