stantly); and
finally Mr. Curphy, speaking through his long beard, congratulated my
father and my husband equally on the marriage, and gave it as his
opinion that there could be no better use for wealth than to come to the
rescue of an historic family which had fallen on evil times and only
required a little money to set it on its feet again.

"The bride and bridegroom!" cried my father; and then everybody rose and
there was much cheering, with cries of "His lordship," "His lordship."

All through the speech-making my husband had rolled uneasily in his
chair. He had also helped himself frequently from the decanter, so that
when he got up to reply he was scarcely sober.

In his drawling voice he thanked the Bishop, and said that having made
up his mind to the marriage he had never dreamt of raising difficulties
about religion. As to the modern notions about the relations of husband
and wife, he did not think a girl brought up in a convent would give him
much trouble on that subject.

"Not likely," cried my father. "I'll clear her of that anyway."

"So I thank you for myself and for my family," continued my husband,
"and . . . Oh, yes, of course," (this to Lady Margaret). "I thank you
for my wife also, and . . . and that's all."

I felt sick and cold and ashamed. A rush of blood came under the skin of
my face that must have made me red to the roots of my hair.

In all this speaking about my marriage there had not been one word about
myself--myself really, a living soul with all her future happiness at
stake. I cannot say what vague impulse took possession of me, but I
remember that when my husband sat down I made a forced laugh, though I
knew well that I wanted to cry.

In an agony of shame I was beginning to feel a wild desire to escape
from the room and even from the house, that I might breathe in some of
the free wind outside, when all at once I became aware that somebody
else was speaking.

It was Father Dan. He had risen unannounced from his seat at the end of
the table. I saw his sack coat which was much worn at the seams; I saw
his round face which was flushed; I heard the vibrating note in his soft
Irish voice which told me he was deeply moved; and then I dropped my
head, for I knew what was coming.

THIRTY-THIRD CHAPTER

"Mr. O'Neill," said Father Dan, "may your parish priest take the liberty
of speaking without being spoken to?"

My father made some response, and then a hush fell over the d