“But if we can sell the cow for any thing at all to Mr. Dennis, since his eye is set upon her, better let him have her mother, dear; and that and my yarn, which Mrs. Garraghty says she’ll allow me for, will make up the rent--and Brian need not talk of America. But it must be in golden guineas, the agent will take the rent no other way; and you won’t get a guinea for less than five shillings. Well, even so, it’s easy selling my new gown to one that covets it, and that will give me in exchange the price of the gold; or, suppose that would not do, add this cloak--it’s handsome, and I know a friend would be glad to take it, and I’d part it as ready as look at it--Any thing at all, sure, rather than that he should be forced to talk of emigrating: or, oh, worse again, listing for the bounty--to save us from the cant or the jail, by going to the hospital, or his grave, maybe--oh, mother!” “Oh, child! This is what makes you weak, fretting. Don’t be that way. Sure here’s the _lase_, and that’s good comfort; and the soldiers will be gone out of Clonbrony to-morrow, and then that’s off your mind. And as to America, it’s only talk--I won’t let him, he’s dutiful; and would sooner sell my dresser, and down to my bed, dear, than see you sell any thing of yours, love. Promise me you won’t. Why didn’t Brian come home all the way with you, Grace?” “He would have seen me home,” said Grace, “only that he went up a piece of the mountain for some stones or ore for the gentleman,--for he had the manners to think of him this morning, though, shame for me, I had not, when I come in, or I would not have told you all this, and he by. See, there _he_ is, mother.” Brian came in very hot, out of breath, with his hat full of stones. “Good morrow to your honour. I was in bed last night; and sorry they did not call me up to be of _sarvice_. Larry was telling us, this morning, your honour’s from Wales, and looking for mines in Ireland, and I heard talk that there was one on our mountain--may be, you’d be _curous_ to see, and so I brought the best I could, but I’m no judge.” “Nor I, neither,” thought Lord Colambre; but he thanked the young man, and determined to avail himself of Larry’s misconception of false report; examined the stones very gravely, and said, “This promises well. Lapis caliminaris, schist, plum-pudding stone, rhomboidal, crystal, blend, garrawachy,” and all the strange names he could think of, jumbling them together at a venture. “The _lase_!” cried the young man, with joy sparkling in his eyes, as his mother held up the packet. “Lend me the papers.” He cracked the seals, and taking off the cover--“Ay, I know it’s the _lase_ sure enough. But stay, where’s the memorandum?” “It’s there, sure,” said his mother, “where my lord’s pencil writ it. I don’t read. Grace, dear, look.” The young man put it into her hands, and stood without power to utter a syllable. “It’s not here! It’s gone!--no sign of it.”