from further importunity.  His love and delicacy forbade his giving her one moment’s pain.  Abraham was less squeamish.  His long experience told him that some good reason must exist for such a wish to dwell in the young bosom of the blooming widow.  It was unnatural and foreign to young blood.  It could be nothing else than the fear of parting with her wealth—­of placing all at the command of one, whom, though she loved, she did not know that she might trust.  Satisfied of this, he resolved immediately to calm her apprehensions, and to assure her that not one farthing of her fortune should pass from her control.  He spoke of his son as a man of wealth already, too proud to accept another’s gold, even were he poor.  Perhaps he was.  Margaret at least believed so.  Abraham did not quit her till the marriage day was settled.

He returned from the widow in ecstasy, and called his son to his own snug private room.

“I have done it for you, Michael,” said the father, rubbing his grasping hands—­it’s done—­it’s settled, lad.  Two months’ patience, and the jewel is your own.  Thank your father, on your knees—­oh, lucky Mike!  But mark me, boy.  I have had enough to do.  My guess was right.  She was afraid of us, but her fears are over.  Till I told her that the bank would make you rich without her, there was no relenting, I assure you.

“You said so, father, did you?” asked the son.

“Yes—­I did.  Remember that Mike when I am dead—­remember what I have done for you—­put a fortune in your pocket, and given you an angel—­remember that, Mike, and respect my memory.  Don’t let the world laugh at your father, and call him ugly names.  You can prevent it if you like.  A son is bound to assert his father’s honour, living or dead, at any price.”

“He is, sir,” answered Michael.

“I knew, Mike, that would be your answer.  You are a noble fellow—­don’t forget me when I am under ground; not that I mean to die yet no—­no—­I feel a score of years hanging about me still.  I shall dandle a dozen of your young ones before these arms are withered.  I shall live to see you—­a peer of the realm.  That money—­with your talents, Mike, will command a dukedom.”

“I am not ambitious, father.”

“You lie—­you are, Mike.  You have got your father’s blood in you.  You would risk a great deal to be at the top of the tree; so would I. Would I?  Haven’t I?  We shall see, Mike—­we shall see.  But it isn’t wishing that will do it.  The clearest head—­the best exertions must sometimes give in to circumstances; but then, my boy, there is one comfort, those who come after us can repair our faults, and profit by our experience.  That thought gives us courage, and makes us go forward.  Don’t forget, Mike, I say, what I have done for you, when you are a rich and titled man!”

“I hope, father, I shall never forget my duty.”

“I am sure you won’t, Mike—­and there’s an end of it.  Let us speak of something else.  Now, when you are married, boy, I shall often come to see you.  You’ll be glad to have me, sha’n’t you?”