“Amen,” said her husband; “may God direct us to the best!  I’m sure God knows,” he continued, now much affected, “that I would rather break my own heart than yours, Una.  Get up, dear—­rise.  John, how would you advise us?”

“I don’t see any serious objection, after all,” replied the son, “either you or my mother can have to Connor O’Donovan.  He is every way worthy of her, if he is equal to his character; and as for wealth, I have often heard it said that his father was a richer man than yourself.”

“Afther all,” said the mother, “she might be very well wid him.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, then,” said the Bodagh—­“let us see the ould man himself, and if he settles his son dacently in life, as he can do if he wishes, why, I won’t see the poor, foolish, innocent girl breaking her heart.”

Una, who had sat with her face still averted, now ran to her father, and, throwing her arms about his neck, wept aloud, but said nothing.

“Ay, ay,” said the latter, “it’s very fine now that you have everything your own way, you girsha; but, sure, you’re all the daughter we have, achora, and it would be too bad not to let you have a little of your own opinion in the choice of a husband.  Now go up stairs, or where you please, till we see what can be done with Fardorougha himself.”

With smiling face and glistening eyes Una passed out of the room, scarcely sensible whether she walked, ran, or flew, while the others went to renew the discussion with Pardorougha.

“Well,” said the miser, “you found out, I suppose, that she can’t do widout him?”

“Provided we consent to the marriage,” asked the Bodagh, “how will you settle your son in life?”

“Who would I settle in life if I wouldn’t settle my only son?” replied the other; “who else is there to get all I have?”

“That’s very true,” observed the Bodagh; “but state plainly what you’ll do for him on his marriage.”

“Do you consint to the marriage all of yees?”

“That’s not the question,” said the other.  “Divil a word I’ll answer till I know whither yees do or not,” said Fardorougha.  “Say at once that you consint, and then I’ll spake—­I’ll say what I’ll do.”

The Bodagh looked inquiringly at his wife and son.  The latter nodded affirmatively.  “We do consent,” he added.

“That shows your own sinse,” said the old man.  “Now what fortune will you portion your colleen wid?”

“That depinds upon what you’ll do for your son,” returned the Bodagh.

“And that depinds upon what you’ll do for your daughter,” replied the sagacious old miser.

“At this rate we’re not likely to agree.”

“Nothin’s asier; you have only to spake out; besides it’s your business, bein’ the colleen’s father.”

“Try him, and name something fair,” whispered John.

“If I give her a farm of thirty acres of good land, stocked and all, what will you do for Connor?”