you ever read Tommy Moore, you 'd know it was only another reason to
make the most of the friends that were left behind," said he,
adjusting his cravat at the glass, and giving himself a leer of knowing
recognition. "That's the time of day, Clara!"

She looked at him, somewhat puzzled to know whether he had alluded to
his sentiment, his whiskers, which he was now caressing, or the French
clock on the mantelpiece.

"Is that one of Layton's?" said he, carelessly turning oyer a
water-colored sketch of a Lucchese landscape.

"Yes," said she, replacing it carefully in a portfolio.

"He won't do many more of them, I suspect."

"How so?--why?--what do you mean?" cried she, grasping his arm, while a
death-like paleness spread over her features.

"Just that he's going as fast as he can. What's the mischief! is it
fainting she is?"

With a low, weak sigh, the girl had relaxed her hold, and, staggering
backwards, sunk senseless on the floor. O'Shea tugged violently at the
bell: the servant rushed in, and immediately after Mrs. Morris herself;
but by this time Clara had regained consciousness, and was able to
utter a few words.

"I was telling her of Layton's being so ill," began he, in a whisper, to
Mrs. Morris.

"Of course you were," said she, pettishly. "For an inconvenience or an
indiscretion, what can equal an Irishman?"

The speech was uttered as she led her daughter away, leaving the
luckless O'Shea alone to ruminate over the politeness.

"There it is!" cried he, indignantly. "From the 'Times' down to the
Widow Morris, it's the same story,--the Irish! the Irish!--and it's no
use fighting against it. Smash the Minister in Parliament, and you 'll
be told it was a speech more adapted to an Irish House of Commons; break
the Sikh squares with the bayonet, and the cry is 'Tipperary tactics.'
Isn't it a wonder how we bear it! I ask any man, did he ever hear of
patience like ours?"

It was just as his indignation had reached this crisis that May Leslie
hurriedly came into the room to search for a locket Clara had dropped
when she fainted. While O'Shea assisted her in her search, he bethought
whether the favorable moment had not arrived to venture on the great
question of his own fate. It was true, he was still smarting under a
national disparagement; but the sarcasm gave a sort of reckless energy
to his purpose, and he mattered, "Now, or never, for it!"

"I suppose it was a keepsake," said he, as he peered under the