'Come, Jane.' Masterfully Martin's hands gripped and claimed. 'Come with me.'

Then Jane raised her eyes, a sob in her throat, and her lips prayerless; lifted her eyes, and at sight of Hynes, his manhood and glory, she lost strength and she gave herself to him.

A

CHAPTER VII

LL was well, then, at last; good humour restored, diversion sure. The sun was shining again, spring triumphant in the world. Laughing and chattering, the groups tramped back to hall and parlour; comforted themselves with something warm, and made ready to start. The cars clattered out and took their places between the hedges. Hall and parlour, yard and kitchen, trooped forth and filled the Here stood the carriage by the gateway, the horses beribboned and sleepy, Tom Logan airing his buttons upon the box; there was Martin's gig; there the crowd of gaping rustics. All was ready. All the world stood waiting. Let the bride appear.

cars.

A sound of feet upon the stairs, a sudden hush of expectancy in the roadway, a pause in the hall; then the figure of Jane by the threshold, and her coming, slowly and steadily, with Hannah beside her, and Maria weeping

behind and Martin and Mires following after, down the pathway, along through the sunshine. She has flowers in her hand, a spray in her hair; all about her hangs the long white veil, in and out go the satin shoes beneath her dress of silver-grey. Her face is pale, her eyes fixed upon the path; but her step is firm, her look steadfast. She has no doubts now. weal or woe the die is cast. Blessed, thrice blessed, is the bride that the sun shines upon.

For

The crowd parts and hustles back by the gateway. Bravely, and meeting the fire of good wishes with a smile, Jane takes her place in the carriage, with Hannah beside her, and the weeping Maria on the further seat. Mires closes the door, climbs into Martin's gig, and gives the word to start. Crack go the whips; the roadway shouts good luck and safe return; off goes the long procession between the greenflecked hedges. Long life, Miss Jane. God be with you, our gallant Squire. Happy be the couple that the sun shines upon.

At Hillside gate is a little party: Mary the servant in her Sunday dress, George the boy in holiday tweeds, a labourer or two grinning their broadest, the Widow also in cloak and

I

bonnet standing feeble by the wall. As the carriage passes hats and hands are waved, and the Widow nods and smiles; as Martin passes, high and glorious up there in his gig, a cheer rises in his honour, and his mother sends him greeting through her tears. Welcome back, sir; welcome back. Oh, happy may you be, my own boy Martin!

There are kindly groups here and there on the roadside. From the fields now and then comes a lusty cheer. Children skirl in the gateways, women flutter aprons in the doorways. Here an ancient sits sunning by a hedge and mumbling as from the graveside; there a crone stands doubled in hood and cloak by a gap, her tongue wagging grave comment. Ah, well to be young and merry; good not to know what God in His wisdom has in store. Make haste to the wedding. Hurry on through the blessed sunshine.

By the cross-roads a little crowd has gathered-boys and girls from Armoy and Lackan, wild men with red beards and fierceeyed women from the bogs of Gort, the postman from Bunn in his donkey-cart, Mrs. Brady from the shop beyond, the Nolans of Leemore

on their way to Bunn with turf-and lining the roadside like some tattered company of scarecrows, give knowing heed to all this parade of grandeur that winds up the brae. A carriage, indeed. A veil and flowers, no less. Gloves and a high hat on Himself; gloves and cigar with his Highness, Sam the Hump; ribbons and fallals fluttering on all the relations. Ah, by the powers, but it's great entirely! Ah, by all that's high, if this isn't wonderful to the world! Jane Fallon in her carriage! Martin the Squire behind his high-stepper! And who's paying the Piper, now? Would it be Martin? Would it be Red Hugh? And, listen now: is it money or beauty that the Squire's marrying?

Outside Ned Noble's, a cluster of True Blues discourse a quickstep on fife and drum and wake enthusiasm along the procession. By his gate Father Tom stands portly, and blesses the company with word and smile. There are well-wishers on the Priest's brae; a flag droops across the hedge in front of Lunny's cottage; a cart filled with boisterous turfcutters stands in the mouth of Gorteen bog; in the flats that stretch below Leemore hill men cheer in the furrows or drop their spades