Then The Macnamara's consciousness of his own dignity asserted itself. He drew himself up and threw back his head. “Sir, do you mean to put an affront upon the one who has left his proper station to raise your family to his own level?” “Don't let us quarrel, Macnamara; you know how highly I esteem you personally, and you know that I have ever looked upon the family of the Macnamaras as the noblest in the land.” “And it is the noblest in the land. There's not a drop of blood in our veins that hasn't sprung from the heart of a king,” cried The Macnamara. “Yes, yes, I know it; but--well, we will not talk any further to-day. Daireen, you needn't go away.” “Heavens! do you mean to say that I haven't spoken plainly enough, that----” “Now, Macnamara, I must really interrupt you----” “Must you?” cried the representative of the ancient line, his face developing all the secret resources of redness it possessed. “Must you interrupt the hereditary monarch of the country where you're but an immigrant when he descends to equalise himself with you? This is the reward of condescension! Enough, sir, you have affronted the family that were living in castles when your forefathers were like beasts in caves. The offer of an alliance ought to have come from you, not from me; but never again will it be said that The Macnamara forgot what was due to him and his family. No, by the powers, Gerald, you'll never have the chance again. I scorn you; I reject your alliance. The Macnamara seats himself once more upon his ancient throne, and he tramples upon you all. Come, my son, look at him that has insulted your family--look at him for the last time and lift up your head.” The grandeur with which The Macnamara uttered this speech was overpowering. He had at its conclusion turned towards poor Standish, and waved his hand in the direction of Mr. Gerald. Then Standish seemed to have recovered himself. “No, father, it is you who have insulted this family by talking as you have done,” he cried passionately. “Boy!” shouted The Macnamara. “Recreant son of a noble race, don't demean yourself with such language!” “It is you who have demeaned our family,” cried the son still more energetically. “You have sunk us even lower than we were before.” Then he turned imploringly towards Mr. Gerald. “You know--you know that I am only to be pitied, not blamed, for my father's words,” he said quietly, and then went to the door. “My dear boy,” said the old lady, hastening towards him. “Madam!” cried The Macnamara, raising his arm majestically to stay her. She stopped in the centre of the room. Daireen had also risen, her pure eyes full of tears as she grasped her grandfather's hand while he laid his other upon her head. From the door Standish looked with passionate gratitude back to the girl, then rushed out.