A Little Irish Girl by J. M. Callwell — Read

Moyross Abbey bore its wonted peaceful aspect upon that night. The broken arches of the ruin stood out against the pale gray sky, in which a star was beginning to twinkle here and there, and the air of the summer evening was heavy with the scent of flowers. The dining-room windows were unshuttered, and the light of the candles shone on the white table-cloth, and the silver and flowers upon it, and on the faces of the trio who sat round. Mr. O'Brien himself was not there. Wearisome and unending business connected with the troubles at the mine, and the proposal to bring in labour from a distance, had taken him once more to Dublin, and he was not expected home till the following day. In his place at the head of the table sat a handsome curly-haired lad, facing Ella and Miss Browne with a look of smiling defiance. The two latter were pale and tearful, and Miss Browne shook her head and sighed to herself with profoundest dejection every now and again.

Whilst dinner was proceeding, conversation had been impossible, but now that the dessert had been placed on the table, and the servants had withdrawn, Ella said apprehensively, as she had already said twenty times at least since her scapegrace brother had walked in, dusty and toil-worn, a couple of hours before: