"Yes, that and more. Your eyes are beautiful, and your hair is
beautiful, and your expression is lovely. But I am not flattering
you--I am not even paying you compliments, for those things are not
yours; God made them, and has given them to me!"

She put her hand in his arm again, and there was no more
love-making.

"But Mercy," said the chief, when they had walked some distance
without speaking, "do you think you could live here always, and
never see London again?"

"I would not care if London were scratched out."

"Could you be content to be a farmer's wife?"

"If he was a very good farmer," she answered, looking up archly.

"Am I a good enough farmer, then, to serve your turn?"

"Good enough if I were ten times better. Do you really mean it,
Macruadh?"

"With all my heart. Only there is one thing I am very anxious
about."

"What is that?"

"How your father will take my condition."