“It was by accident we met.”
“Always be accident?” Here I spoke:—
“Always by accident—on her part.” He interrupted me:—
“Yer pardon, young gentleman! I wish me daughter to answer me! Shpeak, Norah!”
“Always, father!—except once, and then I came to give a message—yes! it was a message, although from myself.”
“What missage?”
“Oh father! don’t make me speak! We are not alone! Let me tell you, alone! I am only a girl—and it is hard to speak.”
His voice had a tear in it, for all its sternness, as he answered:—
“It is on a subject that this gentleman has spoke to me about—as mayhap he has spoke to you.”
“Oh father!”—she took his hand, which he did not withdraw, and, bending over, kissed it and hugged it to her breast. “Oh father! what have I done that you should seem to mistrust me? You have always trusted me; trust me now, and don’t make me speak till we are alone!”