“Confound Father Magrath, young man?”
“Well, then, Judy, don’t be angry; I only meant that a dragoon knows rather more of these matters than a priest.”
“Well, then, I’m not so sure of that. But anyhow, I’d have you to remember it ain’t a Widow Malone you have beside you.”
“Never heard of the lady,” said Power.
“Sure, it’s a song,—poor creature,—it’s a song they made about her in the North Cork, when they were quartered down in our county.”
“I wish to Heaven you’d sing it.”
“What will you give me, then, if I do?”
“Anything,—everything; my heart, my life.”
“I wouldn’t give a trauneen for all of them. Give me that old green ring on your finger, then.”
“It’s yours,” said Power, placing it gracefully upon Miss Macan’s finger; “and now for your promise.”