Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924086340027 In compliance with current copyright law, Cornell University Library produced this replacement volume on paper that meets the ANSI Standard Z39.48-1992 to replace the irreparably deteriorated original. 1999 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY THE KELLYS AND THE O'KELLYS. BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 2s. Vols. DOCTOR THOENE THE MACDERMOTS OF . BALLY- CLOSAN RACHEL RAY THE KELLYS AND THE O'KELLYS TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES CASTLE RICHMOND THE UCKTKAMS MISS MACKENZIE THE BELTON ESTATE AN EDITOR S TALES RALPH THE HEIR LA VENDEE LADY ANNA VICAR OF BULLHAMPTOM SIR HARRY HOTSPUR IS HE POPENJOY? AN EYE FOR EYB COUSIN HENRY LOTTA SCHMIDT ORLEY FARiVi CAN YOU FORGIVE HER? PHINEAS FINN THE duke's CHILDREN 2S. 6d. Vols. HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT EUSTACE diamonds PHINEAS REDUX THE PRIME MINISTER LONDON: WARD, LOCK AND CO., SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C THE KELLYS THE OKELLYS. BY ANTHONY TEOLLOPE, AUTHOR OF 'TALES OF ALL COUNTRIES," "DOCTOR THORNE," "ORLEYFAKM,' ETC., ETC. NEW EDITION. WAKD, LOCK AND CO., LONDON . WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, B.C. NEW YORK : BOND STREET. CONTENTS. eaunrK I.— The Triap - . t . . II. — The Two HEiBESgEi „ ' , III.- -Morrison's Hotel , - , , IV. — The DtjNMORE Ink ... v.— A LoviNO Brother . . , VI.--THE EsOArs . . , . VII. — Mr. Barrt Lynch makes a Morsinq Call VIII. — Mr. Martin Kelly Rkturns to iloNiiORE IX. — Mr. Daly, the AiioRNEy . . . X. — Dot Blake's Actios ... XL — The Earl or Ca8HEI. . . . XII. — Fanny Wyndham . . , XIII. — Father and Sou . . . , XIV. — The Countess .... XV. — Handicap Lopuk . . . XVI. — Brien Boru .... XVII. — Martin Kelly's Coubtship . . J^VIII. — An Attohnkv'r Ofhoe in Oqkhavoh? . 1 14 22 S6 43 62 61 72 80 S9 98 1C» 117 127 136 Hi 187 m Vlll CONTENTS. OHAWER ''AlB XIX. — Mr. Dait visits the Dunmore Ikn . . , 177 XX. — Vekt Liberal . . . • ; . 189 XXI. — 1/ORD Ballindine at Homb . . • . 200 XXII.— The Hitht 212 XXIII.— Dk. Colliqan . , . . . ' 221 XXIV. — Antt Ltkoh's Bkd-sidb ; Soehb the First . . . 228 XXV.— Anty Lynoh's Bed-side .: Scene the Heoond . . 235 XXVI. — Love's Ambassados . . . . • . 242 XXVII. — JIr. Lynoii's last Rksodrob • • . . 251 XXVIII.— Fanny Wyndiiam Rebels . . . . . 265 XXIX. — The Countess of CASiiETi in Trouble . . . 276 XXX. — Lord Kiloiilli;k Obbys his Father . . . . 287 XXXI.— Tub Two Friends . . . . .302 XXXII. — How Loud Kiloullhh Vaubs in his Wooino . . . 312 XXXIII. — Lord Kiloullen MAtus another Visit to the Book-eoom 324 XXXIV. —The Doctor makes a Clean Breast of It . . 335 XXXV. — Mb. Lynch bids Farewell to Dunmoeb . . . 344 XXX VL — JIr. Ar.mstrono visits Grey Abbbt oh a Delicate Mission 356 XXZVi:.— Vkni; ViDi; Vioi . . . . . .365 XXXVIII. — Wait till I tell you , , , . , 869 XXXIX. -It nkvik Rains cur I't rocrto • • . . 377 ,>CL. — Conllusio.>< , , , • . « , 880 THE KELLYS AND THE O'KELLYg. CHAPTER I. THE TRIAL. DuHiNG the first two months of the year 1844, the greatest possible excitement existed in Dublin respecting the State Trials, in which Mr. O'Connell, his son, the Editors of three different repeal ijewspapers, Tom Steele, the Eev. Mr. Tierney — a priest who had taken a somewhat prominent part in the Eepeal Move- ment — and Mr. Ray, the Secretary to the Eepeal Association, were indicted for conspiracy. Those who only read of the pro- ceedings in papers, which gave them as a mere portion of the news of the day, or learned what was going on in Dublin by chance conversation, can have no idea of the absorbing interest which the whole affair created in Ireland, but more especially in the metropolis. Every one felt strongly, on one side or on the other. Every one had brought the matter home to his own bosom, and looked to the result of the trial with individual interest and suspense. Even at this short interval Irishmen can now see how completely they put judgment aside, and allowed feeling and passion to pre- dominate in the matter. Many of the hottest Protestants, of the staunchest foes to O'Connell, now believe that his absolute imprisonment was not to be desired, and that whether he were acquitted or convicted, the Government would have sufficiently shown, by instituting his trial, its determination to put down proceedings of which they did not approve. On the other hand, that class of men who then styled themselves Eepealers, are now aware that the continued imprisonment of their leader — • the persecution, as they believed it to be, of "the Liberator" — would ^ave heen the one thing jriost certain to have sustained his 3 THE KELLYS AND THE O'KELLTS. influence, and to have