It was two or three days later that The Desmond and his son, Fergus, had a long and important conversation behind locked doors. "I'm willing to do my share," said Fergus Desmond.
"I knew you were, my boy. You have never disappointed me yet."
"And I won't begin now, father," said the son.
"We can't let her go," said The Desmond, "that's the thing."
"I see your heart is set on her," remarked Fergus.
"Set on her! It is fastened on her like a vise. I don't know myself since she came to the place. She's her blessed mother back again. Who is that man who has the charge of her, Fergus? Is he her uncle at all, at all?"
"She seems very fond of him," said Fergus, "but I don't see how he can be her uncle. He has taken very good care of her all these years, and never asked us for so much as a penny."
"I tell you what it is, Fergus," said The Desmond. "You must go across the water and see the man and put it straight to him that we can't give her up."
"I don't see how I can exactly do that, father," said Fergus; "he's had her since she was a babe and maybe she is as much to him as she is to us."
"Fergus, you talk folly. Is The Desmond's heart to be broken because of a common sort of chap like John Mansfield?"