"My dear aunt, I cannot be surprised at your indignation. Arthur was a fool, and lost an opportunity that never may occur again. In fact, my dear madam, I intended to have given you an agreeable surprise. I--I--I am on--the very brink of matrimony!" "Holy Bridget!" exclaimed Mrs. O'Finn, as she crossed herself devoutly. "Yes, ma'am. I am engaged to a lady with two thousand pounds." "Is it _ready_, Terence?" said my aunt.--"Down on the table, before the priest puts on his vestment." "Arrah--my blessing attend ye, Terence. I knew you would come to good. Is she young?"--"Just twenty." "Is she good-looking?"--"More than that; extremely pretty, innocent, and artless." "Arrah--give me another kiss, for I'm proud of ye;" and Captain O'Finn's representative clasped me in her arms. "But the family, Terence; remember the old stock. Is she one of us?"--"She is highly respectable. An only daughter, with excellent expectations." "What is her father, Terence?"--"A soldier, ma'am." "Lord!--quite enough. He's by profession a gentleman; and we can't expect to find every day, descendants from the kings of Connaught, like the O'Shaughnessys and the O'Finns. But when is it to take place, Terence?"--"Why, faith, ma'am, it was a bit of a secret; but I can keep nothing from you." "And why should ye? Haven't I been to you more than a mother, Terence?" "I am to be married this evening." "This evening! Holy Saint Patrick! and you're sure of the money? It's not a rent-charge--nothing of bills or bonds?" "Nothing but bank-notes; nothing but the _aragudh-sheese_."[3] "Ogh! my blessing be about ye night and day. Arrah, Terence, what's her name?" "You'll not mention it. We want the thing done quietly." "Augh, Terence; and do you think I would let any thing ye told me slip? By this cross,"--and Mrs. O'Finn bisected the forefinger of her left hand with the corresponding digit of the right one; "the face of clay shall never be the wiser of any thing ye mention!" After this desperate adjuration there was no refusing my aunt's request. "You know her well,"--and I looked extremely cunning. "Do I, Terence? Let me see--I have it. It's Ellen Robinson. No--though her money's safe, there's but five hundred ready." "Guess again, aunt." "Is it Bessie Lloyd? No--though the old miller is rich as a Jew, he would not part a guinea to save the whole human race, or make his daughter a duchess."--"Far from the mark as ever, aunt." "Well," returned Mrs. O'Finn, with sigh, "I'm fairly puzzled." "Whisper!" and I playfully took her hand, and put my lips close to her cheek. "It's--" "Who?--who, for the sake of Heaven?"--"Biddy MacGawly!"