“Ye didn’t wait for me esteem to win her love!” Norah threw herself into his arms and hid her face on his breast. He went on:—
“We can’t undo what is done. If Norah loves ye—and it seems to me that she does—do I shpeak thrue, daughter?” The girl raised her face bravely, and looked in her father’s eyes:—
“Yes! father.” A thrill of wild delight rushed through me. As she dropped her head again, I could see that her neck had
“The colour of the budding rose’s crest.”
“Well! well!” Joyce went on, “Ye are both young yit. God knows what may happen in a year! Lave the girl free a bit to choose. She has not met many gentlemen in her time; and she may desave herself. Me darlin’! whativer is for your good shall be done, plase God!”
“And am I to have her in time?” The instant I had spoken I felt that I had made a mistake; the man’s face grew hard as he turned to me:—
“I think for me daughter, sir, not for you! As it is, her happiness seems to be mixed up with yours—lucky for ye. I suppose ye must meet now and thin; but ye must both promise me that ye’ll not meet widout me lave, or, at laste, me knowin’ it. We’re not gentlefolk, sir, and we don’t undherstand their ways. If ye were of Norah’s and me own kind, I mightn’t have to say the same; but ye’re not.”
Things were now so definite that I determined to make one more effort to fix a time when my happiness might be certain, so I asked:—
“Then if all be well, and you agree—as please God you shall when you know me better—when may I claim her?”
When he was face to face with a definite answer Joyce again grew stern. He looked down at his daughter and then up at me, and said, stroking her hair:—