“You told me you meant to speak to The Mac-namara about going away or doing something,” she said. “And I did speak to him, but it came to the one end: it was a disgrace for the son of the------ bah, you know how he talks. Every person of any position laughs at him; only those worse than himself think that he is wronged. But I'll do something, if it should only be to enlist as a common soldier.” “Standish, do not talk that way, like a good boy,” she said, laying her hand upon his arm. “I have a bright thought for the first time: wait just for another month until papa is here, and he will, you may be sure, tell you what is exactly right to do. Oh, there is grandpapa, with his gun as usual, coming from the hill.” They saw at a little distance the figure of a tall old man carrying a gun, and followed by a couple of sporting dogs. “Daireen,” said Standish, stopping suddenly as if a thought had just struck him. “Daireen, promise me that you will not let anything my father may say here to-day make you think badly of me.” “Good gracious! why should I ever do that? What is he going to say that is so dreadful?” “I cannot tell you, Daireen; but you will promise me;” he had seized her by the hand and was looking with earnest entreaty into her eyes. “Daireen,” he continued, “you will give me your word. You have been such a friend to me always--such a good angel to me.” “And we shall always be friends, Standish. I promise you this. Now let go my hand, like a good boy.” He obeyed her, and in a few minutes they had met Daireen's grandfather, Mr. Gerald, who had been coming towards them. “What, The Macnamara here? then I must hasten to him,” said the old gentleman, handing his gun to Standish. No one knew better than Mr. Gerald the necessity that existed for hastening to The Macnamara, in case of his waiting for a length of time in that room the sideboard of which was laden with bottles. CHAPTER IV. And now, Laertes, what's the news with you? You told us of some suit: what is't, Laertes? He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow' leave By laboursome petition; and at last, Upon his will I sealed my hard consent. Horatio. There's no offence, my lord. Hamlet. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, And much offence too. --Hamlet. |THE Macnamara had been led away from his companionship in that old oak room by the time his son and Miss Gerald returned from the garden, and the consciousness of his own dignity seemed to have increased considerably since they had left him. This emotion was a variable possession with him: any one acquainted with his habits could without difficulty, from knowing the degree of dignity he manifested at any moment, calculate minutely the space of time, he must of necessity have spent in a room furnished similarly to that he had just now left.