e her a
sweet confusion of manner, which heightened her charms. All these were
signs which I very naturally interpreted in my own favor. What else
should I do?

I have been calling her indiscriminately Miss O'Halloran and Nora. But
to her face I did not call her by any name. Nora, of course, was not to
be thought of. On the other hand, Miss O'Halloran seemed too distant
For the memory of our past experience made me feel very near to her,
and intimate. Had we not been together on a journey where hours create
the familiarities of years? Was not her life mine? In fact, I felt to
her as a man feels when he meets the old flame of his boyhood. She is
married, and has passed beyond him. But her new name is too cold, and
her old name may not be used. So he calls her nothing. He meets her as
a friend, but does not know how to name her.

As we talked, O'Halloran sat there, and sometimes listened, and
sometimes chimed in. An uncommonly fine-looking old fellow he was, too.
Although about sixty, his form was as erect as that of a young man, and
his sinewy limbs gave signs of great strength. He sat in an easy-chair
--his iron-gray hair clustering over his broad brow; his eyes keen,
penetrating, but full of fun; his nose slightly curved, and his lips
quivering into smiles; small whiskers of a vanished fashion on either
cheek; and small hands--a right royal, good fellow--witty,
intellectual, and awfully eccentric--at once learned and boyish, but
for all that perhaps all the better adapted for social enjoyment, and
perhaps I may add conviviality. There was a glorious flow of animal
spirits in the man, which could not be repressed, but came rolling
forth, expressed in his rich Leinster brogue. He was evidently proud of
his unparalleled girls; but of these all his tenderness seemed to go
forth toward Nora. To her, and apparently to her alone, he listened,
with a proud affection in his face and in his eyes; while any little
sally of hers was always sure to be received with an outburst of
rollicking laughter, which was itself contagious, and served to
increase the general hilarity.

But the general hilarity did not extend to Marion. She was like a star,
and sat apart, listening to every thing, but saying nothing. I caught
sometimes, as I have said, the lustrous gleam of her eyes, as they
pierced me with their earnest gaze; and when I was looking at Nora, and
talking, with her, I was conscious, at times, of Marion's eyes.
O'Halloran did