Widow LARKEN’S Cottage.

Widow LARKEN, MABEL, and GILBERT.

Gilb. And could you doubt me, Mabel, after I told you I loved you?

Mabel. Never would nor could have doubted, had you once told me as much, Mr. Gilbert.

Widow. There was the thing, Mr. Gilbert—you know it was you that was to speak, if you thought of her.

Gilb. Do not you remember the rose and the shamrock?

Widow. Oh! she does well enough; and that’s what her heart was living upon, till I killed the hope.

Gilb. You!—killed the hope!—I thought you were my friend.

Widow. And so I am, and was—but when you did not speak.

Gilb. If I had not loved her so well, I might have been able, perhaps, to have said more.

Widow. Then that’s enough. Mabel mavourneen, wear the rose he give you now—I’ll let you—and see it’s fresh enough. She put it in water—oh! she had hope still!

Mabel. And was not I right to trust him, mother?

Gilb. Mabel, if I don’t do my best to make you happy all my days, I deserve to be—that’s all! But I’m going to tell you about the new inn: that’s what I have been about ever since, and I’m to have it for sixty guineas.

Enter OWEN, rubbing his hands.

Owen. You see, mother, I was right about Gilbert and Mabel. But Mr. Hope and the band is gone up to the castle. Come, come!—time to be off!—no delay!—Gilbert! Mabel, off with you! (He pushes them off.) And glad enough ye are to go together. Mother dear, here’s your bonnet and the cloak,—here round ye throw—that’s it—take my arm. (Widow stumbles as he pulls her on.) Oh, I’m putting you past your speed, mother.

Widow. No, no.—No fear in life for the mother that has the support of such a son.