“I am,” said Ellen, “and every thing belongin' to me is to be sent to my father's; but indeed, Fergus, I don't much care now what becomes of me. My happiness in this world is bound up in hers; and if she's to be sunk in grief and sorrow, I can never be otherwise--we'll have the one fate, Fergus, and God grant it may be a happy one, although I see no likelihood of it.” “Come, come, Ellen,” replied Fergus, “you think too much of it. The one fate!--No, you won't, unless it is a happy one. I am now free, as I said; and at present I see nothing to stand between your happiness and mine. We loved one another every bit as well as Reilly and she does--ay, and do still, I hope; and, if they can't be happy, that's no raison why you and I shouldn't. Happy! There's nothing to prevent us from bein' so. I am free, as I said; and all we have to do is to lave this unfortunate country and go to some other, where there's neither oppression nor persecution. If you consent to this, Ellen, I can get the means of bringing us away, and of settlin' comfortably in America.” “And I to leave the _Cooleen Bawn_ in the uncertain state she's in? No, never, Fergus--never.” “Why? of what use can you be to her now, and you separated from her--ay, and without the power of doin' any thing to sarve her?” “Fergus,” said she, resolutely, “it's useless at the present time to speak to me on this subject. I'm glad you've got yourself from among these cruel and unconscionable Rapparees--I'm glad you're free; but I tell you that if you had the wealth of Squire Folliard--ay, or of Whitecraft himself, which they say is still greater, I wouldn't become your wife so long as she's in the state she's in.” “That's strong language, Ellen, and I am sorry to hear it from you. My God! can you think of nobody's happiness but the _Cooleen Bawn_'s? As for me, it's my opinion I like Reilly as well every bit as you do her; but, for all that, not even the state he's in, nor the danger that surrounds him, would prevent me from marryin' a wife--from bindin' your heart and mine together for life, my darlin' Ellen.” “Ah! Fergus, you're a man--not a woman--and can't undherstand what true attachment is. You men never can. You're a selfish set--at least the most of you are--with some exceptions, I grant.” “And, upon my soul, Ellen,” replied Fergus, with a good-humored smile, “I'm one of the choicest and natest of the exceptions. I prefer everybody's happiness to my own--poor Sir Robert Whitecraft's, for instance. Now, don't you call that generosity?”