“I shall never relax one moment,” he replied, “until I either subdue you, or break your obstinate heart. Come, madam,” said he, “I will conduct you to your apartment.”

She submissively preceded him, until he committed her once more to the surveillance of the maid whom he had engaged and bribed to be her sentinel.

The Black Baronet; or, The Chronicles Of Ballytrain — Part 107

It is unnecessary to say that the visit of the honorable old nobleman ended in nothing. Lucy was not in a condition to see him; and as her father at all risks reiterated his assertions as to her free and hearty consent to the match, Lord Cullamore went away, now perfectly satisfied that if his son had any chance of being reclaimed by the influence of a virtuous wife, it must be by his union with Lucy. The noble qualities and amiable disposition of this excellent young lady were so well known that only one opinion prevailed with respect to her.

The Black Baronet; or, The Chronicles Of Ballytrain — Part 107

Some wondered, indeed, how such a man could be father to such a daughter; but, on the other hand, the virtues of the mother were remembered, and the wonder was one no longer.

The Black Baronet; or, The Chronicles Of Ballytrain — Part 107

CHAPTER XIII. The Stranger's Second Visit to Father M'Mahon

On the evening of the same day the stranger desired Paudeen Gair to take a place for him in the “Fly,” which was to return to Dublin on that night. He had been furnished with a letter from Father M'Mahon, to whom he had, in Mr. Birney's, fully disclosed his name and objects. He felt anxious, however, to engage some trustworthy servant or attendant, on whose integrity he could fully rely, knowing, or at least apprehending, that he might be placed in circumstances where he could not himself act openly and freely without incurring suspicion or observation. Paudeen, however, or, as we shall call him in future, Pat Sharpe, had promised to procure a person of the strictest honesty, in whom every confidence could be placed. This man's name, or rather his nickname, was Dandy Dulcimer, an epithet bestowed upon him in consequence of the easy and strolling life he led, supporting himself, as he passed from place to place, by his performances upon that simple but pleasing instrument.

“Pat,” said the stranger in the course of the evening, “have you succeeded in procuring me this cousin of yours?” for in that relation he stood to Pat.