“Never,” said she, smiling at the eagerness of her questioner.
“I'll bring you, then, by a short-cut, and you can ride the whole way, and maybe we'll shoot an eagle—have you a gun in the house?”
“Yes, there are three or four,” said she humouring him.
“And if I shoot him, I'll give you the wing-feathers—that's what they always gave their sweethearts long ago, but them times is gone by.”
The girl blushed deeply, as she remembered the present of young O'Donoghue, on the evening they came up the glen. She called to mind the air of diffidence and constraint in which he made the proffer, and for some minutes paid no attention to Terry, who still, continued to talk as rapidly as before.
“There, they are filing off,” said Terry—“orderly time,” as he once more shouldered his sapling and stood erect. This observation was made with reference to the crowd of poor people, whose names and place of residence Sir Marmaduke having meanwhile written down, they were now returning to their homes with happy and comforted hearts. “There they go,” cried Terry, “and an awkward squad they are.”
“Were you ever a soldier, Terry?” said Miss Travers.
The poor youth grew deadly pale—the very blood forsook his lips, as he muttered, “I was.” Sir Marmaduke came up at the instant, and Terry checked himself at once and said—
“Whenever you want me, leave word at Mary M'Kelly's, in the glen below, and I'll hear of it.”
“But don't you think you had better remain here with us? you could help in the garden and the walks.”