When the table was cleared and the old serving-woman had brought in a broken black kettle of boiling water, and had laid in the centre of the table an immense silver bowl for the brewing of the punch, The Randal drew up the remnant of his collar and said: “Now for the sthory of the droive, Macnamara; I'm riddy whin ye fill the bowl.” Standish rose from the table and walked away to a seat at the furthest end of the great room, where he sat hidden in the gloom of the corner. The Randal did not think it inconsistent with his chieftainship to wink at his host. “Randal,” said The Macnamara, “I've made up my mind. I'll disinherit that boy, I will.” “No,” cried The Randal eagerly. “Don't spake so loud, man; if this should git wind through the counthry who knows what might happen? Disinhirit the boy; ye don't mane it, Macnamara,” he continued in an excited but awe-stricken whisper. “But by the powers, I do mean it,” cried The Macnamara, who had been testing the potent elements of the punch. “Disinherit me, will you, father?” came the sudden voice of Standish echoing strangely down the dark room. Then he rose and stood facing both men at the table, the red glare of the log mixing with the sickly candlelight upon his face and quivering hands. “Disinherit me?” he said again, bitterly. “You cannot do that. I wish you could. My inheritance, what is it? Degradation of family, proud beggary, a life to be wasted outside the world of life and work, and a death rejoiced over by those wretches who have lent you money. Disinherit me from all this, if you can.” “Holy Saint Malachi, hare the sonn of The Macnamaras talkin' loike a choild!” cried The Randal. “I don't care who hears me,” said Standish. “I'm sick of hearing about my forefathers; no one cares about them nowadays. I wanted years ago to go out into the world and work.” “Work--a Macnamara work!” cried The Randal horror-stricken. “I told you so,” said The Macnamara, in the tone of one who finds sudden confirmation to the improbable story of some enormity. “I wanted to work as a man should to redeem the shame which our life as it is at present brings upon our family,” said the young man earnestly--almost passionately; “but I was not allowed to do anything that I wanted. I was kept here in this jail wasting my best years; but to-day has brought everything to an end. You say you will disinherit me, father, but I have from this day disinherited myself--I have cast off my old existence. I begin life from to-day.” Then he turned away and went out of the room, leaving his father and his guest in dumb amazement before their punch. It was some minutes before either could speak. At last The Randal took adraught of the hot spirit, and shook his head thoughtfully. “Poor boy! poor boy! he needs to be looked after till he gets over this turn,” he said.