Norah was satisfied. There is no denying that. But how was Paddy to satisfy his father and mother and Ellen? How was he to explain to the little O’Briens that they were going to America and brother Patrick was to remain behind? Never was a worse day’s work done for Norah’s father than Patrick’s that day, we are very sure. Never was a poor fellow so dissatisfied with himself. A few days before, all seemed to promise to falsify the adage that the course of true love never did run smooth. And now never was stream so ruffled.

“’Tis but a word and all’s over,” he said to himself, as he turned his head homeward the next evening, prepared to face the worst. But his fears whispered that there would be more than one word or two, and those high ones; and by the time he had reached his father’s door, all his courage was gone again. When he entered he found the good wife there who had the son over sea. She was fully installed as one of the council, since she also had resolved upon crossing the water. All the various items and charges of the voyage were calculated, and Paddy was counted as one of the party—not without lamentations, which he arrived in season to hear, that he had grown too tall to be counted as one of the “childher.”

It was a desperate case, and there was nothing for it but desperate courage. “Mother,” said Patrick, “and father, and Ellen, and you childher, you’ve pushed the thing so far that you drive me to tell you all, once and forever, that I cannot go!”

Patrick senior let his pipe fall with astonishment. The mother turned pale with sorrow and displeasure. Ellen arose, and going to Patrick’s side—he had not taken a seat—drew him out of doors. They walked a few steps from the house in silence, and reaching a tree paused there. Patrick folded his arms, and leaning against it, bowed his head and stood in troubled silence. Ellen placed her hands upon his, and never a word was spoken till, when she felt her brother’s hot tears fall upon her hand, she cried:

“Sure, Paddy, you are not going to leave us now!” And she fell upon his neck and clung to him with the evidences of earnest and frantic affection.

“Indeed, indeed, Ellen darling, it is you that leave me. It is you that go away from the land where God has been good to us, to seek a new home and new friends over sea. I cannot go there with you, Ellen; indeed I can’t.”

“And what will this land be to you, Paddy dear, but a land of strangers—no mother, no father, no sister nor brother in it? Where’ll be the hearth side that you’ll find a home at? Come, brother, with the rest of us, where father will lift up his head again and mother be happy!”

“Amen to their happiness, Ellen, and yours too. Go your ways without me. Sure I’ve given my word on it, and must tarry to take care of my own home, sister dear.”

“Is it that you mean!” cried Ellen, starting back indignant. “And shall we plough the seas while you cling to her apron-string! Will you be as easy in your undutiful bed, while the mother that bore you is tossed on the ocean, and the sister that toiled for you is down, down in the deep sea, maybe? Oh, Patrick! by the days of your wee, wee childhood, come along with us now. Is it thus, selfish as you are, that you lose all natural affection? Didn’t the clargy tell us, only Sunday was a week, to honor father and mother?”

“Thrue for you, Ellen. But who would be our father and mother, if our father had not left his father and mother to clave to his wife? Oh, go along with you, Ellen, to break my heart so, and my word of words given to Norah that I will stay with her and cherish her—for better for worse!”

Ellen said no more. Patrick did not re-enter the house, but proceeded homeward—to the place which was now doubly home to him, since the home of his childhood was about to be broken up. But the efforts of his mother to change his determination did not cease, and many a half-altercation he had with his family in his now frequent visits. Still, though strongly tempted to yield, he never would give full consent, and the sight of Norah reassured him in his resistance. The few weeks that remained between the fixing upon the purpose of emigration and the day of departure, were a long, long time to Patrick, and a season of sad trouble; and he could not speak with freedom to any of his distress. Norah was high-spirited, and the bare suspicion of the manner in which her name was bandied, and her love for Patrick all but cursed at the house of his father, would have led her to forbid Patrick ever to speak on the subject to her again. With slow reluctance the family gave way to Patrick’s resolute determination, and ceasing unkind reproaches, loaded him with tenderness, that much more affected his determined spirit. The day of parting came at last, and Norah herself proposed that she should accompany her betrothed to take leave of his kindred. It was a dangerous thing for him to suffer, Patrick knew; but how could he avoid it? And what would he have thought of her, too, had she not proposed it?

Unmixed and bitter was the grief with which Patrick’s kindred took leave of him to commence their long journey. They sorrowed as persons who should see his face no more; and without extravagance or hyperbole, the passion of grief which they felt and exhibited may be termed heart-rending. Scarce a word did they give to Norah. The mother looked on her almost with aversion, and the father scarce heeded her presence at all. Ellen only said:

“Cherish him, Norah—love him, for you see what he foregoes for you. God forgive him if he is wrong, and me if he is right.”

——