given fresh force to their agitation. Kothing ever so strengthened the love of the Irish for, and the obedience of the Irish to O'Connell, as his imprisonment; nothing ever sn weakened his power over them as his unexpected enfranchisement. The country shouted for joy when he was set free, and expended aU its enthusiasm in the efibrt. At the time, however, to which I am now referring, each party felt the most intense interest in the struggle, and the most eager desire for success. Every Eepealer, and every Anti-Ilepealer in Dublin felt that it was a contest in which he himself was, to a certain extent, individually engaged. All the tactics of the opposed armies, down to the minutest legal details, were eagerly and passionately canvassed in every circle. Ladies, who had before probably never heard of "panels" in forensic phraseology, now spoke enthusiastically on the subject ; and those on one side expressed themselves indignant at the fraudulent omission of certain names from the lists of jurors ; while those on the other were capable of proving the legality of choosing the jury from the names which were given, and stated most positively that the omissions were accidental. "The Traversers" were in everybody's mouth — a term hereto- fore confined to law courts, and lawyers' rooms. The Attorney- General, the Commander-in-Chief of the Government forces, was most virulently assailed; every legal step which he took was Bcrutinised and abused ; every measure which he used was base enough of itself to hand down his name to everlasting infamy. Such were the tenets of the Eepealers. And O'Connell and hi-s counsel, their base artifices, falsehoods, delays, and unprofessional proceedings, were declared by the Saxon party to be equally abominable. The whole Irish bar seemed, for the time, to have laid aside the habitual sang froid and indifi'erence of lawyers, and to have employed their hearts as well as their heads on behalf of the different parties by whom they were engaged. The very jurors themselves for a time became famous or infamous, according to the opinions of those by whom their position was discussed. Their names and additions were published and republished ; they were declared to be men who would stand by their country and do their duty without fear or favour — so said the Protestants. By the Eoman Catholics, they were looked on as perjurers deter- mined to stick to the Government with blind indifference to their oaths. Their names are now, for the most part, forgotten, though BO little time has elapsed sinc« they appeared so frequently before the public. THE TRIAI,. 3 Every day's proceedings gave rise to new hopes and fears. The evidence rested chiefly on the reports of certain short-hand ■writers, who had been employed to attend Eepeal meetings, and their examinations and cross-examinations were read, re-read, and scanned with the minutest care. Then, the various and long speeches of the different counsel, who, day after day, continued to address the jury; the heat of one, the weary legal technicalities of another, tlie perspicuity of a third, and the splendid forensic eloquence of a fourth, were criticised, depreciated and admired. It seemed as though the chief lawyers of the day were standing an examination, and were candidates for some high honour, which each was striving to secure. The Dublin papers were full of the trial ; no other subject could, at the time, either interest or amuse. I doubt whether any affair of the kind was ever, to use the phrase of the trade, so well and perfectly reported. The speeches appeared word for word the same in the columns of newspapers of different polities. For four-fifths of the contents of the paper it would have been the same to you whether you were reading the Evening Mail, or the Freeman. Every word that was uttered in the Court was of importance to every one in Dublin ; and half-an-hour's delay in ascertaining, to the minutest shade, what had taken place in Court during any period, was accounted a sad misfortune. The press round the Four Courts, every morning before the doors were open, was very great ; and except by the favoured few who were able to obtain seats, it was only with extreme difficulty and perseverance, that an entrance into the body of the Court could be obtained. It was on the eleventh morning of the proceedings, on the day on which the defence for the traversers was to be commenced, that two young men, who had been standing for a couple of hours in front of the doors of the Court, were still waiting there, with what patience was left to them, after having been pressed and jostled for so long a time. Eichard Lalor Shiel, however, was to address the jury on behalf of Mr. John O'Connell — and every one in Dublin knew