’Twas at this moment that the keen eye of Una recognized the features of her lover’s father, and a smile, which she felt it impossible to subdue, settled upon her face, which became immediately mantled with blushes.  On hurrying out of the room she plucked her brother’s sleeve, who followed her to the hall.

“I can scarcely tell you, dear John,” she said, speaking rapidly, “it’s Fardorougha O’Donovan, Connor’s father; as you know his business, John, stay in the parlor;” she squeezed his hand, and added with a smile on her face, and a tear in her eye, “I fear it’s all over with me—­I don’t know whether to laugh or cry—­but stay, John dear, an’ fight my battle—­Una’s battle.”

She ran upstairs, and immediately one of the most beggarly, sordid, and pusillanimous knocks that ever spoke of starvation and misery was heard at the door.

“I will answer it myself,” thought the amiable brother; “for if my father or mother does, he surely will not be allowed in.”

John could scarcely preserve a grave face, when Fardorougha presented himself.

“Is Misther O’Brien widin?” inquired the usurer, shrewdly availing himself of the hint he received from the servant.

“My father is,” replied John; “have the goodness to step in.”

Fardorougha entered immediately, followed by young O’Brien, who said,

“Father, this is Mr. O’Donovan, who, it appears, has some important business with the family.”

“Don’t be mistherin’ me,” replied Fardorougha, helping himself to a seat; “I’m too poor to be misthered.”

“With this family!” exclaimed the father in amazement; “what business can Fardorougha Donovan have with this family, John?"’

“About our children,” replied the miser; “about my son and your daughter.”

“An’ what about them?” inquired Mrs. O’Brien; “do you dar to mintion them in the same day together?”

“Why not,” said the miser; “ay, an’ on the same night, too?”

“Upon my reputaytion, Mr. O’Donovan, you’re extramely kind—­now be a little more so, and let us undherstand you,” said the Bodagh.

“Poor Una!” thought John, “all’s lost; he will get himself kicked out to a certainty.”

“I think it’s time we got them married,” replied Fardorougha; “the sooner it’s done the better, and the safer for both o’ them; especially for the colleen.”

“Dar a Lorha, he’s cracked,” said Mrs. O’Brien; “sorra one o’ the poor soul but’s cracked about his money.”

“Poor sowl, woman alive! wor you never poor yourself?”

“Yis I wor; an’ I’m not ashamed to own it; but, Chierna, Frank,” she added, addressing her husband, “there’s no use in spakin’ to him.”

“Fardorougha,” said O’Brien, seriously, “what brought you here?”

“Why, to tell you an’ your wife the state that my son, Connor, and your daughter’s in about one another; an’ to advise you both, if you have sinse, to get them married afore worse happen.  It’s your business more nor mine.”