“An’ isn’t he an only son, Fardorougha?” exclaimed the wife.  “An’ my sowl to happiness but I believe you’d see him want.”

“Any way,” replied her husband, “I’m not for matches against the consint of parents; they’re not lucky; or can’t you run away wid her, an’ thin refuse marryin’ her except they come down wid the cash?”

“Oh, father!” exclaimed Connor, “father, father, to become a villain!”

“Connor,” said his mother, rising up in a spirit of calm and mournful solemnity, “never heed; go to bed, achora, go to bed.”

“Of coorse I’ll never heed, mother,” he replied; “but I can’t help sayin’ that, happy as I was awhile agone, my father is sendin’ me to bed with a heavy heart.  When I asked your advice, father, little I thought it would be to do—­but no matter; I’ll never be guilty of an act that ’ud disgrace my name.”

“No, avillish,” said his mother, “you never will; God knows it’s as much an’ more than you an’ other people can do, to keep the name we have in decency.”

“It’s fine talk,” observed Fardorougha, “but what I advise has been done by hundreds that wor married an’ happy afterwards; how—­an—­iver you needn’t get into a passion, either of you; I’m not pressin’ you,’ Connor, to it.”

“Connor, achree,” said his mother, “go to bed, an’ instead of the advice you got, ax God’s; go, avillish!”

Connor, without making any further observation, sought his sleeping-room, where, having recommended himself to God, in earnest prayer, he lay revolving all that had occurred that night, until the gentle influence of sleep at length drew him into oblivion.

“Now,” said his mother to Fardorougha, when Connor had gone, “you must sleep by yourself; for, as for me, my side I’ll not stretch on the same bed wid you to-night.”

“Very well, I can’t help that,” said her husband; “all I can say is this, that I’m not able to put sinse or prudence into you or Connor; so, since you won’t be guided by me, take your own coorse.  Bodagh Buie’s very well able to provide for them—­; an’ if he won’t do so before they marry, why let Connor have nothing to say to her.”

“I’ll tell you what, Fardorougha, God wouldn’t be in heaven, or you’ll get a cut heart yet, either through your son or your money; an’ that it may not be through my darlin’ boy, O, grant, sweet Saver o’ the earth, this night!  I’m goin’ to sleep wid Biddy Casey, an’ you’ll find a clane nightcap on the rail o’ the bed; an’, Fardorougha, afore you put it an, kneel down an’ pray to God to change your heart—­for it wants it—­it wants it.”