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"
"Ah," said Shawn, "it's aisily said, at all events--aisily said; but who
is it Caterine?"
"She is now speaking to you," she returned. "Shawn, you cannot but
know that I have long loved you; and I now tell you that I love you
still--ay, and a thousand times more than ever Grace Davoren did."
"You!" said Shawn, recoiling with indignation; "is it you, a spy, a
fortune-teller, a go-between, and, if all be true, a witch; you,
whose life and character would make a modest woman blush to hear them
mentioned? Why, the curse of heaven upon you! how dare you think of
proposing such a subject to me? Do you think because I'm marked by the
laws that my heart has lost anything of its honesty and manhood? Begone,
you hardened and unholy vagabond, and leave my sight."
"Is that your language, Shawn?"
"It is; and what other language could any man with but a single spark of
honesty and respect for himself use toward you? Begone, I say."
"Yes, I will begone; but perhaps you may live to rue your words: that is
all."
"And, perhaps, so may you," he replied. "Leave my sight.


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