of your dependence
on the sustaining power of religion."

"In my own strength or discretion I will never depend more," she
replied, sighing deeply.

"You must exert great courage and firmness now, then," rejoined Father
Roche; "In the first place, you are about to have a disclosure made
which will be apt to shock you; and, in the next place, I have only to
say, that it is the absolute necessity of your knowing it, in order to
prevent dreadful consequences from ensuing upon it, that forces us to
make you cognizant of it at all."

"I trust I shall endeavor at least to bear it," she returned; "I am
not strong, and I do not think that too much preparation will add to my
strength."

"I agree with you, my child," said Father Roche, "and have only made
such as I deemed indispensably necessary. The fact then is, my poor
girl, that your brothers meditate violence against that most base and
wicked person who--"

"I know, sir, the person to whom you allude; but I will thank you, if
you can avoid it, not to name him."

"I have no such intention," replied the good man, "but bad and
profligate as he is, it is still worse that your three brothers should
propose such violence."

"But what do you mean by violence--of course violence of any description
is beneath them. Surely,--John, you would not stoop--"

She looked at them as she spoke, and, as before, there was no mistaking
the meaning of the cold and deadly smile which lay upon their lips, and
contrasted so strongly and strangely with their kindling eyes.

"What fearful expression is this," she asked, with evident terror and
trepidation; "my dear brothers, what does this mean?--that is, if you
be my brothers, for I can scarcely recognize you--what is it, in the
name of heaven?"

The brothers looked at her, but spoke not, nor moved.

"They have taken an oath, Mary, to wipe out your shame in his blood,"
added the priest.

She immediately rose up without aid, and approached them.

"This is not true, my dear brothers," said she, "this cannot be
true--deny it for your sister."

"We cannot deny it, Mary," said John, "for it is true, and must be
done--our vengeance is ripe, hot, burning, and will wait no longer."

"John," said she, calmly, "recollect 'vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,
and I will repay it.'"

"I told them so," said their father, "but I receive no attention at
their hands."

"Vengeance is ours," said John, in a deeper and more determined voice
than h