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THROUGH THE DARK NIGHT.

or,

THIRTY YEARS AGO.

CHAPTER XXIII.

ONE

ETHNA AND HER MOTHER.

NE night Ethna sat before the fire, looking so pale and dejected that the Madam, who was every day becoming more uneasy about her, ventured to break in upon her thoughts and try to bring back the old confidence between them..

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Ethna, dear, you are looking sad," she said, "what is the reason, my girl ? "

"I don't know, mother. I am getting old, or tired, or something."

"That is not true, dear; it would be too unnatural. Will you not tell me what troubles you?"

"I am troubled that I was a fool, mother; that is all." The girl bent her head upon her hands.

The Madam drew her chair beside her, and put her arm about her.

"Tell me what ails you, my darling?" said she. "The very telling of a trouble lessons it. Has anything occurred to grieve you ? "

"Oh, what could occur, mother ?

Nothing worth talking about. I suppose every one has some worry." The girl raised herself restlessly. "Why do you question me? What do you see the matter with me?"

"You are changed," said the mother sorrowfully; "nothing seems to amuse you-nothing seems to interest you."

"What is there to be interested about?" answered the girl. "It is from the same to the same. I can't help getting tired of this dull life."

"You did not find your life dull a year ago?" said the Madam.

"A year ago—I wish I could go back a year," answered the girl. "Oh mother, mother, I made a fool of myself—I made a fool of myself." She burst out crying.

The mother drew her into her arms. 66 'My darling," she said. "I have begun to suspect the cause of this trouble. It seems absurd to think of it; but sometimes I am afraid you--you liked Philip Moore ?"

"Yes, it was absurd, was it not? Even you, who are so blind about me, think it absurd. But, mother, he told me he loved me, he asked me to be his wife. It was all humbug, of course; but I believed him."

She laid her face on her mother's lap.

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"Oh, don't pity me, mother"-she lifted her face once again-"I cannot tell you how I despise myself for being such a weak idiot. I would never lift my head if I thought any one knew it."

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Why did you not tell me, Ethna? Where was your pride to let any man woo you secretly?"

"My pride kept me from making it known," answered Ethna. "I was afraid he would think I wanted to hasten things on, and if I told you I knew it would come out. I thought every day he would speak to you; but now I know he never intended it.”

"You should have told me, my darling. Ah, I am much to blame myself; how was it I left my lamb unprotected?"

The Madam's tears fell upon the girl's face; Ethna looked up with a sad yet half playful smile.

"Ah, mother," she said, "lambs are wilful, and like the society of wolves. You have nothing to blame yourself for; it was all my own fault. I thought it was a grand thing to win such a man-and I thought he loved me."

"He would not be such a great match at all for you," said the Madam, wiping her eyes. "He has little more than his pay, and can hardly ever clear off his debts, I suppose, unless he marry an heiress like his brother."

""Tis no matter now, mother; 'tis all over. I am never likely to see him again. There is one comfort any way: I will never care for any one again."

"Ah, that is what every one thinks, my darling. We love to fancy our feelings are eternal, but, please God, you will love some

one worthy of you yet, and whose truth you will value the more for having met with treachery."

"I don't want to meet truth or anything. My heart is as hard as a stone now. All I care about is the possibility of my follies being found out; and, oh, what a fool I have been!"

Leaning against her mother's compassionate bosom, she told her version of the "old, old story," raising in that calm breast unwonted feelings of indignation and self-blame. Why did she permit such familiar intercourse? Yet, could she tell him, a cousin-one she knew since a boy-not to come to her house? She thought Ethna was always under her eyes. How could he have had opportunity to so beguile her? For time passed rapidly with the Madam, occupied as she was with many household duties, and the half-hours utilised by Philip Moore seemed to her but minutes. She kept many thoughts to herself, but soothed and comforted her daughter as best she might; and the girl wiped away her tears, declaring they were the last she should shed for what she continued to think her ruined life.

Confidence was restored between them, but the girl asked her not to return to the subject again. She could not bear to be talking it over and over.

CHAPTER XXIV.

FILIAL OBEDIENCE.

