was kindled, and his brawny hand shook as he
poured the whisky into the glasses.

"Here's to Maureen's happy weddin' on this
day year!" he said, knocking the glass against
his teeth as he raised the spirit to his lips.
"Amen, amen," went round in reply, and
matters being thus concluded, the two men
presently took their leave, and quitted the
cabin together.

"Look ye here, Mike Tiernay," said Con
Lavelle, stopping short, as the two walked along
in the moonlight, "I'll give you wan warnin'
afore I part ye. I have loved Maureen Lacey
since iver she was able to toddle. Seein' she
liked ye the best, I would not have made nor
meddl't betune ye. But with yer own, an' her
own free will, she took an' oath to-night, afore
my face, an' mind I'll make her stick to her
bargain. Look to 't well, an' come home for
yer wife in time, for sorra day, nor hour, nor
minit o' grace will I give you, if so it falls out
that ye fail her!"

Mike Tiernay drew up his towering figure,
and looked contemptuously into the feverish
face of his rival.

"When yer axed for day, or hour, or minit
o' grace, Con Lavelle," he said, " then come an'
give me yer warnin's. Ye may wish me what
evil ye plase, but the Almighty himsel' will blow
the blast that 'll bring me o'er the seas to make
ruin o' yer evil hopes. I'm lavin' my wife in
His hands, an' heed me, man, ye shall niver
touch her!"

Shame fell on Con for a moment, and his
better nature was touched.

"I do not wish ye evil, Mike Tiernay," he
said, sulkily, " but only to have my chance."

CHAPTER III.

MAUREEN'S year of trial began in peace. Her
stepmother's tongue was less harsh than usual,
and Con Lavelle had left her untroubled. There
was a light in her eye as she faced the blast of
a morning, and a pride in her step as she moved
through the house, that bade defiance to all
external powers to make her less happy and blest
than she was. She repaid her mother's
forbearance with extra care and exertion. Hard
work was play to her now. Christinas season
was Midsummer-time. Whistling winds were
but music to dance to, and pelting rains like the
light May dew. All the frost of her nature
was thawed. She laughed with the children at
supper-time, and told them stories when her
work was done. Her eyes were brighter,
and her lips more softly curled. Her words to
all were less scant than they had been, and the
tone of her voice sweeter. Her days went
quickly past, because every task that she
wrought, and every hour that she filled, brought
her nearer to next Hallow Eve. Her trust in
Mike was as whole as her trust in God.

So the winter passed, and the months of early
spring, and then this happy phase of her life
wore, bit by bit, away. The widow began to
sigh, and cast up her eyes when Mike was
mentioned, and Con Lavelle to come dropping
in in the lengthening evenings to smoke his
pipe, and to question Mrs. Lacey concerning
her "rumatics." Maureen pretended to take
no notice, only went to bed earlier of nights to
be out of the way, gave shorter answers when
spoken to, and began to creep gradually back
again into her old reserved self. This went on
for a time, and then the stepmother began to
speak openly of Mike as a deserter, sneering at
Maureen for putting her faith in him, or
congratulating her on having won a thrifty man
like Con Lavelle. Still Maureen endured, going
steadily on with her work, never seeming to hear
what was said, nor to see what was meant.

Presently Con Lavelle began to change his
demeanour; growing regular and systematic in
his attentions; sending boys to cut her turf
and carry her rack, and do odd rough jobs for
her by stealth. Her stern rejection of these
real services made very little difference to
Con, who went steadily on laying siege to
her gratitude in a number of subtle ways.
The stepmother grew more sickly; and how
could Maureen, who had little to give her, turn
Nan Lavelle from the door, when she came
smiling in of an evening with a nice fat chicken
under her cloak, or a morsel of mutton for
broth? Or how could she throw in the fire the
gay new nappikeen bought on the last fair day,
which the widow wore tied on her head, and
which Con had not dared to present to Maureen?.
Con was not bold, but, sly. He did nothing that
Maureen could resent, but he kept her in
constant remembrance of her promise. Often, as
he smoked his pipe at his* farm-house door at
sunset, he would slip out a little brass ring from,
his pocket, twirl it on the top of his own huge
finger, and smile at the vacant Atlantic, lying
sailless and sunny before him. Why should
Mike Tiernay return?

So the year went on, and October came round
again. There was much speculation in the island
as to how it would go with Maureen Lacey. Some
vowed that Mike would be true to his time, and
others that Maureen ought to bless her stars that
would leave her to Con Lavelle. Of Maureen
herself the gossips could make little. " He'll
come," was all she would say in answer to hints
and inquiries. As the end of the month drew near,
public excitement ran high. Men made bets,
and kind-hearted women said prayers for Maureen.
Con Lavelle went about his farm with
feverish eyes and a restless foot, whilst in-doors
Nan already made rare preparations. At the
North Beach the stepmother chattered incessantly
about the wedding, and her pride that a
daughter of hers should be mistress of Fawnmore
Farm. As the days narrowed in about
her, Maureen struggled hard to go and come
like one who was deaf and blind. She made
ready her humble trousseau, knitting her new
grey stockings, and stitching her new blue
cloak, bending her sharpened face over her
work, contradicting no one, and questioning no
one. Neighbours who chanced to meet the
flash of her eye went away crossing themselves.
People began to feel afraid of Maureen Lacey.