that that was a treat not to be lost. The two young men, too, were violent Eepealers. The elder of them was a three-year-old denizen of Dublin, who knew the names of the contributors to the ' Nation,' who had constantly listened to the indignation and enthusiasm of O'Connell, Smith O'Brien, and O'jS'eill Daunt, in their addresses from the rostrum of the Conciliation Hall; who had drank much porter at Jude's, who had eaten many oysters at Eurton Bindon's, who had seen and con- tributed to many rows in the Abbey Street Theatre ; who during i THE KELLYS AND THE KELLYS. his life in Dublin, had done many things which he ought not to have done, and had probably made as many omissions of things which it had behoved him to do. He had that knowledge of the persons of his fellow- citizens, which appears to be so much more general in Dublin than in any other large town ; he could tell you the name and trade of almost every one he met in the streets, and was a judge of the character and talents of all whose emploj-ments partook, in any degree, of a public nature. His name was Kelly ; and, as his calling was that of an attorney's clerk, his knowledge of character would be peculiarly valuable in the scene at which he and his companion were so anxious to be present. The younger of the two brothers, for such they were, was a somewhat different character. Though perhaps a more enthusiastic Eepealer than his brother, he was not so well versed in the details of Eepeal tactics, or in the strength and weakness of the Ilepeal ranks. He was a young farmer, of the better class, from the County Mayo, where he held three or four hundred wretchedly bad acres under Lord Eallindine, and one or two other small farms, under different landlords. He was a good-looking young fellow, about twenty-five years of age, with that mixture of cunning and frankness in his bright eye, which is so common among those of his class in Ireland, but more especially so in Connaught. The mother of these two young men kept an inn in the small town of Dunmore, and though from the appearance of the place, one would be led to suppose that there could not be in Dunmore much of that kind of traffic which innkeepers love, Mrs. Kelly was accounted a warm, comfortable woman. Her husband had left her for a better world some ten years since, with six children ; and the widow, instead of making continual use, as her chief support, of that common wail of being a poor, lone woman, had put her shoulders to the wheel, and had earned comfoi-tably, by sheer industry, that which so many of her class, when similarly situated, are willing to owe to compassion. She held on the farm, which her husband rented from Lord Eallindine, till her eldest son was able to take it. He, however, was now a ganger in the nortli oi' Ireland. Her second son was the attorney's clerk ; and the farm had descended to Martin, the younger, whom we have left jostling and jostled at one of the great doors of the Four Courts, and whom we must still leave there for a short time, while a few more of the circumstances of his family are narrated. Mrs. Kelly had, after her husband's death, added a small grocer's establishment to her inn. People wondered where she had THE TRIAL. 5 found the means of supplying her shop ; some said that old Mick Kelly must have had money when he died, though it was odd how a man who drank so much could ever have kept a shilling by him. Others remarked how easy it was to get credit in these days, and expressed a hope that the wholesale dealer in Pill Lane might be none the worse. However this might be, the widow Kelly kept her station firmly and constantly behind her counter, wore her weeds and her warm, black, stuff dress decently and becomingly, and never asked anything of anybody. At the time of which we are writing, her two elder sous had left her, and gone forth to make their own way, and take the burden of the world on their own shoulders. Martin still lived with his mother, though his farm lay four miles distant, on the road to Ballindine, and in another county — for Dunraore is in County Galway, and the lands of Toneroe, as the Martins' farm was called, were in the County Mayo. One of her three daughters had lately been married to a shopkeeper in Tuam, and rumour said that he had got £500 with her; and Pat Daly was not the man to have taken a wife with nothing. The other two girls, Meg and Jane, still remained under their mother's wing, and though it was to be presumed that they would soon fly abroad, with the same comfortable plumage which had enabled their sistej- to find so warm a nest, they were obliged, while sharing their mother's home, to share also her labours, and wore not allowed to be too proud to cut off pennyworths of tobacco, and mix