The young man had not been conscious of being specially moved by what was happening. All at once he could feel his pulses vibrating like the strings of a harp. His heart had come up into his throat. Nothing was visible to him but the stormy affection which Muirisc bore for this war-born, weather-beaten old impostor. And, clearly enough, _he_ himself was thinking of only that. Bernard rose and stepped to the hearth, instinctively holding one of his hands backward over the fire, though the room was uncomfortably hot. “They’re calling for you outside, sir,” he said, almost deferentially. The remark seemed stupid after he had made it, but nothing else had come to his tongue. The lurking softness in his tone caught the other’s ear, and he turned about fiercely. “See here!” he said, between his teeth. “How much more of this is there going to be? I’ll fight you where you stand--here!--now!--old as I am--or I’ll--I’ll do something else--anything else--but d----m me if I’ll take any slack or soft-soap from _you!_” This unexpected resentment of his sympathetic mood impressed Bernard curiously. Without hesitation, he stretched forth his hand. No responsive gesture was offered, but he went on, not heeding this. . “My dear sir,” he said, “they are calling for you, as I said. They are hollering for ‘The O’Mahony of Muirisc.’ You are The O’Mahony of Muirisc, and will be till you die. You hear _me!_” The O’Mahony gazed for a puzzled minute into his young companion’s face. “Yes--I hear you,” he said, hesitatingly. “_You_--are The--O’Mahony--of--Muirisc!” repeated Bernard, with a deliberation and emphasis; “and I’ll whip any man out of his boots who says you’re not, or so much as looks as if he doubted it!” The old soldier had put his hands in his pockets and began walking slowly up and down the chamber. After a time he looked up. “I s’pose you can prove all this that you’ve been saying?” he asked, in a musing way. “No--prove nothing! Don’t want to prove anything!” rejoined Bernard, stoutly. Another pause. The elder man halted once more in his meditative pacing to and fro. “And you say I _am_ The--The O’Mahony of Muirisc?” he remarked. “Yes, I said it; I mean it!” “Well, but--” “There’s no ‘but’ about it, sir!” “Yes, there is,” insisted The O’Mahony, drawing near and tentatively surrendering his hand to the other’s prompt and cordial clasp. “Supposing it all goes as you say--supposing I _am_ The O’Mahony--what are _you_ going to be?” The young man’s eyes glistened and a happy change--half-smile, half-blush--blossomed all over his face. “Well,” he said, still holding the other’s hand in his, “I don’t know just how to tell you--because I am not posted on the exact relationships; but I’ll put it this way: If it was your daughter that you ’d left on the vessel there with O’Daly, I’d say that what I propose to be was your son-in-law. See?”