"
"Art, have you any particular meanin' in what you say?"
"I'll tell you all," said he, "when we are married."
Margaret was generous-minded, and, as the reader may yet acknowledge,
heroic; there was all the boldness and bravery of innocence about her,
and she could scarcely help attributing Art's last words to some fact
connected with his feelings, or, perhaps, to circumstances which his
generosity prevented him from disclosing. A thought struck her--
"Art," said she, "the sooner this is settled the better; as it is, if
you'll be guided by me, we won't let the sun set upon it; walk up with
me to my father's house, come in, and in the name of God, we'll leave
nothing unknown to him. He is a hard man, but he has a heart, and he is
better a thousand times than he is reported. I know it."
"Come," said Art, "let us go; he may be richer, but there's the blood,
and the honesty, and good name of the Maguires against his wealth--"
A gentle pressure on his arm, when he mentioned the word wealth, and he
was silent.
"My darlin' Margaret," said he, "oh how unworthy I am of you!"
"Now," said she, "lave me to manage this business my own way. Your good
sense will tell you when to spake; but whatever my father says, trate
him with respect--lave the rest to me."
On entering, they found Murray and his wife in the little parlor--the
former smoking his pipe, and the latter darning a pair of stockings.
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