dandies of punch for such of their customers as still preferred the indulgence of their throats to the blessing of Father Mathew. Mrs. Kelly kept two ordinary in-door servants to assist in the work of the house ; one, an antiquated female named Sally, who was more devoted to her tea-pot than ever was any bacchanalian to his glass. "Were there four different teas in the inn in one evenin", she would have drained the pot after each, though she burst in the effort. Sally was, in all, an honest woman, and certainly a religious one — she never neglected her devotional duties, confessed with most scrupulous accuracy tlie various peooadillos of which she might consider herself guilty ; and it was thought, with reason, by those who knew her best, that all the extra prayers she said — and they were very many— were m atonement for commissions of continual potty larceny with regard to sut^ar. On this subject did her old mistress quarrel with her, her young mistress ridicule her ; of this sin did her fellow-servant accuse her; and, doubtless, for this sin did her Priest continually reprove her ; but in vain. Though she would not own it, there was always sugar in her pocket, and though she declared that alio 6 THE KELLTS AND THE EELLYS. usually drank her tea unsweetened, those who had come upon her unawares had seen her extracting the pinches of moist brown saccharine from the huge slit in her petticoat, and could not believe her. Kate, the other servant, was a red-legged lass, who washed the potatoes, fed the pigs, and ate her food nobody knew when or where. Kates, particularly Irish Kates, are pretty by pro- scription; but Mrs. Kelly's Kate had been excepted, and was certainly a most positive exception. Poor Kate was very ugly. Her hair had that appearance of having been dressed by the turkey-cock, which is sometimes presented by the heads of young women in her situation ; her mouth extended nearly from ear to ear; her neck and throat, which always were nearly bare, presented no feminine charms to view; and her short coarse petticoat showed her red legs nearly to the knee ; for except on Sundays, she knew not the use of shoes and stockings. But though Kate was ungainly and ugly, she was useful and grateful . — very fond of the whole family, and particularly attached to the two young ladies, in whose behalf she doubtless performed many a service, acceptable enough to them, but of which, had she known of them, the widow would have been but little likely to approve. Such was Mrs. Kelly's household at the time that her son Martin left Connaught to pay a short visit to the metropolis, during the period of O'Connell's trial. But, although Martin was a staunch Repealer, and had gone as far as Galway, and Athlone, to be present at the Monster Repeal Meetings which had been held there, it was not political anxiety alone which led him to Dublin. His landord, the young Lord Ballindine, was there ; and though Martin could not exactly be said to act as his lordship's agent — for Lord Ballindine had, unfortunately, a legal agent, with whose services his pecuniary embarrassments did not allow him to dispense — he was a kind of confidential tenant, and his attendance had been requested. Martin, moreover, had a somewhat important piece of business of his own in hand, which he expected would tend greatly to his own advantage ; and, although he had fully made up his mind to carry it out if possible, he wanted, in conducting it, a little of his brother's legal advice, and, above all, his landlord's sanction. This business was nothing less than an intended elopement with an heiress belonging to a rank somewhat higher than that in which Martin Kelly might be supposed to look, with propriety, for his bride ; but Martin was a handsome fellow, not much burdened with natioiial modesty, and he had, as he supposed, THE TMAL. 7 liianagcd to engage the affections of Anastasia Lynch, a lady resident near Dunmore. All particulars respecting Martin's intended — the amount of her fortune — her birth and parentage — her age and attractions — ■ shall, in due time, be made known ; or rather, perhaps, be suffeicd to make themselves known. In the mean time we will return to the two brotheis, who are still anxiously waiting to affect an entrance into the august presence of the Law. Martin had already told his brother of his matrimonial specula- tion, and had received certain hints from that learned youth as to the proper means of getting correct information as to the amount of the lady's wealth — her power to dispose of it by her own deed, — and certain other particulars always interesting to gentlemen who seek money and love at the same time. John did not quite approve of the plan ; there might have been a shade of envy at his