He then turned as a last resource to O'Brien himself. “Bodagh, Bodagh, I say,” here his voice rose to a frightful pitch, “I enthrate, I order, I command you to listen to me! Marry them--don't kill your daughter, an' don't, don't, dare to kill my son. If you do I'll curse you till the marks of your feet will scorch the ground you tread on. Oh,” he exclaimed, his voice now sinking, and his reason awaking apparently from exhaustion, “what is come over me? what am I sayin'?--but it's all for my son, my son.” He then rose, sat down, and for more than tweny minutes wept like an infant, and sobbed and sighed as if his heart would break. A feeling very difficult to be described hushed his amazed auditory into silence; they felt something like pity towards the unfortunate old man, as well as respect for that affection which struggled with such moral heroism against the frightful vice that attempted to subdue this last surviving virtue in the breast of the miser. On his getting calm, they spoke to him kindly, but in firm and friendly terms communicated their ultimate determination, that, in consequence of his declining to make an adequate provision for the son, the marriage could by no means take place. He then got his hat, and attempted to reach the road which led down to the little lawn, but so complete was his abstraction, and so exhausted his faculties, that it was not without John's assistance he could reach the gate which lay before his eyes. He first turned out of the walk to the right, then crossed over to the left, and felt surprised that a wall opposed him in each direction. “You are too much disturbed,” said John, “to perceive the way, but I will show you.” “I suppose I thought it was at home I was,” he replied, “bekase at my own house one must turn aither to the right or to the left, as, indeed, I'm in the custom of doin'.” Whilst Fardorougha was engaged upon his ill-managed mission, his wife, who felt that all human efforts at turning the heart of her husband from his wealth must fail, resolved to have recourse to a higher power. With this purpose in view, she put on her Sunday dress, and informed Connor that she was about to go for a short time from home. “I'll be back if I can,” she added, “before your father; and, indeed, it's as good not to let him know anything about it.” “About what, mother? for I know as little about it as he does.” “Why, my dear boy, I'm goin' to get a couple o' masses sed, for God to turn his heart from that cursed _airaghid_ it's fixed upon. Sure it houlds sich a hard grip of his poor sowl, that it'll be the destruction of him here an' hereafther. It'll kill him afore his time, an' then I thrimble to think of his chance above.” “The object is a good one, sure enough, an' it bein' for a spiritual purpose the priest won't object to it.”