_Widow._ Now, dear, don’t be saying one word more to her, lest it should end in a disappointment. _Owen._ Still it is my notion, ‘tis Mabel he loves. _Widow._ Oh! what should you know, dear, o’ the matter? _Owen._ Only having eyes and ears like another. _Widow._ Then what hinders him to speak? _Owen._ It’s bashfulness only, mother. Don’t you know what that is? _Widow._ I do, dear. It’s a woman should know that best. And it is not Mabel, nor a daughter of mine, nor a sister of yours, Owen, should be more forward to understand than the man is to speak--was the man a prince. _Owen._ Mother, you are right; but I’m not wrong neither. And since I’m to say no more, I’m gone, mother. [_Exit OWEN._ _Widow._ (_alone_) Now who could blame that boy, whatever he does or says? It’s all heart he is, and wouldn’t hurt a fly, except from want of thought. But, stay now, I’m thinking of them soldiers that is in town. (_Sighs_) Then I didn’t sleep since ever they come; but whenever I’d be sinking to rest, starting, and fancying I heard the drum for Owen to go. (_A deep groaning sigh._) Och! and then the apparition of Owen in regimentals was afore me! _Enter OWEN, dancing and singing,_ “Success to my brains, and success to my tongue! Success to myself, that never was wrong!” _Widow._ What is it? What ails the boy? Are ye mad, Owen? _Owen._ (_capering, and snapping his fingers_) Ay, mad! mad with joy I am. And it’s joy I give you, and joy you’ll give me, mother darling. The new inn’s yours, and no other’s, and Gilbert is your own too, and no other’s--but Mabel’s for life. And is not there joy enough for you, mother? _Widow._ Joy!--Oh, too much! (_She sinks on a seat._) _Owen._ I’ve been too sudden for her! _Widow._ No, dear--not a bit, only just give me time--to feel it. And is it true? And am I in no dream now? And where’s Mabel, dear? _Owen._ Gone to the well, and Gilbert with her. We met her, and he turned off with her, and I come on to tell you, mother dear. _Widow._ Make me clear and certain; for I’m slow and weak, dear. Who told you all this good? and is it true?--And my child Mabel _mavourneen_!--Oh, tell me again it’s true. _Owen._ True as life. But your lips is pale still, and you all in a tremble. So lean on me, mother dear, and come out into God’s open air, till I see your spirit come back--and here’s your bonnet, and we’ll meet Mabel and Gilbert, and we’ll all go up to the castle to give thanks to the lady. _Widow._ (_looking up to heaven_) Thanks! Oh, hav’n’t I great reason to be thankful, if ever widow had! [_Exeunt, WIDOW leaning on OWEN._ SCENE II. _An Apartment in Bannote Castle._ _Footmen bringing in Baskets of Flowers._ _Miss O’HARA and Sir WILLIAM HAMDEN._ _Clara._ Now, my dear uncle, I want to consult you. _Sir W._ And welcome, my child. But if it is about flowers, you could not consult a worse person, for I scarcely know a rose from a ----. What is this you have here--a thistle?