"Sadly enough, to tell the truth." "No rents?" He shook his head. "Nothing but murders and floods?" "The same damnable old story running on from day to day." "And have the girls no servants yet?" "Not a servant; except old Peter, who is not quite as faithful as he should be." "And,--and what about that valiant gay young gentleman, Captain Clayton?" "Everything goes amiss in love as well as war," said Frank. "Between the three of them, I hardly know what they want." "I think I know." "Very likely. Everything goes so astray with all of us, so that the wanting it is sufficient reason for not getting it." "Is that all you have come to tell me?" "I suppose it is." "Then you might have stayed away." "I may as well go, perhaps." "Go? no! I am not so full of new friends that I can afford to throw away my old like that. Of course you may not go, as you call it! Do you suppose I do not care to hear about those girls whom I love,--pretty nearly with all my heart? Why don't you tell me about them, and your father? You come here, but you talk of nothing but going. You ain't half nice." "Can I come in yet?" This belonged to a voice behind the door, which was the property of Mr. O'Mahony. "Not quite yet, father. Mr. Jones is telling me about them all at Morony Castle." "I should have thought I might have heard that," said Mr. O'Mahony. "The girls have special messages to send," said Rachel. "I'll come back in another ten minutes," said Mr. O'Mahony. "I shall not wait longer than that." "Only their love," said Frank; upon which Rachel looked as though she thought that Frank Jones was certainly an ass. "Of course I want to hear their love," said Rachel. "Dear Ada, and dear Edith! Why don't you tell me their love?" "My poor sick girl," he said, laying his hand upon her shoulder, and looking into her eyes. "Never mind my sickness. I know I am as thin and as wan as an ogre. Nevertheless, I care for their love." "Rachel, do you care for mine?" "I haven't got it! Oh, Frank, why don't you speak to me? You have spoken a word, just a word, and all the blood is coming back to my veins already." "Dearest, dearest, dearest Rachel." "Now you have spoken; now you have told me of your sisters and your father. Now I know it all! Now my father may come in." "Do you love me, then?" "Love you! That question you know to be unnecessary. Love you! Why I spend every day and every night in loving you! But, Frank, you wouldn't have me when I was going to be rich. I ought not to have you now that I am to be poor." But by this time she was in his arms and he was kissing her, till, as she had said, the blood was once again running in her veins. "Oh, Frank, what a tyrant you are! Did I not tell you to let poor father come into the room? You have said everything now. There cannot be another word to say. Frank, Frank, Frank! I have found it out at last. I cannot live without you." "But how are you to live with me? There is no money."