ground for a combat arose; and would fight on any subject with any
human being--except her daughter. And yet with the priest she never
quarrelled; and though she was rarely beaten in her contests with him,
she submitted to him in much. In matters touching her religion she
submitted to him altogether.

Kate O'Hara was in face very like her mother;--strangely like, for in
much she was very different. But she had her mother's eyes,--though hers
were much softer in their lustre, as became her youth,--and she had her
mother's nose, but without that look of scorn which would come upon her
mother's face when the nostrils were inflated. And in that peculiar
shortness of the lower face she was the very echo of her mother. But the
mouth was smaller, the lips less full, and the dimple less exaggerated.
It was a fairer face to look upon,--fairer, perhaps, than her mother's
had ever been; but it was less expressive, and in it there was
infinitely less capability for anger, and perhaps less capability for
the agonising extremes of tenderness. But Kate was taller than her
mother, and seemed by her mother's side to be slender. Nevertheless she
was strong and healthy; and though she did not willingly join in those
longer walks, or expose herself to the weather as did her mother, there
was nothing feeble about her, nor was she averse to action. Life at
Ardkill Cottage was dull, and therefore she also was dull. Had she been
surrounded by friends, such as she had known in her halcyon school days
at Paris, she would have been the gayest of the gay.

Her hair was dark as her mother's,--even darker. Seen by the side of
Miss O'Hara's, the mother's hair was certainly not black, but one could
hardly think that hair could be blacker than the daughter's. But hers
fell in curling clusters round her neck,--such clusters as now one never
sees. She would shake them in sport, and the room would seem to be full