thinks that Gill might
be got over--that if done by _you_ with three or four hundred pounds, he'd
either make his evidence so light, or he'd contradict himself, or, better
than all, he'd not make an appearance at the trial--'

'Compounding a felony! Catch me at it!' cried the old man, with a yell.

'Well, Joe Atlee will be here to-night,' continued Dick. 'He's a clever
fellow at all rogueries. Will you let him see if it can't be arranged.'

'I don't care who does it, so it isn't Mathew Kearney,' said he angrily,
for his patience could endure no more. 'If you won't leave me alone now, I
won't say but that I'll go out and throw myself into a bog-hole!'

There was a tone of such perfect sincerity in his speech, that, without
another word, Dick took the lawyer's arm, and led him from the room.

A third voice was heard outside as they issued forth, and Kearney could
just make out that it was Major Lockwood, who was asking Dick if he might
have a few minutes' conversation with his father.

'I don't suspect you'll find my father much disposed for conversation just
now. I think if you would not mind making your visit to him at another
time--'

'Just so!' broke in the old man, 'if you're not coming with a
strait-waistcoat, or a coil of rope to hold me down, I'd say it's better to
leave me to myself.'

Whether it was that the major was undeterred by these forbidding evidences,
or that what he deemed the importance of his communication warranted some
risk, certain it is he lingered at the door, and stood there where Dick and
the lawyer had gone and left him.

A faint tap at the door at last apprised Kearney that some one was without,
and he hastily, half angrily, cried, 'Come in!' Old Kearney almost started
with surprise as the major walked in.

'I'm not going to make any apology for intruding on you,' cried he. 'What I
want to say shall be said in three words, and I cannot endure the suspense
of not having them said and answered. I've had a whole night of feverish
anxiety, and a worse morning, thinking and turning over the thing in my
mind, and settled it must be at once, one way or other, for my head will
not stand it.'

'My own is tried pretty hard, and I can feel for you,' said Kearney, with a
grim humour.

'I've come to ask if you'll give me your daughter?' said Lockwood, and his
face became blood-red with the effort the words had cost him.

'Give you my daughter?' cried Kearney.

'I want to make her my wife,