brother's good fortune ; there might be some doubt as to his brother's power of carrying the affair through successfully ; but, though he had not encouraged him, he gave him the information he wanted, and was as willing to talk over the matter as Martin could desire. As they were standing in the crowd, their conversation an partly on Eepeal and O'Connell, and partly on matrimony and Anty Lynch, as the lady was usually called by those who knew her best. "Tears and 'ouns Misther Lord Chief Justice!" exclaimed Martin, " and are ye niver going to open them big doors ? " " And what'd be the good of his opening them yet," answered John, "when a bigger man than himself an't there? Dan and the other boys isn't in it yet, and sure all the twelve judges couldn't get on a peg without them." " Well, Dan, my darling!" said the other, "you're thought more of here this day than the lot of 'em, though the place in a manner belongs to them, and you're only a prisoner." " Faix and that's what he's not, Martin; no more than your- self, nor so likely, maybe. He 's the traverser, as I told you before, and that's not being a prisoner. If he were a prisoner, how did he manage to tell us all what he did at the Hall yesterday? " " Av' he's not a prisoner, he 's the next door to it; it 'snot of his own will and pleasure he'd come here to listen to all the lies them thundhering 8axon ruffians choose to say about him." " And why not ? "Why wouldn't he come here and vindicate himself? "When you hear Shell by and by, you'U see then whether they think themselves likely to be prisoners ! No — no ; 8 THE KELLY3 AND THE KELLYS. they never will be, av' there's a ghost of a conscience left in one of them Protesthant raps, that thej^'ve picked so carefully out of all Dublin to make jurors of. They can't convict 'em ! I heard Ford, the night before last, offer four to one that they didn't find the lot guilty ; and he knows what he is about, and isn't the man to thrust a Protesthant half as far as he'd see him." " Isn't Tom Steele a Protesthant himself, John? " " Well, I believe he is. So 's Gray, and more of 'em too; hut there's a difEerence between them and the downright murdhering Tory set. Poor Tom doesn't throuble the Church much ; but you'll be all for Protesthants now, Martin, when you've your new brother-in-law. Barry used to be one of your raal out-and- outers ! " "It's little, I'm a thinking, I and Barry 11 be having to do together, unless it be about the brads ; and the law about them now, thank God, makes no differ for Eoman and Protesthant. Anty's as good a Catholic as ever breathed, and so was her mother before her; and when she's Mrs. Kelly, as I mane to make her. Master Barry may shell out the cash and go to heaven his own way for me." ' ' It ain't the family then you're fond of, Martin ! And I woudher at that, considering how old Sim loved us all." " Niver mind Sim, John! he's dead and gone; and av' he niver did a good deed before, he did one when he didn't lave all his cash to that precious son of his, Barry Lynch." " You're prepared for squalls with Barry, I suppose ? " "He'll have all the squalling on his own side, I'm thinking, John. I don't mane to squall, for one. I don't see why I need, with £400 a-year in my pocket, and a good wife to the fore." " The £400 a-year's good enough, av' you touch it, certainly," said the man of law, thinking of his own insufficient guinea a- week, " and you must look to have some throuble yet before you do that. But as to the wife — why, the less said the better— eh, Martin ? " " Av' it's not asking too much, might I throuble you, sir, to sit anywhere else but on my shouldher ? " This was addressed to a very fat citizen, who was wheezing behind Martin, and who, to escape suffocation in the crowd, was endeavouring to raise himself on his neighbour's shoulders. " And wliy the less said the better? — I wish yourself may never have a worse." '' 1 wish I mayn't, Martin, as far as the cash goes ; and a man lilce me might look a long time in Dublin before he got a quarter o-f the money. But you must own Anty's no great bwuty, and she's not over young either." TSE TEIAL. 