ntrolled, and, in spite of the entreaties of
the political leaders and of the priests, a knot of young men caught the
poor old creature up, and carried her around the field in triumph; the
crowd everywhere swaying backwards and forwards, divided between the
effort to make a way for the strange procession and the desire to catch
sight of the old woman. Probably few of the people there could
understand the strange effect which this sight had upon them; but their
instincts guided them aright in the enthusiasm with which they hailed
this visible token of a bad and terrible and irrevocable past.

And how was it with the chief actor in the scene? Five years of life in
a workhouse had left no trace of the handsome, long-haired, and
passionate woman who had cursed the destroyer of her house and her
children with wild vehemence, and had resisted the assault of the
Crowbar Brigade with murderous energy. She was now simply a feeble old
woman, with scanty grey hair; the light had died out of her eyes; and
there was nothing left in them now but weariness and pain; her cheeks
were sunk and were dreadfully discolored; in short, she was a poor,
feeble, old woman, with broken spirits and dulled brain. The revenge for
which she had longed and prayed had come at last; but it had come too
late.

She went through the whole scene with curious and unconscious gaze, as
of one passing through a waking dream, and the only sign she gave of
understanding anything that was going on was that she gave a weak and
weary little smile when the people cried out to her enthusiastically,
"Bravo, Widow Cunningham!"--a smile as spectral as the state of things
of which she was the relic. She was very wearied and almost fainting
when she was brought back to the platform; and then she said, in a voice
that was a little louder than a whisper, and with a strange wistfulness
in her eyes, "I'd like a cup of tay."

But there was no tea to be had, and the thoughtless good-nature of the
day helped to precipitate the tragedy which the equally thoughtless
enthusiasm had begun. A dozen flasks were produced; a tumbler was taken
from the table, and a large quantity of whiskey was poured down her
throat. She became feeble, and the rays of intelligence almost
disappeared from her face.

At last, as the evening fell, the crowd dispersed; the old pauper was
left by the men who had brought her to the platform, and there were but
a couple of women more watchful than the rest