"But, Winny jewel, you have hardly answered my question yet. Are you secretly promised, Winny, to any other young man that you're afeard I wouldn't like? that's the plain question. The truth now, Winny,—the truth, Winny!"
"No, father, certainly not. Tom Murdock is the only man that ever asked me."
"Was there ever anything betune you an' young Lennon, Emon-a-knock, as I have heard you call him myself?"
"Never, father; Emon never spoke to me upon such a subject, and further than that, he has paid me less compliments and spoken less to me upon any subject than fifty young men in the parish."
It so happened, however, that the name had hightened Winny's color, and her father, looking at her with an admiring and affectionate smile, said:
"Fifty, Winny! well, in throth, I don't wonder at it, or a hundred an' fifty, if they were in the parish."
Winny took advantage of his smile.
"There, father dear, don't be angry with your poor colleen; she'll do better than to marry riches with misery. Thank God, and you, father, she will have more than enough without coveting Tom Murdock's share." And she held up her beautiful lips, and looked in the old man's face with eyes swimming in tears.
Old Ned had fought the battle badly, and lost it. He bent down his head to meet his daughter's caress, and pressed her to his heart.
"There, Winny mavourneen," he exclaimed; "I have not loved you as the apple of my eye, since your poor mother died, for me to thwart you now. You shall never marry Tom Murdock except with your own free will and consent, asthore. As you say, Winny dear, we neither want nor covet his share. But sure, Winny dear, I thought you were for him all along."