"That's true enough; but still you might go out of your seven senses in a rational sort of a way." "I really can't see for why, father dear. You tell me I'm to leave my poor old mother, who doats upon me; my sisters, who are fond of me; my friends here," patting the dogs, "who follow me; the hills, that I love; and the woodcocks, which I shoot; to go to be shot at myself, and buried like a dead dog, without being skinned, on the field of battle." "I tell you to go forth into the world as an officer, and make your fortune; to come back a general, and be the greatest man of your family. And don't be too unhappy about not being skinned. Before you are older or wiser, dead or alive, you'll be skinned, I'll answer for it." "Well, father, I'll go; but I expect there'll be a good deal of ground to march over before I'm a general." "And you've a good pair of legs." "So I'm told every day of my life. I'll make the best use of them when I start; but it's the starting I don't like, and that's the real truth." The reader may be surprised at the indifference shown by Patrick at the intelligence communicated by his father; but the fact was, Mr Patrick O'Donahue was very deep in love. This cooled his national ardour; and it must be confessed that there was every excuse, for a more lovely creature than Judith McCrae never existed. To part with her was the only difficulty, and all his family feelings were but a cloak to the real cause of his unwillingness. "Nevertheless, you must start to-morrow, my boy," said his father. "What must be, must," replied Patrick, "so there's an end of the matter. I'll just go out for a bit of a walk, just to stretch my legs." "They require a deal of stretching, Pat, considering you've been twenty miles, at least, this morning, over the mountains," replied the Squireen. But Patrick was out of hearing; he had leapt over a stone wall which separated his father's potato ground from Cornelius McCrae's, and had hastened to Judith, whom he found very busy getting the dinner ready. "Judith, my dear," said Patrick, "my heart's quite broke with the bad news I have to tell you. Sure I'm going to leave you to-morrow morning." "Now, Patrick, you're joking, surely." "Devil a joke in it. I'm an ensign in a regiment." "Then I'll die, Patrick." "More like that I will, Judith; what with grief and a bullet to help it, perhaps." "Now, what d'ye mean to do, Patrick?" "Mean to go, sure; because I can't help myself; and to come back again, if ever I've the luck of it. My heart's leaping out of my mouth entirely." "And mine's dead," replied Judith, in tears. "It's no use crying, mavourneen. I'll be back to dance at my own wedding, if so be I can." "There'll be neither wedding for you, Patrick, nor wake either, for you'll lie on the cold ground, and be ploughed in like muck."