“Somewhat better,” she replied, “the two eldest are recovering, and want nourishment, which, with the exception of my poor contributions, they cannot get.”
“God love and guard your kind and charitable heart, my sweet Mary,” said he, looking down tenderly into her beautiful face, and pressing her arm lovingly against his side.
“What a hard-hearted man that under agent, M'Clutchy, is,” she exclaimed, her beautiful eye brightening with indignation—“do you know that while her children were ill, his bailiff, Darby O'Drive, by his orders or authority, or some claim or other, took away her goose and the only half-dozen of eggs she had for them—indeed, Frank, he's a sad curse to the property.”
“He is what an old Vandal was once called for his cruelty and oppression—the Scourge of God,” replied Harman, “such certainly the unhappy tenantry of the Topertoe family find him. Harsh and heartless as he is, however, what would he be were it not for the vigilance and humanity of Mr. Hickman? But are you aware, Mary, that his graceful son Phil was a suitor of yours?”
“Of mine—-ha, ha, ha!—oh, that's too comical, Frank—but I am not—Had I really ever that honor?”
“Most certainly; his amiable father had the modesty to propose a matrimonial union between your family and his!”
“I never heard of it,” replied Mary, “never;—but that is easily accounted for—my father, I know, would not insult me by the very mention of it.”
“It's a fact though, that the illegitimate son of the blasphemous old squire, and of the virtuous and celebrated Kate Clank, hoped to have united the M'Loughlin blood with his!”
“Hush!” exclaimed Mary, shuddering, “the very thought is sickening, revolting.”
“It's not a pleasant subject, certainly,” said Harman, “and the less that is said about it the more disgust we shall avoid, at any rate.”