“Och! let me at thim—the angels!—the beauties! They are both the imidge of their mother, me sainted Moira! Let me at thim!”
And with a bound The O’Melaghlin was out of the barouche and tearing up the stairs to the presence of his astonished children.
Forgotten were all his plans of secrecy and covert observation. The father’s pride and joy in the Irishman’s warm heart overbore all resolutions, and he fell upon his son and daughter with ravenous delight.
“And so ye are me own childer—me Mike and me Judy! And the jewels that ye are!” he exclaimed.
But it was Judy he clasped to his breast and covered with kisses.
“Oh, Mike! Mike! save me!” exclaimed the frightened and distressed daughter.
“Will ye be afther kapin’ yer hands to yerself?” exclaimed Mike, who thought the stranger was a maniac, and tried to separate him from the terrified victim. But Mike was no match for The O’Melaghlin.
“Aisy! aisy!” exclaimed the chieftain. “It’s jealous ye are of me affection for the sister av ye! But your turn will come nixt, me bhoy!”
Fortunately Ran, to whom Cleve had hastily communicated the now open secret, came hurrying up the stairs, leaving Stuart and Palma for the moment in the barouche.
“Stop! stop! Mike, my lad! The gentleman is your father. Yes, dear Judy, your father. Do not be afraid of him,” he exclaimed, coming to the rescue with the explanation.