you?' she asked.

"'All!' says Jack, 'you darling, I couldn't find it in my heart to
desave you; for I have no way at home to keep a lady like you, in proper
style, at all at all; I would only bring I you into poverty, and since
you wish to know what ails me, I'm vexed that I'm not rich for your
sake; and next, that that thieving ould villain's to have you; and, by
the powers, I'm crying for both these misfortunes together.'

"The lady could not help being touched and plaised with Jack's
tinderness and ginerosity; so, says she, 'Don't be cast down, Jack, come
or go what will, I won't marry him--I'd die first. Do you go home as
usual; but take care and don't sleep at all this night. Saddle the wild
filly--meet me under the whitethorn bush at the end of the lawn, and
we'll both leave him for ever. If you're willin' to marry me, don't let
poverty distress you, for I have more money than we'll know what to do
with.'

"Jack's voice now began to tremble in airnest, with downright love and
tinderness, as good right it had; so he promised to do everything just
as she bid him, and then went home with a dacint appetite enough to his
supper.

"You may be sure the ould fellow looked darker and grimmer than ever at
Jack: but what could he do? Jack had done his duty? so he sat before
the fire, and sung 'Love among the Roses,' and the 'Black Joke,' with a
stouter and a lighter heart than ever, while the black chap, could have
seen him skivered.

"When midnight came, Jack, who kept a hawk's eye to the night, was at