M'Mahon was an old but hale man, with a figure and aspect that were much
above the common order even of the better class of peasants. There could
be no mistaking the decent and composed spirit of integrity which was
evident in his very manner; and there was something in his long flowing
locks, now tinged with gray, as they rested upon his shoulders, that
gave an air of singular respect to his whole appearance.

On uttering the last words he stood, and looking around him became so
much affected that his eyes filled with tears. "Ay," said he, "thank
God that we have our place to come to, an' that we will still have it to
come to, and blessed be His name for all things! Come, Peety," he added,
after a pause, "let us see how they all are inside; I'm longin' to see
them, especially poor, dear Dora; an'--God bless me! here she is!--no,
she ran back to tell them--but ay--oh, ay! here she is again, my darlin'
girl, comin' to meet me."

He had scarcely uttered the words when an interesting, slender girl,
about eighteen, blushing, and laughing, and crying, all at once, came
flying towards him, and throwing her white arms about his neck, fell
upon his bosom, kissed him, and wept with delight at his return.

"An' so, father dear, you're back to us! My gracious, we thought you'd
never come home! Sure you worn't sick? We thought maybe that you took
ill, or that--that--something happened you; and we wanted to send Bryan
after you--but nothing happened you?--nor you worn't sick?"

"You affectionate, foolish darlin', no, I wasn't sick; nor nothing ill
happened me, Dora."

"Oh, thank God! Look at them," she proceeded, directing his attention