The family had retired to bed when he entered, with the exception of his parents, who, having felt uneasy at his disappearance, were anxiously awaiting his return, and entering into fruitless conjectures concerning the cause of an absence so unusual.

"What," said the alarmed mother, "what in the wide world could keep him so long out, and on sich a tempest as is in it? G.o.d protect my boy from all harm an' danger, this fearful night! Oh, Fardorougha, what 'ud become of us if anything happened him? As for me--my heart's wrapped up in him; wid--out our darlin' it 'ud break, break, Fardorougha."

"Hut; he's gone to some neighbor's an' can't come out till the storm is over; he'll soon be here now that the thunder an' lightnin's past."

"But did you never think, Fardorougha, what 'ud become of you, or what you'd do or how you'd live, if anything happened him? which the Almighty forbid this night and forever! Could you live widout him?"

The old man gazed upon her like one who felt displeasure at having a contingency so painful forced upon his consideration. Without making any reply, however, he looked thoughtfully into the fire for some time, after which he rose up, and, with a querulous and impatient voice, said,

"What's the use of thinkin' about sich things? Lose him! why would I lose him? I couldn't lose him--I'd as soon lose my own life--I'd rather be dead at wanst than lose him."

"G.o.d knows your love for him is a quare love, Fardorougha," rejoined the wife; "you wouldn't give him a guinea if it 'ud save his life, or allow him even a few shillings now an' then, for pocket-money, that he might be aquil to other young boys like him."

"No use, no use in that, except to bring him into drink an' other bad habits; a bad way, Honora, of showin' one's love for him. If you had your will you'd spoil him; I'm keepin' whatsomever little shillin's we've sc.r.a.ped together to settle him dacently in life; but, indeed, that's time enough yet; he's too young to marry for some years to come, barrin' he got a fortune."

"Well, one thing, Fardorougha, if ever two people were blessed in a good son, praise be G.o.d we are that!"

"We are, Honor, we are; there's not his aquil in the parish--_achora machree_ that he is. When I'm gone he'll know what I've done for him."

"Whin you're gone; why, Saver of arth, sure you wouldn't keep him out of his---- husth!----here he is, G.o.d be thanked! poor boy he's safe. Oh, thin, _vich no Hoiah_, Connor jewel, were you out undher this terrible night?"

"Connor, _avich machree_," added the father, "you're lost! My hand to you, if he's worth three hapuns; sthrip an' throw my Cothamore about you, an' draw in to the fire; you're fairly lost."

"I'm worth two lost people yet," said Connor, smiling; "mother, did you ever see a pleasanter night?"

"Pleasant, Connor, darlin'! Oh thin it's you may say so, I'm sure!"

"Father, you're a worthy--only your Cothamore's too scimpt for me.

Faith, mother, although you think I'm jokin', the devil a one o' me is; a pleasanter night--a happier night I never spent. Father, you ought to be proud o' me, an' stretch out a bit with the cash; faith, I'm nothin'

else than a fine handsome young fellow."

"Be me soul an' he ought to be proud out of you, Connor, whether you're in arnest or not," observed the mother, "an' to stretch out wid the _arrighad_ too if you want it."

"Folly on, Connor, folly on! your mother'll back you, I'll go bail, say what you will; but sure you know all I have must be yours yet, acushla."

Connor now sat down, and his mother stirred up the fire, on which she placed additional fuel. After a little time his manner changed, and a shade of deep gloom fell upon his manly and handsome features. "I don't know," he at length proceeded, "that, as we three are here together, I could do betther than ask your advice upon what has happened to me to-night."

"Why, what has happened you, Connor?" said the mother alarmed; "plase G.o.d, no harm, I hope."

"Who else," added the father, "would you be guided by, if not by your mother an' myself?"

"No harm, mother, dear," said Connor in reply to her; "harm! Oh! mother, mother, if you knew it; an' as for what you say, father, it's right; what advice but my mother's an' yours ought I to ask?"

"An' G.o.d's too," added the mother.

"An' my heart was nevir more _ris_ to G.o.d than it was', an' is this night," replied their ingenuous boy.

"Well, but what has happened, Connor?" said his father; "if it's anything where our advice can serve you, of coorse we'll advise you for the best."

Connor then, with a glowing heart, made them acquainted with the affection which subsisted between himself and Una O'Brien, and ended by informing them of the vow of marriage which they had that night solemnly pledged to each other.

"You both know her by sight," he added, "an' afther what I've sed, can you blame me for sayin' that I found this a pleasant and a happy night?"