9 " Av' ste 's no beauty, she 's not downrigtt ugly, lite many a girl that gets a good husband; and av' she's not over young, she 's not over old. She 's not so much older than myself, after all. It 's only because her own people have always made nothing of her ; that 's what has made everybody else do the same." " Why, Martin, I know she 's ten years older than Barry, and Barry 's older than you ! " "One year; and Anty 's not full ten years older than him. Besides, what 's ten years between man and wife ? " " Not much, when it 's on the right side. But it 's the wrong side with you, Martin ! " " Well, John, now, by virtue of your oath, as you chaps say, wouldn't you marry a woman twice her age, av' she 'd half the money ? — Begad you would, and leap at it ! " "Perhaps I would I 'd a deal sooner have a woman eighty than forty. There 'd be some chance then of having the money after the throuble was over ! Anty 's neither ould enough nor young enough." " She 's not forty, any wav; and won't be yet for five years and more ; and, as I hope for glory, John — though I know you won't believe me — I wouldn't marry her av' she 'd all Sim Lynch's ill- gotten property, instead of only half, av' I wasni't really fond of her, and av' I didn't think I 'd make her a good husband." " You didn't tell mother what you 're afther, did you ? " "Sorrow a word! But she's so cute she partly guesses ; and I think Meg let slip something. The girls and Anty are thick as thiefs since old Sim died; though they couldn't be at the house much since Barry came home, and Anty daren't for her life come down to the shop." " Did mother say anything about the schame ? " " Fail, not much ; but what she did say, didn't show she 'd much mind for it. Since Sim Lynch tried to get Toneroe from her, when father died, she 'd never a good word for any of them. Not but what she 's always a civil look for Anty, when she sees her." " There 's not much fear she '11 look black on the wife, when you bring the money home with her. But where '11 you live, Martin ? The little shop at Dunmore '11 be no place for Mrs. Kelly, when there's a lady of the name with £400 a-year other own." " 'Deed then, John, and that's what I don't know. Maybe I '11 build up the ould house at Toneroe; some of the O'Kellys them- selves lived there, years ago." " I believe they did ; but it was years ago, and veri,' many years 10 THE EELtTS AND THE D'HELLTIS. ago, too, since they lived there. "Why you 'd have to pull it aU down, before you began to build it up ! " "Maybe I 'd build a new house, out and out. Av' I got three new lifes in the laise, I 'd do that; and the lord wouldn't be refusing me, av' I ask3d hito." "Bother the lord, Martin; why you 'd be asking anything of any lord, and you with £400 a-year of your own ? Give up Toneroe, and go and live at Dunmore House at once." " "What ! along with Barry — when I and Anty 's married ? The biggest house in county Galway wouldn't hould the three of us." "You don't think Barry Lynch '11 stay at Dunmore afther you 've married his sisther ? " "And why not?" " "Why not ! Don't you know Barry thinks himself one of the raal gentry now ? Any ways, he wishes others to think so. Why, he 'd even himself to Lord Ballindine av' he could ! Didn't old Sim send him to the same English school with the lord on purpose ? — tho' little he got by it, by all accounts ! And d' you thin'k he'll remain in Dunmore, to be brother-in-law to the son of the woman that keeps the little grocer's shop in the village ? — Not he ! He '11 soon be out of Dunmore when he hears what his sister 'a afther doing, and you '11 have Dunmore House to yourselves then, av' you like it." "I 'd sooner live at Toneroe, and that's the truth; and I 'd not give up the farm av' she 'd double the money ! But, John, faith, here 's the judges at last. Hark, to the boys screeching ! " " They 'd not screech that way for the judges, my boy. It 's the traversers — that 's Dan and the rest of 'em. They 're coming into Court. Thank God, they '11 soon be at work now ! " " And will they come through this way? Paith, av' they do, they '11 have as hard work to get in, as they '11 have to get out by and by." " They '11 not come this way — there 's another way in for them ; the' they are traversers now, they didn't dare but let them go in at the same door as the judges themselves." "Hurrah, Dan I More power to you! Three cheers for the traversers, and Eepale for ever! Success to every mother's son of you, my darlings! Tou '11 be free yet, in spite of John Jason Eigby and the rest of 'em ! The prison isn't yet built that 'd hould ye, nor won't he ! Long life to you, Shiel — sure you're a Eight Honourable Eepaler now, in spite of Greenwich Hospital and the Board of Trade! More power, Gavan Duffy; you 're the boy that '11 settle 'm at last ! Three cheers more for the Lord Mayor, God bless him! "Well, yer reverence, Mr. Tierney!— THE TRIAL. 