The devil a word did I say about your uncle, or your aunt, or
Father M'Grath, that she might not suspect for I've an idea that
they're all in the story. I only talked about my love for her pretty
self, and that blinded her, as it will all women, 'cute as they may
be.
"And now, Peter, it's three weeks last Sunday, that I've been
bespeaking this poor girl for your sake, and my conscience tells me
that it's not right to make the poor crature fond of me, seeing as how
that I don't care a fig for her in the way of a wife, and in any other
way it would be the ruin of the poor thing. I have spoken to Father
M'Grath on the subject, who says, 'that we may do evil that good may
come, and that, if she has been a party to the deceit, it's nothing
but proper that she should be punished in this world, and that will,
perhaps, save her in the next;' still I don't like it, Peter, and it's
only for you among the living that I'd do such a thing; for the poor
creature now hangs upon me so fondly, and talks about the wedding-day;
and tells me long stories about the connections which have taken place
between the O'Flanagans and the O'Briens, times bygone, when they were
all in their glory. Yesterday, as we sat in the wood, with her arm
round my waist, 'Ella, dear,' says I, 'who are these people that you
stay with?' And then she told me all she knew about their history, and
how Mary Sullivan was a nurse to the baby.
"'And what is the baby?' says I.
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