“Don't be afraid of me, Una,” continued the Bodagh, “but answer—me truly, like a good girl, and I swear upon my reputation, that I won't be angry. Do you love the son of this Fardorougha?”
“Not, father, because he's Fardorougha's son,” said Una, whose face was still hid in her mother's bosom; “I would rather he wasn't.”
“But you do love him?”
“For three years he has scarcely been out of my mind.”
Something that might be termed a smile crossed the countenance of the Bodagh at this intimation.
“God help you for a foolish child!” said he; “you're a poor counsellor when left to defend your own cause.”
“She won't defend it by a falsehood, at all events,” observed her trustworthy and affectionate brother.
“No, she wouldn't,” said the mother; “and I did her wrong a while ago, to say that she'd schame anything about it.”
“And are you and Connor O'Donovan promised to aich other?” inquired the father again.
“But it wasn't I that proposed the promise,” returned Una.