The winter days were glooming within and without. Ethna was impatient, if roused out of her listless absorption, and sadly tried the gentle Madam by her idleness and discontent. Mr. Taylor had again spoken of the marriage with Vincent Talbot; but, knowing the state of the girl's mind, the Madam said it was better not to introduce the matter until Christmas which they were to spend in town. Ethna did not care to leave Mona; she said it was a bore talking to people who had not the least interest for one. The Madam said she would do exactly as she wished; she herself would prefer remaining at home. And then Ethna concluded that of two evils it was better to choose the leastanything was better than the dreadful monotony.

Christmas Eve brought them all together at Mr. Taylor's.

Ethna roused herself to look after the gifts of Santa Claus and raised the children's curiosity to the wildest pitch by intoxicating hints as to the results of the Fairy's visit. Tears came to the Madam's eyes when she heard her laugh, and the girl was half annoyed with herself when she lay down that night to think that she could even momentarily feel amused. The strong young life began to assert itself again, and put forth its claim upon those external satisfactions in which it expands and rejoices. The Madam gladly permitted her to remain with the Taylors for some time. They had a pleasant house; Ethna was a good horsewomen, and crossed the country with Vincent Talbot on hunting days till the colour returned to her cheeks, and the brightness to her eyes again.

One of Mr. Talbot's clerks had emigrated, and Corney O'Brien had taken his place in the office, the chief clerk in the Dublin office was also leaving, and the old gentleman was considerably upset by the changes.

He again spoke to Mr. Taylor on the advisability of getting Vincent married; he would settle him in Dublin to mind the business there. Everything would go to the mischief if they had not some one there they could trust; and a wife would keep him steady and make him sensible. Mr. Taylor agreed with him, and before broaching the subject to Ethna, Mr. Talbot laid it before Vincent. The young man was surprised at having matrimony brought into such close proximity with him; but he was always fond of Ethna. He preferred no one to her, and the idea of living in Dublin, with a handsome wife, good means, and a fair prospect of increasing them was in nowise unpleasant. He obediently told his father that he was quite willing to be guided by him in the matter-at which the father smiled grimly, commenting on his filial devotion and the promptness with which people take advice, when the advice coincides with their inclination.

"Mother," said Ethna to the Madam, who had driven in to see her. "I wish we could leave Mona and come to live in

town."

"I could never leave Mona," said the Madam with a shiver, her thoughts going back to a time when it echoed to the sound of a beloved voice, and small pattering feet, the memory of which lost sounds peopled it for her as no other house could be peopled. "I wonder what you like it for," exclaimed the girl. "One

might as well be buried alive as live there; you would be much more comfortable in town, and would have nothing to do."

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Having nothing to do would kill me," said the Madam, "and it would be like tearing up an old tree from the roots to take me out of Mona."

"I hate going back there," answered the girl with an impatient sigh. "Nothing to do but to think-think."

"You can stay on here, dear, as long as you like,” said the mother, "and in summer we will go for a month any where you wish."

"A month out of one's life is not much," answered the girl. "I know I am very bad, mother, but I can't help it. I long for excitement or anything to take me out of myself.”

The following day Mr. Talbot joined her as they were returning from church, and spoke upon the subject nearest his heart; the girl was astounded, and in the confusion of her thoughts could only answer, "I can say nothing-you must speak to my

mother."

When they reached home, she went to her room to consider this new epoch in her destinies, and see how it would fit in with her desires. There are some hearts caught in the rebound, who seize the more eagerly on the present solace for having been denied the past one; but there are others in whom a newly offered affection causes a revulsion and even a momentary loathing. Some are always renewing their idols; but others cease to worship. Ethna's first impulse on being told of the contemplated alliance was to reject it with horror; the next moment all its advantages flashed across her mind, and she sat now considering it in all its bearings. Here was an escape out of her empty dull existence. No more solitude at Mona, eating out her heart; but a gay life in a city—action, society, a place in the world. Yes, she would marry. And Philip Moore will learn she was not pining for him amongst the hills. The very possibility of leaving the scene of her illusive love-dream made going back to it more intolerable, and she determined to leave the past behind her, close over its follies and regrets, and go out into a new life where, at all events, she would not be made a fool of again.

"So our people have settled that you and I are to keep house together," said Vincent, laughing. "What have you to say to the arrangement ?"

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