heart to the stae brae, as Sir Archy would call it,
and as he mutters every evening he has to climb the steep stair towards
his bed-room. And now, good night, dear uncle--good night."

With an affectionate greeting, the old man took his leave of her for the
night, and sat down, in a frame of mingled happiness and shame, to think
over what had passed.

The O'Donoghue was very far from feeling satisfied with himself for
what he had done. Had Kate been at all difficult of persuasion--had she
yielded to his arguments, or been convinced by any explanation of his
views, he would soon have reconciled himself to the act, as one in which
both parties concurred. Far from this--he saw that her only motive was
affection; that she would listen to nothing save the promptings of her
own warm heart; she would not let him even exculpate himself from the
charge of his own conscience; and, although acquitted by her, he felt
the guilt still upon him.

There was a time when he would not have stooped to such a course;
but then he was rich--rich in the world's wealth, and the honour such
affluence suggests; for, alas! humbling as the avowal may seem, the
noble traits so often admired in prosperity, are but the promptings of a
spirit revelling in its own enjoyment--open-handed and generous, because
these qualities are luxuries; free to give, because the giving involves
gratitude; and gratitude is the incense of weakness to power--of
poverty to wealth. How often are the warm affections, nurtured by
happy circumstances, mistaken for the evidence of right principles! How
frequently are the pleasurable impulses of the heart confounded with the
well-directed judgments of the mind? This man was less changed than he
knew of--the world of his circumstances was, indeed, different, but he
was little altered; the same selfishness that once made him munificent,
now made him mean; but, whether conferring or accepting favours, the
spirit was one.

Besides, how ingenious is the mind in suggesting plausible reasons for
its indulgences!--how naturally easy did it seem to borrow and repay!
The very words satisfied his scruples on that score; but if he were
indeed so contented with himself, why did he fear lest any one should
ever learn the circumstance? Why cower with shame before himself, to
think of his brother-in-law, or even Mark hearing of it? Were these
the signs of conscious rectitude, or were they the evidence of a spirit
seeking rest in casuistry