“Thin take me ither arm,” said Kerrigan, with a solicitous air; but Reilly stepped back, waving him off.
“Go on, ye lump!” he commanded.
“Aye, ye know best,” Kerrigan agreed. “’T is more like a marriage procission yer way.”
Kate laughed.
“For shame,” she cried, “to talk of marriage so soon! I’ve known you but four hours.”
“What’s time to the lovun’ hearrt thot knows uts own mate?” asked Kerrigan.
“True,” she replied; “it’s nothing at all.”
“If ye’ve no respict for yer owld father, ye hussy,” Reilly hissed close at her ear, “think shame to yersilf for the bowldniss of yez.”
“To think you’d put the black name of boldness on your own daughter!” Kate cried, turning angrily. “I’ll not listen to you.” She flounced up the road.
Reilly followed. He passed into the cemetery behind them and stubbornly kept near; but as they turned into an avenue of live-oaks, he caught sight of a slender young man who stood in a path and watched Kate and Kerrigan go by. Reilly beckoned to him, and the young man came hesitatingly forward.