to let them retain their holding. I shall do my utmost to gratify any of Nora's wishes."
"Yes, Master James," said the young beauty, with a flashing eye, "I am proud of takin' an interest in honest people; an' I'm sure they don't want you or me in the interference of their business. Please God, they will have their own again without your help, And let me tell you, sir, I'd be obliged to you if you wouldn't come here in my own house to insult me."
Just at this time, Nora's mother made her appearance. She saluted young Cotter with, "God bless you, Master James! I hope you are well." The mortified young man mumbled in return that he had just dropped in for a bit, and was about going. Recovering his hat and coat, he bade them adieu.
On Christmas Eve, he again paid them a visit, bearing with him, as a Christmas gift for Nora, a magnificent watch. The astonished widow declined it, in, her daughter’s name, with every protestation of gratitude, telling him it was "too grand entirely" for Nora, and would only turn her head if she accepted it, and would fill her brain with such fancies, that "she would hardly condescend maybe to notice her dacint neighbors." Nora, to whom a sprig of fern from the absent John would be invaluable, felt deeply affected at this token of Cotter's persistent passion; and haughtily and decidedly rejected his proffered gift. Burning with resentment at what appeared to him an inconceivable rebuff from a mere peasant girl, he abruptly took leave,—premeditating some deep scheme of vengeance for this deliberate insult.
Christmas Day dawned,—that glorious day celebrated as the anniversary of the Saviour of the world, and which brings to all in Christendom—rich and poor alike,—"glad tidings of great joy;" when the united members of a family gather around the festive bread and drink their fill of the cup of happiness; and when the more opulent open their hearts and purses, under the operation of the genial influences increased by the holy season, to their less fortunate brothers, infusing peace and joy all round. It was a sad day for Michael O'Regan and his family. John was still unheard of, and the vacuum created by his absence filled his poor parents hearts with grief. O'Regan had managed to pay all his rent; but it left his means nearly exhausted. And though for three or four generation his family had held possession of the holding, never at any time being in arrears for rent, the fiat had gone forth that he must give up possession in one week more, and commence the new year in a new home. Home!— how could he call a strange house "home"? The house where his fathers, he, and his children were born. To be given up to a stranger! It was intolerable but an inevitable fact. Sadly the bright cold Christmas they were to spend in their old, and once happy home. And their feasting? Let us not look in on their poverty that blessed day. That was the most sumptuous banquet in the land to them on this holy day, and the darling of their hearts tempest - tossed on the raging seas perhaps—oh, horrible thought!—his precious body the prey of voracious monsters of the deep? Nevertheless, the good mother managed to have some delicacies for the children,—Paddy, a boy of ten, and Ellen and Mary, of five and six years old respectively. The hearts of the expectant parents beat high with hope that morning when the letter carrier knocked at the door, and delivered them a letter bearing the New York postmark. Of course, it was from John, and explained that his vessel had been delayed by adverse wind, and announced that he would leave New York on the 20th of December, and sincerely regretted that he should be unavoidably absent from home at Christmas. He begged them not to grieve, as it could not certainly be long before he should be in the midst of his family and friends. He concluded with his filial regards and expressions of tender solicitude for the welfare of all at home; and did not omit, by any means, sending his love for Nora, and a repetition of the promise to present her with some token of his affection, excusing himself for being so far unable to fulfil it. Nora fortuitously dropped in while the letter was being read, to bring some confectionery to the children, which has been sent to her from Cork as a Christmas box. The letter was of more value to her than the most costly Christmas present, and acted as a solace to their sorrow; and the day was passed in contentment.
On New Year's Day, O'Regan moved with his family into one of the small cabins on the cliff. Having been obliged to sell out his share in the "Seabird," he was reduced to the necessity of hiring himself as a common hand on board a fishing-smock, the remuneration for his labor being very small, and barely sufficing to provide his family with the absolute requirements of life. But, cheered by his fond and faithful wife, he bore up manfully.
Chapter 3:
Some few years had passed since the Christmas on which the O'Regans had received the letter from John, without bringing any further tidings from him, and the sorrowing parents had long given up their darling as dead; but Nora, as they had received no actual account of his death, still retained a find belief that he was alive. Michael O'Regan had struggled for a long time in vain to maintain his family respectably, and secure them from indigence. But of late, matters began to prosper with him; and, as his ordinary avocation as a fisherman kept him out very often at night, his unsuspecting family never dreamt that he might be otherwise occupied. It had come to the knowledge of the authorities, that for some time past, number of contraband articles were being smuggled into the country through the medium of fishermen on the south coast, and further, that respectable parties were connected with the trade. Though government spies were set diligently to work, their efforts to discover the smugglers were unavailing. Michael O'Regan, whose house was sure distressed at the poverty of his family and his inability to render them comfortable by his creations, was easily induced, by the prospect of gain, to join the band of smugglers. Cotter, the agent to his old landlord, was one of the principal consignees for the contraband goods, and O'Regan was led, by the insinuations, and the fair speeches of the agent, to overlook his conduct in the last transaction they had together, especially as Cotter accompanied his expressions of regret for the occurrence, with a douceur of a few pounds, and promised to reinstate him in the old homestead, as some of the present tenant's lease should have expired.
late one night, just exactly six years from the date of the commencement of this story, Michael O'Regan sat by his fire smoking. all the rest if the family were in bed fast asleep.He evidently did not desire to retire to sleep, for he had on a tarpaulin and great coat.
