“Yes, let him go, miss,” replied Alley; “let us see what he’ll do.  Here I stand now,” she proceeded, approaching him; “and if you offer to lift a hand to me, I’ll lave ten of as good marks in your face as ever a woman left since the creation.  Come, now—­am I afeard of you?” and as she spoke she approached him still more nearly, with both her hands close to his face, her fingers spread out and half-clenched, reminding one of a hawk’s talons.

“Alice,” said Lucy, “this is shocking; if you love me, leave the room.”

“Love you! miss,” replied the indignant but faithful girl, bursting into bitter tears; “love you!—­merciful heaven, wouldn’t I give my life for you?—­who that knows you doesn’t love you? and it’s for that reason that I don’t wish to see you murdhered—­nor won’t.  Come, sir, you must let her out of this marriage.  It’ll be no go, I tell you.  I won’t suffer it, so long as I’ve strength and life.  I’ll dash myself between them.  I’ll make the ole clergyman skip if he attempts it; ay, and what’s more, I’ll see Dandy Dulcimer, and we’ll collect a faction.”

“Do not hold me, Lucy,” said her father; “I must certainly put her out of the room.”

“Don’t, papa,” replied Lucy, restraining him from laying hands upon her, “don’t, for the sake of honor and manhood.  Alice, for heaven’s sake! if you love me, as I said, and I now add, if you respect me, leave the room.  You will provoke papa past endurance.”

“Not a single toe, miss, till he promises to let you cut o’ this match.  Oh, my good man,” she said, addressing the struggling baronet, “if you’re for fighting, here I am I for you; or wait,” she added, whipping up one of the pistols, “Come, now, if you’re a man; take your ground there.  Now I can meet you on equal terms; get to the corner there, the distance is short enough; but no matther, you’re a good mark.  Come, now, don’t think I’m the bit of goods to be afeard o’ you—­it’s not the first jewel I’ve seen in my time, and remember that my name is Mahon”—­and she posted herself in the corner, as if to take her ground.  “Come, now,” she repeated, “you called me a ‘brazen jade’ awhile ago, and I demand satisfaction.”

“Alice,” said Lucy, “you will injure yourself or others, if you do not lay that dangerous weapon down.  For God’s sake, Alice, lay it aside—­it is loaded.”

“Deuce a bit o’ danger, miss,” replied the indignant heroine.  “I know more about fire-arms than you think; my brothers used to have them to protect the house.  I’ll soon see, at any rate, whether it’s loaded or not.”

While speaking she whipped out the ramrod, and, making the experiment found, that it was empty.

“Ah,” she exclaimed, “you desateful old tyrant:  and so you came down blusterin’ and bullyin’, and frightenin’ your child into compliance, with a pair of empty pistols!  By the life in my body, if I had you in Ballytrain, I’d post you.”

“Papa,” said Lucy, “you must excuse this—­it is the excess of her affection for me.  Dear Alice,” she said, addressing her, and for a moment forgetting her weakness, “come with me; I cannot, and will not bear this; come with me out of the room.”