self the year before, but had not fully carried out her moral intention, and had since borne a child. Wearing such borrowed plumes, and a brazen smile of defiance, 'Liza strutted up to the Communion rail, looking impudently into the men's faces and saucily into the women's—for the church was thronged with an odorous mob that kept up the jabbering of frogs at spawn—and Stephen Orry slouched after her in his blowzy garments with a downward, shame-faced, nervous look that his hulking manners could not conceal.
Then what a wedding-feast it was that followed! The little cabin in Port-y-Vullin reeked with men and women, who overflowed on to the sand and pebbles of the beach, for the time of year was spring, and the day was clear and warm. 'Liza's old lovers were there in troops. With a keg of rum over his shoulder, Nary Crowe, the innkeeper, had come down from the "Hibernian" to give her joy, and Cleave Kinley, the butcher, had brought her up half a lamb from Ballaglass, and Matt Mylchreest—the net-maker—a venal old skinflint—had charged his big snuff-horn to the brim for the many noses of the guests. On the table, the form, the three-legged stool, the bed, and the hearth they sat together cheek by jowl, their hats hung on the roof rafters, their plates perched on their knees.
And loud was their laughter and dubious their talk. Old Coobragh led off on the advantages of marriage, saying it was middlin' plain that the gels nowadays must be wedded when they were babies in arms, for bye-childers were common, and a gel's father didn't care in a general way to look like a fool; but Nary Crowe saw no harm in a bit of sweetheartin', and Cleave Kinley said no, of course, not if a man wasn't puttin' notions into a gel's head, and Matt Mylchreest for his part thought the gels were amazin' like the ghosts, for they got into every skeleton closet about the house.
"But then," said Matt, "I'm an ould bachelor, as the sayin' is, and don't know nothin'."
"Ha, ha, ha! of coorse not," laughed the others; and then there was a taste of a toast to 'Liza's future in Nary's rum.
"Drop it," said 'Liza, as Nary, lifting his cup, leaned over to whisper.
"So I will, but it'll be into your ear, woman," said Nary. "So here's to the king that's comin'."
By this time Stephen had slipped out of the noisome place, and was rambling on the quiet shore alone, with head bent, cheeks ashy pale, eyes fixed, and his brawny hands thrust
