conviction that she breathed of utter guilelessness and angelic purity
itself. This was principally felt in the bewitching charm of her smile,
which was irresistible, and might turn the heart of a demon into love.
All her motions were light and elastic, and her whole figure, though not
completely developed, was sufficiently rounded by the fulness of health
and youth to give promise of a rich and luxurious maturity. On this
occasion she became deadly pale, but as she was one of those whose
beauty only assumes a new phase of attraction at every change, her
paleness now made her appear, if possible, an object of greater
interest.

"In God's name, Jerry," asked her mother, looking from father to
daughter in a state of much distress, "what is wrong, or what has
happened to put you in such a condition? I see by the anger in your eye
an' the whiteness of your cheeks, barrin' the little red spot in the
middle, that something out o' the way all out has happened to vex you."

"You may well say so, Bridget," he replied; "but when I tell you that
I came upon that undutiful daughter of ours coortin' wid the son of the
man that murdhered her uncle--my only brother--you won't be surprised
at the state you see me in--coortin' wid a fellow that Dan M'Gowan here
knows will be hanged yet, for he's jist afther tellin' him so."

"You're ravin', Jerry," exclaimed his wife, who appeared to feel the
matter as incredible; "you don't mane to tell me that she'd spake to, or
know, or make any freedoms whatsomever wid young Condy Dalton, the
son of her uncle's murdherer? Hut, no, Jerry, don't say that, at all
events--any disgrace but that--death, the grave--or--or anything--but
sich an unnatural curse as that would be."