It may be in the reader's recollection that while Corrigan was pledged to secrecy by Linton respecting his revelations of Cashel, Tiernay was equally bound by Roland not to divulge any of his plans for the old man's benefit. Perhaps it was the first time in the life of either that such a reserve had been practised. Certainly it weighed heavily upon both; and more than once they were coming to the fatal resolve to break their vows, and then some sudden thought--some unknown dread of disconcerting the intentions of those who trusted them--would cross their mind, and after a momentary struggle, a half cough, and muttered “Well! well!” they would relapse into silence, each far too occupied by himself to note the other's embarrassment. It was after a long time and much thought that Corrigan perceived, however pledged to Linton not to speak of Cashel's conduct respecting the cottage, that he was in no wise bound to secrecy regarding the proposal for Mary Leicester's hand; and this was, indeed, the topic on which he was most desirous of the doctor's counsel. “I have a secret for you, Tiernay,” said the old man, at length; “and it is one which will surprise you. I have had an offer this morning for Mary! Ay; just so. You often told me that nothing but this life of isolation and retirement would have left her with me so long; but the thought of losing her--the tangible, actual dread--never presented itself before this day!” “Who is it?” said Tiernay, shortly, but not without evident agitation of manner. “One who has never enjoyed much of your favor, Tiernay, and whom I suspect you have judged with less than your habitual fairness.” “I know the man. Linton?” “It was Linton.” “And he actually made this proposition?” said Tiernay, with an expression of the most unbounded surprise in his features. “To me, myself, in this room, he made it.” “He asked you what her fortune would be?” said Tiernay, gruffly. “He did not; he told me of his own. He said, that by a recent event he had become possessed of sufficient property to make him indifferent to the fortune of whoever he might marry. He spoke sensibly and well of his future career, of the plans he had conceived, and the rules he made for his own guidance; he spoke warmly of her with whom he wished to share his fortunes; and lastly, he alluded in kind terms to myself, dependent as I am upon her care, and living as I do upon her affection. In a word, if there was not the ardor of a passionate lover, there was what I augur better from,--the sentiments of one who had long reflected on his own position in life, who knew the world well, and could be no mean guide amid its dangers and difficulties.” “Have you told Mary of this?” “I have not. My answer to Linton was: 'Let me have time to think over this proposal; give me some hours of thought before I even speak to my granddaughter;' and he acceded at once.”