and the day that it first come nigh the counthry." And then again
she covered the child and began to resume her load.

"Do give her something, Herbert, pray do," said Clara, with her
whole face suffused with tears.

"You know that we cannot give away money," said Herbert, arguing
with Bridget Sheehy, and not answering Clara at the moment. "You
understand enough of what is being done to know that. Why do you not
go into the Union?"

"Shure thin an' I'll jist tramp on as fur as Hap House, I and my
childher; that is av' they do not die by the road-side. Come on,
bairns. Mr. Owen won't be afther sending me to the Kanturk union
when I tell him that I've travelled all thim miles to get a dhrink
of milk for a sick babe; more by token when I tells him also that
I'm one of the Desmond tinantry. It's he that loves the Desmonds,
Lady Clara,--loves them as his own heart's blood. And it's I that
wish him good luck with his love, in spite of all that's come and
gone yet. Come on, bairns, come along; we have seven weary miles to
walk."

And then, having rearranged her burden on her back, she prepared
again to start.

Herbert Fitzgerald, from the first moment of his interrogating the
woman, had of course known that he would give her somewhat. In spite
of all his political economy, there were but few days in which he
did not empty his pocket of his loose silver, with these culpable
deviations from his theoretical philosophy. But yet he felt that it