Such, indeed, was her beauty, and so gently and serenely did her virtues shine through it, that it mattered not to what condition of calamity they were subjected; in every situation they seemed to shed some new and unexpected charm upon the eyes of those who looked upon her.

The mother, we said on glancing at her, paused--but the chord of love and sorrow had been touched, and poor Mave, unable any longer to restrain her feelings, burst out into tears, and wept aloud on heading the name and sufferings of her lover.

Her father looked at her, and his brow got sad; but there was no longer the darkness of resentment or indignation there; so true is it that suffering chastens the heart into its noblest affections, and purges it of the gloomier and grosser passions.
"Poor Mave," he exclaimed, "when I let the tears down for the man that has my doother's blood on his hands, it's no wonder you, should cry for him you love so well." "Oh, dear father," she exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms, and embracing him tenderly, "I feel no misery nor sorrow now--the words you have spoken have made me happy.

All these sufferings will pass away; for it cannot be but God will, sooner or later, reward your piety and goodness.

Oh, if I could do anything for--for--for any one," and she blushed as she spoke; "but I cannot.