“If you love your son so well,” said John, mildly, “why do you grudge to share your wealth with him? It is but natural and it is your duty.” “Natural! what's natural?--to give away--is it to love him you mane? It is, it's unnatural to give it away. He's the best son--the best--what do you mane, I say?--let me alone--let me alone--I could give him my blood, my blood--to sich a boy; but, you want to kill me--you want to kill me, an' thin you'll get all; but he'll cross you, never fear--my boy will save me--he's not tired of me--he'd give up fifty girls sooner than see a hair of his father's head injured--so do your best, while I have Connor, I'm not afraid of yees. Thanks be to God that sent him!” he exclaimed, dropping suddenly on his knees--“oh, thanks be to God that sent him to comfort an' protect his father from the schames and villainy of them that 'ud bring him to starvation for their own ends!” “Father,” said John, in a low tone, “this struggle between avarice and natural affection is awful. See how his small gray eyes glare, and the froth rises white to his thin shrivelled lips. What is to be done?” “Fardorougha,” said the Bodagh, “it's over; don't distress yourself--keep your money--there will be no match between our childhre.” “Why? why won't there?” he screamed--“why won't there, I say? Havn't you enough for them until I die? Would you see your child breakin' her heart? Bodagh, you have no nather in you--no bowels for your _colleen dahs_. But I'll spake for her--I'll argue wid you till this time to-morrow, or I'll make you show feelin' to her--an' if you don't--if you don't--” “Wid the help o' God, the man's as mad as a March hare,” observed Mrs. O'Brien, “and there's no use in losin' breath wid him.” “If it's not insanity,” said John, “I know not what it is.” “Young man,” proceeded Fardorougha, who evidently paid no attention to what the mother and son said, being merely struck by the voice of the latter, “young man, you're kind, you have sinse and feelin'--spake to your father--don't let him destroy his child--don't ax him to starve me, that never did him harm. He loves you--he loves you, for he can't but love you--sure, I know how I love my own darlin' boy. Oh, spake to him--here I go down on my knees to you, to beg, as you hope to see God in heaven, that't you'll make him not break his daughter's heart! She's your own sister--there's but the two of yees, an' oh, don't desart her in this throuble--this heavy, heavy throuble!” “I won't interfere farther in it,” replied the young man, who, however, felt disturbed and anxious in the extreme. “Mrs. O'Brien,” said he, turning imploringly, and with a wild, haggard look to the Bodngh's wifs, “I'm turnin' to you--you're her mother--Oh think, think”-- “I'll think no more about it,” she replied. “You're mad, an' thank God, we know it. Of coorse it'll run in the family, for which reasing my daughter 'ill never be joined to the son of a madman.”