too happy if some better-off
acquaintance at the long table invites them to "wine," though the ceremony
on their part is limited to the pantomime of drinking. To this miserable
_tiers etat_ I belonged, and bore my fate with unconcern; for, alas, my
spirits were depressed and my heart heavy. Lucy's treatment of me was every
moment before me, contrasted with her gay and courteous demeanor to all
save myself, and I longed for the moment to get away.

Never had I seen her looking so beautiful; her brilliant eyes were lit with
pleasure, and her smile was enchantment itself. What would I not have given
for one moment's explanation, as I took my leave forever!--one brief avowal
of my unalterable, devoted love; for which I sought not nor expected
return, but merely that I might not be forgotten.

Such were my thoughts, when a dialogue quite near me aroused me from my
revery. I was not long in detecting the speakers, who, with their backs
turned to us, were seated at the great table discussing a very liberal
allowance of pigeon-pie, a flask of champagne standing between them.

"Don't now! don't I tell ye; it's little ye know Galway, or ye wouldn't
think to make up to me, squeezing my foot."

"Upon my soul, you're an angel, a regular angel. I never saw a woman suit
my fancy before."

"Oh, behave now. Father Magrath says--"

"Who's he?"

"The priest; no less."

"Oh, confound him!"

"Confound Father Magrath, young man?"

"Well, then, Judy, don't be angry; I only meant that a dragoon knows rather
more of these matters than a priest."

"Well, then, I'm not so sure of that. But anyhow, I'd have you to remember
it ain't a Widow Malone you have beside you."

"Never heard of the lady," said Power.

"Sure, it's a song,--poor creature,--it's a song they made about her in the
North Cork, when they were quartered down in our county."

"I wish to Heaven you'd sing it."

"What will you give me, then, if I do?"

"Anything,--everything; my heart, my life."

"I wouldn't give a trauneen for all of them. Give me that old green ring on
your finger, then."

"It's yours," said Power, placing it gracefully upon Miss Macan's finger;
"and now for your promise."

"May be my brother might not like it."

"He'd be delighted," said Power; "he dotes on music."

"Does he now?"

"On my honor, he does."

"Well, mind you get up a good chorus, for the song has one, and here it
is."

"Miss Macan's song!" said Power, tapping the table