“What will I do?” he exclaimed; “what will I do? I can't lose him, an' I won't lose him! Lose him! oh God, oh God, it is to lose the best son and only child that ever man had! Wouldn't it be downright murdher in me to let him be lost if I could prevint it? Oh, if I was in his place, what wouldn't he do for me, for the father that he always loved!” The tears ran copiously down his furrowed cheeks; and his whole appearance evinced such distraction and anguish as could rarely be witnessed. “I'll tell you what I'll do,” he added; “I'll give you fifty guineas after my death if you'll defind him properly.” “Much obliged,” replied the other; “but in matters of this kind we make no such bargains.” “I'll make it sixty, in case you don't axe it now.” “Can you give me security that I'll survive you? Why, you are tough-looking enough to outlive me.” “Me tough!--no, God help me, my race is nearly ran; I won't be alive this day twelve months--look at the differ atween us.” “This is idle talk,” said the attorney; “determine on what you'll do; really my time is valuable, and I am now wasting it to no purpose.” “Take the offer--depind on't it'll soon come to you.” “No, no,” said the other, coolly; “not at all; we might shut up shop if we made such _post obit_ bargains as that.” “I'll tell you,” said Fardorougha; “I'll tell you what;” his eyes gleamed with a reddish, bitter light; and he clasped his withered hands together, until the joints cracked, and the perspiration teemed from his pale, sallow features; “I'll tell you,” he added--“I'll make it seventy!” “No.” “Aighty!” “No.” “Ninety!”--with a husky shriek “No, no.” “A hundhre'--a hundhre'--a hundhre',” he shouted; “a hundhre', when I'm gone--when I'm gone!” One solemn and determined No, that precluded all hopes of any such arrangement, was the only reply. The old man leaped up again, and looked impatiently and wildly and fiercely about him. “What are you?” he shouted; “what are you? You're a divil--a born divil. Will nothing but my death satisfy you? Do you want to rob me--to starve me--to murdher me? Don't you see the state I'm in by you? Look at me--look at these thremblin' limbs--look at the sweat powerin' down from my poor ould face! What is it you want? There--there's my gray hairs to you. You have brought me to that--to more than that--I'm dyin' this minute--I'm dyin'--oh, my boy--my boy, if I had you here--ay, I'm--I'm--”