growing over me afore next Easther--Ugh--ugh--ugh. I've a murderin' cough
too, and nothing can give me ase but yourself, Miss Biddy," cried Terence
eagerly.

"Hush! they'll hear you," said the heiress.

"I don't care who hears me," replied Terence desperately; "I can't stand
dying by inches this way. I'll destroy myself."

"Oh, Terence!" murmured Miss O'Brannigan.

"Yes," he continued: "I loaded my pistols this morning, and I told Barney
M'Guire, the dog-feeder, to come over and shoot me the first thing he does
in the morning."

"Terence, _dear_, what do you want? What am I to say?" inquired the
trembling girl.

"Say," cried Terence, who was resolved to clinch the business at a word;
"say that you love me."

The handkerchief was again applied to Miss O'Brannigan's face, and a faint
affirmative issued from the depths of the cambric. Terence's heart hopped
like a racket-ball in his breast.

"Give me your hand upon it," he whispered.

Miss Biddy placed the envied _palm_, not on his brows, but in his hand, and
was led by him to the top of a set which was forming for a country dance,
from whence they started off at the rate of one of our modern