in the fields of strangers for the wretched earning
of sixpence a day. No more lecturings
from a fretful stepmother, but always these
strong hands beside her, and always these tender
eyes. 0, for Mike she could gladly work, with
him could starve if need be. These things strove
within Maureen as she sat spilling her tea over
her grand chintz gown. But the old strain of
duty, of pity for those depending on her, of
fidelity to her promise to her stepmother,
still kept its echo sounding in her ears,
though but dimly and from afar off. The
temptation shook her; but when the gust
allayed itself, she regained her vantage ground,
breathless, but sure of foot. The habit of
restraint was strong within her. She did not
turn and smile on Mike; neither did she ask
him for a piece of cake.

Peggy Moran, sitting with her back to the
fire, was beginning to get very red in the face.
Biddy Prendergast's wit had fallen dead. There
was no one to tuck Peggy's flounces away from
the blaze, nor to hold the kettle gallantly for
Biddy. Maureen sitting there, filling the
moments for herself with the intense vitality of
her own hard struggle, was looked upon by her
two female neighbours as an unpardonable
poacher on their promising preserves. But tea
was over now, and the two pipers were sending
forth rival squeaks and groans in the kitchen.
Young feet were restless, and old feet too.
The "room" was deserted, and the dancing
began with spirit.

Maureen had made one gallant struggle, but
it was hard to be proof against all the enchantments
of this most trying night. When Mike,
whom many glancing eyes coveted for a partner,
eagerly pressed her for the first dance, her
customary short reply was not ready; and she
found herself up on the floor by his side before
she had time to think about it. As for Mike,
he was wild with spirits. He saw Maureen's
conduct in the light in which she knew he would
see it. He thought she had relented at
last, and made up her mind to smile on him for
the future. By-and-by Maureen caught the
spirit of the dance; panting and smiling, she
tripped it with the nimblest amongst them.
Everything began to slip away but the intense
delight of the moment. Blushing rosy red, her
eyes sparkling, her hair shining and shaking out
in little gleaming rings about her forehead, her
face developed a radiant beauty that hardly
seemed to belong to the grave Maureen. An
overheard whisper from some one to another—
"Lord! such a handsome slip as that girl of
poor Lacey's is growin'," did not tend to
sober this hour of elation. Who will not thrill
at praise, especially if it comes at the moment
when one is under the eye whose apple one fain
would be? The flush of conscious youth, and
health, and beauty, glowed on Maureen's cheek.
All the sunny ardour of her Irish nature, so long
kept under, the smouldering love, the keen
relish for harmless pleasure, the laughter-loving
enjoyment of wit and humour, burst forth from
within her for this one glorious evening, and
lushed in her beautiful face, and made music in
the beat of her brogues on the earthen floor.

Peggy Moran and the young man from
America with whom she consoled herself, tried
to get up one genteel round of the Copenhagen
Waltz. This being finished, Paudeen the piper
asked Maureen, in compliment to her dancing,
to tell him her favourite tune. Whereupon
Maureen, with a sly laugh in her eyes, asked
for The Little House under the Hill. This was
Paudeen's greatest tune, and at it he went with
the will of a giant, his white hair shaking, his
wrinkled cheeks bursting, and his one leg with
its blue-ribbed stocking and brogue, hopping up
and down under his pipes with might and
enthusiasm. How he shrilled and shrieked it, how he
groaned and wheezed it, and how all the company
joined in at last and danced it! How it was
stamped, and shuffled, how the deafening clatter
of feet, and the " whoops!" and " hurroos!" rose
up to Biddy Prendergast's smoky rafters and
wakened the hens, and set them a clucking, and
how Tady, the vanquished professor, sat sad in
the corner and mused on the primitive state of
uncivilisation in which these benighted Bofiners
were plunged! There was only one other who
did not join in the dance, and who stood with
his long loose figure drawn up against the wall
in a corner, his wistful eyes searching the
crowd of bobbing heads for the occasional
glimpse of one face. Con Lavelle was full of
uneasiness. Only once had he smiled to-night,
and that was when the Liverpool captain (who,
ignorant of Irish jigs and their mysteries, had
until now kept him company in his corner) had
delivered his weighty opinion that Maureen
Lacey was the best dancer, and the prettiest
girl in the house. But the captain had caught
the contagion at last and joined the crowd, and
Con Lavelle was alone.

After this jig was over, the house being
literally " too hot to hold " the dancers, they
turned out in couples, some to go home, others
only to cool themselves in the moonlight, and
return. Of these latter were Mike Tiernay and
Maureen Lacey. Under the shelter of Biddy's
gable wall Mike got leave at last to " spake"
all he had tried to say so often, and Maureen
cut him short with no cross answers. He told
his news, and he " axed " his question.

CHAPTER II.

THE next night a yellow moon hung high over
Bofin, gilding the spars of the Liverpool trader,
rocking still in the harbour. The headlands lay
like good-natured giants smiling in their dreams.
An ocean of silver glimmered out of the obscurity
of space and kissed their feet. Along
the road to the North Beach a man was plodding
with a parcel under his arm. There were
few in the island who would walk abroad, alone,
once the night had set in, for the spiritual
population of Bofin is said to outnumber those who
are counted in flesh and blood, and the night is
the elfin day. Men and women shut themselves
into their cabins at twilight and love not solitary
walks. But Con Lavelle was one of the few.