Light O The Morning | Page 5

right; he's the right sort; a chip of the old block--eh? He
wouldn't be hard on a brother in adversity?"
"He wouldn't if he could help it," said Nora; but the cloud had not left
her sensitive face. Then, seeing that father looked at her with intense
anxiety, she made a valiant effort.
"Of course, I believe in you," she said; "and, indeed, what does the loss
of money matter while we are together?"
"Right you are! right you are!" said the Squire, with a laugh. He

clapped her on the shoulder. "Trust Light o' the Morning to look at
things in the right direction," he said.

CHAPTER III
.
THE WILD MURPHYS.
Terence made his appearance at the tea table. In every respect he was a
contrast to Nora. He was very good-looking--strikingly handsome, in
fact; tall, with a graceful elegance of deportment which was in striking
contrast to the burly figure of the old Squire. His face was of a
nut-brown hue; his eyes dark and piercing; his features straight. Young
as he was, there were the first indications of a black silky mustache on
his short upper lip, and his clustering black curls grew in a high ridge
off a lofty brow. Terence had the somewhat languid air which more or
less characterized all his mother's movements. He was devoted to her,
and took his seat now by her side. She laid her very thin and slender
hand on his arm. He did not respond by look or movement to the
gesture of affection; but had a very close observer been present he
would have noticed that he drew his chair about the tenth of an inch
nearer to hers.
Nora and her father at the other end of the table were chattering volubly.
Nora's face was all smiles; every vestige of that little cloud which had
sat between her dark brows a few moments before had vanished. Her
blue eyes were sparkling with fun.
The Squire made brilliant sally after sally, to which she responded with
all an Irish girl's aptitude for repartee.
Terence and his mother conversed in low tones.
"Yes, mother," he was saying, "I had a letter from Uncle George this
morning; he wants me to go next week. Do you think you can
manage?"
"How long will you be away, Terence?"
"I don't know; a couple of months, perhaps."
"How much money will it cost?"
"I shall want an evening suit, and a new dress-suit, and something for
everyday. These things are disgraceful," said the lad, just glancing at
the frayed coat-sleeve, beneath which showed a linen cuff of

immaculate whiteness.
Terence was always the personification of fastidiousness in his dress,
and for this trait in his character alone Mrs. O'Shanaghgan adored him.
"You shall have it," she said--"somehow."
"Well, I must reply tonight," he continued. "Shall I ask the governor, or
will you?"
"We won't worry him, Terry; I can manage."
He looked at her a little anxiously.
"You are not going to sell any more of them?" he said.
"There is a gold chain and that diamond ring; I never wear either. I
would fifty times rather think that you were enjoying yourself with my
relations in England. You are fitted to grace any society. Do not say
another word, my boy."
"You are the very best and noblest mother in the world," said the lad
with enthusiasm.
Meanwhile, Nora and her father continued their gay conversation.
"We will take a basket with us," said Nora, "and Bridget shall give me
a couple of dozen more of those little brown eggs. Mrs. Perch shall
have a brood of chicks if I can manage it."
"Trust the girleen for that," said the Squire, and then they rose from
table.
"Ellen," he continued, addressing his wife, "have you and Terence done
colloguing together? for I hear Black Bess coming to the front door."
"Oh, hasten, mother; hasten!" said Nora. "The mare won't stand waiting;
she is so fresh she is just ready to fly."
The next few moments witnessed a scene of considerable bustle. Mrs.
O'Shanaghgan, with all her English nerves, had plenty of pluck, and
would scorn to show even a vestige of fear before the hangers-on, as
she called the numerous ragged urchins who appeared from every
quarter on each imaginable occasion. Although she was shaking from
head to foot with absolute terror at the thought of a drive behind Black
Bess, she stepped into her seat in the tall dog-cart without a remark.
The mare fidgeted and half reared.
"Whoa! whoa! Black Bess, my beauty!" said the Squire. The groom, a
bright-faced lad, with a wisp of yellow hair falling over his forehead,
held firmly to the reins. Nora jumped up beside her mother.
"Are you going to drive?" asked