ort, if you feel proud to own this poor estate of Brede,
think how little it weighed with my father, who all his life did not
take the trouble to come over and look at it. Need I say more about
Kinsale when you hear that? And as for myself, did I attempt to lay
hands on this trivial bit of earth because I held the papers? You know
I tossed them into your daughter's lap because she was the
finest-looking girl I have seen since I landed on these shores."

"Well, well, well, well," growled the Earl, "I admit I have acted
rashly and harshly in this matter, and it is likely I have done wrong
to an honourable gentleman, therefore I apologize for it. Now, what
have you to propose?"

"I have to propose myself as the husband of your daughter, Lady Mary,
and as for our dowry, there it is on the floor for the picking up, and
I'm content with that much if I get the lady herself."

His lordship slowly turned his head around and gazed at his daughter,
who now was looking full at me with a frown on her brow. Although I
knew I had depressed the old people, I had an uneasy feeling that I
had displeased Lady Mary herself by my impulsive action and my
bragging words. A curious mildness came into the harsh voice of the
old Earl, and he said, still looking at his daughter:

"What does Mary say to this?"

The old woman could not keep her eyes from the gold, which somehow
held her tongue still, yet I knew she was hearing every word that was
said, although she made no comment. Lady Mary shook herself, as if to
arouse herself from a trance, then she said in a low voice:

"I can never marry a man I do not love."

"What's that? what's that?" shrieked her mother, turning fiercely
round upon her, whereat Lady Mary took a step back. "Love, love? What
nonsense is this I hear? You say you will not marry this man to save
the estate of Brede?"

"I shall marry no man whom I do not love," repeated Lady Mary firmly.

As for me, I stood there, hat in hand, with my jaw dropped, as if
Sullivan had given me a stunning blow in the ear; then the old Earl
said sternly:

"I cannot force my daughter: this conference is at an end. The law
must decide between us."

"The law, you old dotard," cried the Countess, rounding then on him
with a suddenness that made him seem to shrink into his shell. "The
law! Is a silly wench to run us into danger of losing what is ours? He
_shall_ marry her. If you will not force her, then I'll coerce her;"
and with that she