The affectionate mother's eyes filled with tears of pride and delight, on hearing that her handsome son was loved by the beautiful daughter of Bodagh Buie, and she could not help exclaiming, in the enthusiasm of the moment,

"She's a purty girl--the purtiest indeed I ever laid my two livin' eyes upon, and by all accounts as good as she's purty; but I say that, face to face, you're as good, ay, an' as handsome, Fardorougha, as she is.

G.o.d bless her, any way, an' mark her to grace and happiness, _ma colleen dhas dhun_."

"He's no match for her," said the father, who had listened with an earnest face, and compressed lips, to his son's narrative; "he's no match for her--by four hundred guineas."

Honora, when he uttered the previous part of his observation, looked upon him with a flash of indignant astonishment; but when he had concluded, her countenance fell back into its original expression. It was evident that, while she, with the feelings of a woman and a mother, inst.i.tuted a parallel between their personal merits alone, the husband viewed their attachment through that calculating spirit which had regulated his whole life.

"You're thinkin' of her money now," she added; "but remimber, Fardorougha, that it wasn't born wid her. An' I hope, Connor, it's not for her money that you have any grah for her?"

"You may swear that, mother; I love her little finger betther than all the money in the king's bank."

"Connor, avich, your mother has made a fool of you, or you wouldn't spake the nonsense you spoke this minute."

"My word to you, father, I'll take all the money I'll get; but what am I to do? Bodagh Buie an' his wife will never consent to allow her to marry me, I can tell you; an' if she marries me without their consent, you both know I have no way of supportin' her, except you, father, a.s.sist me."

"That won't be needful, Connor; you may manage them; they won't see her want; she's an only daughter; they couldn't see her want."

"An' isn't he an only son, Fardorougha?" exclaimed the wife. "An' my sowl to happiness but I believe you'd see him want."

"Any way," replied her husband, "I'm not for matches against the consint of parents; they're not lucky; or can't you run away wid her, an' thin refuse marryin' her except they come down wid the cash?"

"Oh, father!" exclaimed Connor, "father, father, to become a villain!"

"Connor," said his mother, rising up in a spirit of calm and mournful solemnity, "never heed; go to bed, achora, go to bed."

"Of coorse I'll never heed, mother," he replied; "but I can't help sayin' that, happy as I was awhile agone, my father is sendin' me to bed with a heavy heart. When I asked your advice, father, little I thought it would be to do--but no matter; I'll never be guilty of an act that 'ud disgrace my name."

"No, avillish," said his mother, "you never will; G.o.d knows it's as much an' more than you an' other people can do, to keep the name we have in decency."

"It's fine talk," observed Fardorougha, "but what I advise has been done by hundreds that wor married an' happy afterwards; how--an--iver you needn't get into a pa.s.sion, either of you; I'm not pressin' you,'

Connor, to it."

"Connor, achree," said his mother, "go to bed, an' instead of the advice you got, ax G.o.d's; go, avillish!"

Connor, without making any further observation, sought his sleeping-room, where, having recommended himself to G.o.d, in earnest prayer, he lay revolving all that had occurred that night, until the gentle influence of sleep at length drew him into oblivion.

"Now," said his mother to Fardorougha, when Connor had gone, "you must sleep by yourself; for, as for me, my side I'll not stretch on the same bed wid you to-night."

"Very well, I can't help that," said her husband; "all I can say is this, that I'm not able to put sinse or prudence into you or Connor; so, since you won't be guided by me, take your own coorse. Bodagh Buie's very well able to provide for them--; an' if he won't do so before they marry, why let Connor have nothing to say to her."

"I'll tell you what, Fardorougha, G.o.d wouldn't be in heaven, or you'll get a cut heart yet, either through your son or your money; an' that it may not be through my darlin' boy, O, grant, sweet Saver o' the earth, this night! I'm goin' to sleep wid Biddy Casey, an' you'll find a clane nightcap on the rail o' the bed; an', Fardorougha, afore you put it an, kneel down an' pray to G.o.d to change your heart--for it wants it--it wants it."

In Ireland the first object of a servant man, after entering the employment of his master, is to put himself upon an amicable footing with his fellow-servants of the other s.e.x. Such a step, besides being natural in itself, is often taken in consequence of the _esprit du corps_ which prevails among persons of that cla.s.s. Bartle Flanagan, although he could not be said to act from any habit previously acquired in service, went to work with all the tact and adroitness of a veteran.