“Hold off, madam,” he replied; “hold off; you have made me desperate—­you have driven me mad.  Now, mark me.  I will not ask you to marry this man; but I swear by all that is sacred, that if you disgrace me—­if you insult Lord Dunroe by refusing to be united to him this day—­I shall put the contents of one or both of these pistols through my brains; and you may comfort yourself over the corpse of a suicide father, and turn to your brother for protection.”

Either alternative was sufficiently dreadful for the poor worn and wearied out girl.

“Oh, papa,” she exclaimed, again attempting to throw her arms around him; “put these fearful weapons aside.  I will obey you—­I will marry him.”

“This day?”

“This day, papa, as soon as my aunt and Mrs. Mainwaring come, and I can get myself dressed.”

“Do so, then; or, if not I shall not survive your refusal five minutes.”

“I will, papa,” she replied, laying her head upon his breast and sobbing; “I will marry him; but put those vile and dangerous weapons away, and never talk so again.”

At this moment the door opened, and Alice, who had been listening, entered the room in a high and towering passion.  Her eyes sparkled:  her complexion was scarlet with rage; her little hands were most heroically clenched; and, altogether, the very excitement in which she presented herself, joined to a good face and fine figure, made her look exceedingly interesting and handsome.

“How, madam,” exclaimed the baronet, “what brings you here?  Withdraw instantly!”

“How, yourself, sir,” she replied, walking up and looking him fearlessly in the face; “none of your ‘how, madams,’ to me any more; as there’s neither man nor woman to interfere here, I must only do it myself.”

“Leave the room, you brazen jade!” shouted the baronet; “leave the room, or it’ll be worse for you.”

“Deuce a one toe I’ll lave it.  It wasn’t for that I came here, but to tell you that you are a tyrant and a murdherer, a mane old schemer, that would marry your daughter to a common swindler and reprobate, because he’s a lord.  But here I stand, the woman that will prevent this marriage, if there wasn’t another faymale from here to Bally-shanny.”

“Alice!” exclaimed Lucy, “for heaven’s sake, what do you mean?—­what awful language is this?  You forget yourself.”

“That may be, miss, but, by the life in my body, I won’t forget you.  A ring won’t go on you to that titled scamp so long as I have a drop of manly blood in my veins—­deuce a ring!”

Amazement almost superseded indignation on the part of the baronet, who unconsciously exclaimed, “A ring!”

“No—­pursuin’ to the ring!” she replied, accompanying the words with what was intended to be a fearful blow of her little clenched hand upon the table.

“Let me go, Lucy,” said her father, “till I put the termagant out of the room.”