As they met, Bryan, forgetting everything that had occurred, and influenced solely by the habit of former friendship and good feeling, extended his hand with an intention of clasping that of his old acquaintance, but the latter withdrew, and refused to meet this usual exponent of good will.
"Well, Gerald," said M'Mahon, smiling, "I see you go with the world too; but, since you won't shake hands with me, allow me to ask your business." "To deliver a message to you from my daughter, and she'd not allow me to deliver it to any one but yourself.

I came three times to see you before your sickness, but I didn't find jou at home." "What's the message, Gerald ?" "The message, Bryan, is--that you are never to spake to her, nor will she ever more name your name.

She will never be your wife; for she says that the heart that forgets its duty to God, and the hand that has been soiled by a bribe, can never be anything to her but the cause of shame and sorrow; and she bids me say that her happiness is gone and her heart broken.

Now, farewell, and think of the girl you have lost by disgracin' your religion and your name." Bryan paused for a moment, as if irresolute how to act, and exchanged glances with his high-minded little sister.
"Tell Kathleen, from me," said the latter, "that if she had a little more feeling, and a little less pride or religion, I don't know which, she'd be more of a woman and less of a saint.

My brother, tell her, has disgraced neither his religion nor his name, and that he has too much of the pride of an injured man to give back any answer to sich a message.
That's my answer, and not his, and you may ask her if it's either religion or common justice that makes her condemn him she loved without a hearing?
Goodbye, now, Gerald; give my love to Hanna, and tell her she's worth a ship-load of her stately sister." Bryan remained silent.