The
husband, in fact, had not yet spoken, and until he had, the poor woman
did not know her own mind. Under any circumstances, it was difficult
exactly to comprehend her meaning. In fact, she could not speak three
words of common English, having probably never made the experiment a
dozen times in her life. Murray was struck for some time mute.
"And is this the young man," said he, at length, "that has been the
mains of preventin' you from being so well married often and often
before now?"
"No, indeed, father," she replied, "he was not the occasion of that; but
I was. I am betrothed to him, as he is to me, for five years."
"And," said her father, "my consent to that marriage you will never
have; if you marry him, marry him, but you will marry him without my
blessin'."
"Jemmy Murray," said Art, whose pride of family was fast rising, "who am
I, and who are you?"
Margaret put her hand to his mouth, and said in a low voice--
"Art, if you love me, leave it to my management."
"Ho, Jemmy," said the mother, addressing her husband, "only put
your ears to this! _Ho, dher manim_, this is that skamin' piece of
_feasthealagh_ (* nonesense) they call _grah_ (*love). Ho, by my
sowl, it shows what moseys they is to think that--what's this you call
it?--low-lov-loaf, or whatsomever the devil it is, has to do wid makin'
a young couple man and wife.
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