“Mister Maley,” I said, “maybe I may offind ye; but if I don’t spake the truth, I’ll be guilty before God. I love another dearly, and niver could like you; and think of the sin, and shame, and sorrow, it would cause, if I desarted him because he’s poor, and married you because ye’r rich. Look out for some woman of your own years, for ye’ll niver be happy with a girl.” He hardly waited to the end, but jumped upon his legs, and swarin’ he would lave us without a cloot, **** and beggar us root and branch, he flung out of the cabin like a madman. * An Irish term for usurious interest. ** Anglicè--by instalments. *** A fatal disease to which the black cattle of mountain districts are frequently exposed **** Anglicè--a head of cattle. “‘Well, copteeine, when Pat came afterwards, and heard the story, he cursed, and I cried, till, in sheer despair, we determined to marry at once--and, the Lord forgive us! we done it out of the face, and ran away next morning. “‘Well, we thought that God would stand our friend, and that, bad as the ould miser was, sure he wouldn’t ruin, out and out, two poor craturs that had just got married; but a week showed that Maley--bad luck attind him!--was bent on our destruction. One night, and unknownst to us, every four-footed baste my father or my husband owned, was driven to the pound, and yesterday they were canted for anything they would bring. Poor Pat returned three hours ago almost broken-hearted, and all I had to offer my weary husband was a dry potatoe.’ Poor girl! she burst into a flood of tears, and every sob she gave, I laid it heavy on my soul, ather to right her, or revenge her. “‘Well, copteeine,’ she went on, ‘every cloot was sould but one milch-cow that fell lame upon the road: I looked at my husband’s sorry dinner--and, for his sake, I determined to humble myself to that wicked ould man, and beg from him the lame cow. Off I set, unknownst to Pat, took the short cut across the fields, and in an hour reached Maley’s. He looked at me as I entered the cabin, and the grin of hell was on his face. Well, he spoke me fairly at first; “Come in, _astore_,” he said, ladin’ me into the inside room. Feaks, I thought he was going to be kind at last; but och! copteeine, it was only mockery he meant after all. “An’ so ye want the lame cow?” says he, beginnin’ the conversation. “Yis, Mister Maley,” says I, “if it’s agreeable to ye; I would ask it as a favour.”