n I was a gal in ould Ireland," and Patrick Flynn, the
aspiring County Member, was her partner. How the old tavern creaked
and groaned with the unusual tax upon its timbers, and how bright the
windows looked from every side of the rambling edifice! When midnight
was past the tables were set in the bar-room of ancient times, and the
cleverest productions of Sophia Dodona disappeared like snow before an
April sun. As Dr. Dodona remarked afterwards to his wife, "'Twould be
a round century of health to the bride and groom should the wishes of
the feasters be realized."

When it was all over, and the last "Good-night" had passed the
threshold, Nancy went to her room. She sat a long while, resting in
her big rocking-chair and reflecting on the changes in the future which
the day had meant for her. Her eyes gradually centred on her
photographs of Cornelius, and her face immediately brightened.

"Heigho," she sighed, "it's no my religion to worry."

CHAPTER X.

_THE HOME-COMING OF CORNELIUS McVEIGH._

Cornelius McVeigh sat in his private office, thinking. A telegram lay
open before him on the desk, and its contents had all to do with the
brown study into which he had fallen. Presently his senior clerk
appeared in answer to a summons he had given a moment before.

"John, I'm going home for a holiday," he said.

Young John Keene's face brightened perceptibly at the announcement.

"It's the right thing to do, Corney, and the trip will do you a world
of good," he replied, with a familiarity which business rules could not
overcome.

"I must go at once. You see, I've a telegram. Perhaps you would care
to read it," Cornelius McVeigh continued, moodily.

Young John took up the missive and read it aloud: "Come home at once.
Mother seriously ill.--Dodona." He looked up to find his employer's
eyes searching his face anxiously.

"You will go at once, Corney?" he said, quietly, but with a note of
challenge.

"The train leaves at noon. Help me to pack up, John," the other
answered.

The Tourist Express stopped at The Narrows for half an hour just at
lunch time. The Narrows was a pretty place. The peninsula jutting
from either way, separated only by a shallow strait, was spanned by the
railroad bridge. The station formed a centre at one end to a thickly
settled district of summer cottages, and quite close by stood two
rather pretentious hotels. East and west the glistening surface of the
lakes, dotted wit