g title to the respect of Arthur Dillon; and she was,
besides, a beautiful woman, who spoke great things in a voice so
sweetly responsive to her emotions that father and friend listened as to
music. The Ledwiths had a comfortable income, when they set to work,
earned by his clever pen and her exquisite voice. The young man missed
none of her public appearances, though he kept the fact to himself. She
was on those occasions the White Lady in earnest. Her art had warmth
indeed, but the coldness and aloofness of exalted purity put her beyond
the zone of desire; a snowy peak, distinct to the eye, but inaccessible.
When they were done with greetings Arthur brought up a specific subject.

"It has gone about that I have become a Fenian," he said, "and I have
been called on to explain to many what chance the movement has of
succeeding. There was nothing in the initiation which gave me that
information."

"You can say: none," Ledwith answered bitterly. "And if you quote me as
your authority there will be many new members in the brotherhood."

"Then why keep up the movement, if nothing is to come of it?"

"The fighting must go on," Ledwith replied, "from generation to
generation in spite of failure. The Fenian movement will fail like all
its predecessors. The only reason for its continuance is that its
successor may succeed. Step by step! Few nations are as lucky as this to
win in the first fight. Our country is the unluckiest of all. Her battle
has been on seven hundred years."

"But I think there must be more consolation in the fight than your words
imply;" Arthur declared. "There must be a chance, a hope of winning."

"The hope has never died but the chance does not yet exist, and there is
no chance for the Fenians," Ledwith answered with emphasis. "The
consolation lies for most of us in keeping up the fight. It is a joy to
let our enemy, England, know, and to make her feel, that we hate her
still, and that our hate keeps pace with her advancing greatness. It is
pleasant to prove to her, even by an abortive rising, that all her
crimes, rogueries, and diplomacies against us have been vain to quench
our hate. We have been scattered over the world, but our hate has been
intensified. It is joy to see her foam at the mouth like a wild beast,
then whine to the world over the ingratitude of the Irish; to hear the
representatives of her tax-payers howl in Parliament at the expense of
putting down regular rebellions; to see the la