“‘I never promised him—I never promised him,’ sobbed Mary—‘the most I ever said, and that was in anger and agony—was—that I would do my parents’ bidding. Father! Mother!—you cannot be so cruel at the last.’ “Mr. Considine edged up to his reverence—‘Talk to her, holy father,’ he muttered, ‘talk to her: he’s so rich—rings, and watches and _goolden_ guineas two to one, holy father, think of that? two to one! her mother married me for my goold, and we’ve been happy—two to one, holy father!’ “‘Begone!’ said the priest sternly, in such grand English, ‘and do not dare to stain this holy sacrament by the money-loving spirit that crushes your soul to destruction. If this dear child persists in her refusal, I myself forbid the marriage.’ “Oh, aunt dear, the lep I gave, and found myself at his holy feet as if he was the Pope of Rome! and surely no pope could have looked more like a guardian angel than he did at that minute. “‘I must speak with you in private,’ said the bridegroom to his intended father-in-law as meek as a lamb, ‘just one word;’ and he laid his hand so gently on the old man’s arm: ‘this can be arranged.’ They went out of the room together, Mrs. Considine exclaiming, while clapping her hands so vulgarly! ‘_Och-e-yah!_ the poor, dear young man! Ah, then! Och Mary, my _gra_ girl, how could you have the heart to refuse such a match? and he, after promising you a car—a cab, I mean, of your own. Och Mary, darlin’, be friends with him, Mary _Machree_! _Och yah!_ poor broken-hearted crayther that I am!’ “She kept on that way for some time, until a fall, which shook the house, and the dull, hoarse scream of murder startled us into silence. The priest and myself rushed to the door; but the two groomsmen came between us, exclaiming, ‘It was in the court.’ I saw the whole thing then, like a flash of lightning, bright and clear. Again the cry. We cleared the way somehow; the window of their bed-room was open, and the poor old man, blinded by the blood which gushed from a wound in his head, was groveling on the floor. “We lifted him up: his fingers kept on grappling the air, while his cries of ‘Murder!’ and ‘Help!’ were broken by such words as ‘My money! my bag! my hard-earned money! catch him! two to one indeed! Oh let me after him!’ “It was an awful sight—the roars of the old man for his money, the shrieks of Mrs. Considine, the still more terrible calmness of Mary, who, while binding up her father’s head, said ‘This is my doing.’ “There was a scuffling at the outward door. ‘Keep a brave heart, Mary Considine,’ said the priest, ‘he’s not hurt to signify.’ “‘A hundred and fifty in the bag, not a farthing less, the murdering young villain; oh, I can’t live—I wont live.’ “‘Shame upon you,’ said the silver voice of the fine old priest. ‘Give God thanks for your deliverance, first from the man, next from your money.’