“Ah, my Light o' the Morning! what would I do without you?” answered the Squire.
“Prove that you trust me,” said Nora, “and tell me what worries you.”
“Well, Nora, you cannot understand; and yet if you could it would be a relief to unburden my mind. But you know nothing about mortgages—do you, little woman?”
“More than you think,” said Nora. “I am not a child—I am nearly seventeen; and I have not lived at O'Shanaghgan all my life for nothing. Of course we are poor! I don't know that I want to be rich.”
“I'll tell you what I want,” said the Squire; “I want to forget that there is such a thing as money. If it were not for money I would say to myself, 'There's not a better lot than mine.' What air we have here!” He opened his mouth and took in a great breath of the pure Atlantic breezes. “What a place it is! Look at the beauty of it! Look round, Norrie, and see for yourself; the mountains over there; and the water rolling up almost to our doors; and the grand roar of the waves in our ears; and those trees yonder; and this field with the sun on it; and the house, though it is a bit of a barrack, yet it is where my forebears were born. Oh, it's the best place on earth; it's O'Shanaghgan, and it's mine! There, Nora, there; I can't stand it!”
The Squire dashed his hand to his brow. Nora looked up at him; she was feeling the exposure and excitement of last night. Her pallor suddenly attracted his attention.
“Why, what's the matter with you, colleen?” he said. “Are you well—are you sure you're well?”
“Absolutely, perfectly well, father. Go on—tell me all.”
“Well, you know, child, when I came in for the estate it was not to say free.”
“What does that mean, father?”