“God bless you, asthore, for thim words! and they’re thrue—­thrue as the gospel, arrah what are you both so proud of?  I defy you to get the aquil of my son in the barony of Lisnamona, either for face, figure or temper!  I say he’s fit to be a husband for as good a gill as ever stood in your daughter’s shoes; an’ from what I hear of her, she’s as good a girl as ever the Almighty put breath in.  God bless you, young man, you’re a credit yourself to any parents.”

“An’ we have nothin’ to say aginst your son, nor aginst your wife aither,” replied the Bodagh; “an’ if your own name was as clear——­if you wor looked upon as they are—­tut, I’m spakin’ nonsense!  How do I know whether ever your son and my daughter spoke a word to one another or not?”

“I’ll go bail Oona never opened her lips to him,” said her mother; “I’ll go bail she had more spirit.”

“An’ I’ll go bail she can’t live widout him, an’ will have him whether you like it or not,” said Fardorougha.

“Mother,” observed John, “will you and my father come into the next room for a minute—­I wish to say a word or two to each of you; and will you, Fardorougha, have the goodness to sit here till we return?”

“Divil a notion,” replied O’Donovan, “I have of stirrin’ my foot till the thing’s settled one way or other.”

“Now,” said young O’Brien, when they got into the back parlor, “it’s right that you both should know to what length the courtship between Una and Connor O’Donovan has gone.”

“Coortship! Vich no hoiah! sure she wouldn’t go to coort wid the son o’ that ould schamer.”

“I’m beginning to fear that it’s too thrue,” observed the Bodagh; “and if she has—­but let us hear John.”

“It’s perfectly true, indeed, mother, that she has,” said the son.  “Yes, and they are both this moment pledged, betrothed, promised, solemnly promised to each other; and in my opinion the old man within is acting a more honorable part than either of you give him credit for.”

“Well, well, well,” exclaimed the mother; “who afther that would ever thrust a daughter?  The girl that we rared up as tindher as a chicking, to go to throw herself away upon the son of ould Fardorougha Donovan, the misert!  Confusion to the ring ever he’ll put an her!  I’d see her stretched (dead) first.”

“I agree with you in that, Bridget,” said the husband; “if it was only to punish her thrachery and desate, I’ll take good care a ring will never go on them; but how do you know all this, John?”

“From Una’s own lips, father.”

The Bodagh paced to and fro in much agitation; one hand in his small—­clothes pocket, and the other twirling his watch-key as rapidly as he could.  The mother, in the meantime, had thrown herself into a chair, and gave way to a violent fit of grief.

“And you have this from Una’s own lips?”

“Indeed, father, I have; and it is much to her credit that she was candid enough to place such confidence in her brother.”