"What ought to be betther, at all events?" said Bryan. "Well, father, so
far everything is right, for there is no doubt but his son will fulfil
his words--Mr. Fethertonge himself isn't the thing; but I don't see why
he should be our enemy. We always stood well with the ould man, an' I
hope will with the son. Come, mother, move the bottle again--there's
another round in it still; an' as everything looks so well and our mind
is aisy, we'll see it to the bottom."

The conversation was again resumed, questions were once more asked
concerning the sights and sounds of Dublin, of which one would imagine
they could scarcely ever hear enough, until the evening was tolerably
far advanced, when the neighbors withdrew to their respective homes, and
left M'Mahon and his family altogether to themselves.

Peety, now that the joy and gratulation for the return of their
father had somewhat subsided, lost no time in delivering Hycy Burke's
communication into the hands of Bryan. The latter, on opening it,
started with surprise not inferior to that with which Kathleen Cavanagh
had perused the missive addressed to her. Nor was this all. The letter
received by Bryan, as if the matter had been actually designed by the
writer, produced the selfsame symptoms of deep resentment upon him that
the mild and gentle Kathleen Cavanagh experienced on the perusal of her
own. His face became flushed and his eye blazed with indignation as
he went through its contents; after which he once more looked at the
superscription, and notwithstanding the vehement passion into which it
had thrown him, he was ultimately obliged to laugh.

"Peety," said he, resuming his gravity, "you carried a letter from Hycy
Burke to Kathleen Cavanagh to-day?"