Old McB. (stopping his ears) Don’t name her.
Honor. But she might be brought to rason, father; and if she should be brought to give up that claim to the bit o’ bog of yours, and when all differs betwix’ the families be made up, then you would consent.
Old McB. When Catty Rooney’s brought to rason! Oh! go shoe the goslings, dear,—ay, you’ll get my consint then. There’s my hand: I promise you, I’ll never be called on to perform that, Honor, jewel.
Honor. (kissing his hand) Then that’s all I’d ask—nor will I say one word more, but thank you, father.
Old McB. (putting on his coat) She’s a good cratur—sorrow better! sister or daughter. Oh! I won’t forget that she prefarred me to the jaunting-car. Phil shall carry him a civil refusal. I’ll send off the money, the three hundred, by your brother, this minute—that will be some comfort to poor O’Blaney.
{Exit McBRIDE.
Honor. Is not he a kind father, then, after all?—That promise he gave me about Catty, even such as it is, has ased my heart wonderfully. Oh! it will all come right, and they’ll all be rasonable in time, even Catty Rooney, I’ve great hope; and little hope’s enough, even for love to live upon. But, hark! there’s my brother Phil coming. (A noise heard in the back-house.) ‘Tis only the cow in the bier. (A knock heard at the door.) No, ‘tis a Christian; no cow ever knocked so soft. Stay till I open—Who’s in it?
Randal. (from within) Your own Randal—open quick.
Honor. Oh! Randal, is it you? I can’t open the door.
{She holds the door—he pushes it half open.