en on our coast
lose their lives."

"And does your mother know the truth? Can she read the Bible, boy?"
asked Miss O'Reilly.

"No, she cannot read the Bible, but the priest takes care that she
should know what he believes to be the truth, I am sure."

"Your mother loves you?"

"Oh! indeed she does," answered Dermot; "she would spill her heart's
blood for my sake, though she often sits melancholy and sad when alone,
yet the moment I return, her eye brightens, and she opens her arms to
receive me. Yes, lady, my mother does love me, that I know."

"I should like to come and talk to your mother," said the blind lady.
"Will you lead me to her some day? I should not be afraid to descend
the cliff with so strong an arm as yours to rest on."

A few days after this, Dermot having finished his lesson with the vicar,
met Miss O'Reilly close to the house, and expressed his readiness to
take her to his mother's cottage, the sea at the time happening to be
far too rough to allow their boat to go forth to fish.

"I am ready to go with you," said the blind lady; "but remember you must
lead me all the way back, Dermot."

"That will just double the honour, lady," was the young Irishman's
reply. Dermot talked much of his mother to the blind lady, as he led
her down to the cottage.

The widow's voice pleased Miss O'Reilly, and all she said increased the
interest she was inclined to take in her. Perhaps more than all, was
that deep love which she felt for her only boy, and which had become, as
it were, part of her being.

Dermot carefully conducted Miss O'Reilly back to the vicarage, and this
was the first of many visits which she afterwards paid to the fishwife's
hut.

Dermot was never idle. He had no associates; indeed from his earliest
days he had kept aloof from boys of his own age. It was not that he was
morose, or proud or ill-tempered, but he appeared to have no sympathy
with them, and thus, though possessed of many qualities which would have
won him friends, he had not a single friend of his own rank or age in
the neighbourhood. Whenever he was not out fishing, he was engaged with
his book, either at the vicarage or at home.

He was thus employed one afternoon in his mother's hut, when Father
O'Rourke, the parish priest, made his appearance at the door.

"Come in, your reverence," said the widow, placing a stool for him near
the hearth; "it is a long day since your reverence has been seen down
the cove."