11 never mind, they coii-d come to no good when they 'd be parse- cuting the likes of you ! Bravo, Tom ! — Hurrah for Tom Steele ! " Such, and such like, were the exclamations which greeted the traversers, and tlieir corUge, as they drew up to the front of the Four Courts. Dan O'Connell was in the Lord ]\Iayor's state carriage, accompanied by that high official ; and came up to stand his trial for conspiracy and sedition, in just such a manner as he might be presumed to proceed to take the chair at some popular municipal assembly ; and this was just the thing qualified to please those who were on his own side, and mortify the feelings of the party so bitterly opposed to him. There was a bravado in it, and an apparent contempt, not of the law so much as of the existing authorities of the law, which was well qualified to have this double eftect. And now the outer doors of the Court were opened, and the crowd — at least as many as were able to effect an entrance — rushed in. Martin and John Kelly were among those nearest to the door, and, in reward of their long patience, got sufficiently into the body of the Court to be in a position to see, when standing on tiptoe, the noses of three of the four judges, and the wigs of four of the numerous counsel employed. The Court was so filled by those who had a place there by right, or influence enough to assume that they had so, that it was impossible to obtain a more favourable situation. But this of itself was a great deal — quite sufficient to justify Martin in detailing to his Con- naught li lends every particular of the whole trial. They would probably be able to hear everything ; they could positively see three of the judges, and if those two big policemen, with high hats, could by any possibility be got to remove themselves it was very probable they would be able to see Shiel's back, when he stood up. •John soon began to show off his forensic knowledge. He gave a near guess at the names of the four counsel whose heads were visible, merely from the different shades and shapes of their wigs. Then he particularised the inferior angels of that busy Elysium. "That's Ford — that's Gartlan — that's Peirce Mahony," he exclaimed, as the different attorneys for the traversers, furiously busy with their huge bags, fidgetted about rapidly, or stood up in their seats, telegraphing others in different parts of the Court. " There 's old IJ^emmis," as they caught a glimpse of the Crown agent; "he 's the boy that doctored the jury list. Pancj' a jury chosen out of all Dublin, and not one Catholic ! As if that could be fair!" And then he named the different judges. " Look at that big-headed, pig-faced fellow on the right — that '3 Pennefathsr ! He 's the blackest sheep of the lot — and the head 12 THE KELLYS AND THE O'KELLYa. of them ! He 's a thoroughbred Tor5-, and as fit to be a judge as I am to be a general. That queer little fellow, with the long chin, he 's Burton — ho 's a hundred, if he 's a day — he was fifty when he was called, seventy when they benched him, and I 'm sure he 's a judge thirty years! Hut he 's the sharpest chap of the whole tweh-e, and no end of a boy afther the girls. If you only saw him walking in his robes — I 'm sure he 's not three feet high ! That next, with the skinny neck, he 's Crampton— ho 's one of Father Mathew's lads, an out and out teetotaller, and he looks it ; he 's a desperate cross fellow, sometimes ! The other one, you can't see, he 's Perrin. There, he 's leaning over — you can just catch the side of his face — he 's Perrin. It 's he '11 acquit the traversers av' anything does — he 's a fair fellow, is Perrin, and not a red hot thorough-going Tory like the rest of 'em." Here John was obliged to give over the instruction of his brother, being enjoined so to do by one of the heavy-hatted police- men in his front, who enforced his commands for silence, with a backward shove of his wooden truncheon, which came with rather unnecessary violence against the pit of John's stomach. The fear of being turned out made him for the nonce refrain from that vengeance of abuse which his education as a Dublin Jackeen well qualified him to inflict. But he put down the man's face in his retentive memory, and made up his mind to pay him oft'. And now the business of the day commenced. After some official delays and arrangements Shiel arose, and began his speech in defence of John O'Connell. It would be out of place here to give either liis words or his arguments ; besides, they have pro- bablv before this been read by all who would care to read them. When he commenced, his voice appeared, to those who were not accustomed to hear him, weak, piping, and most unfit for a popular orator ; but this effect was soon lost in the elegance of his lan- guage and the energy of his manner ; and, before he had been ten minutes on his legs, the disagreeable tone was forgotten, though it was sounding in the eager ears of every one in the Court. His speech was certainly brilliant, effective, and eloquent ; but it satisfied none that heard him, though it pleased all. It was neither a defence of the general conduct and politics of the party, such as O'Connell himself attempted in his own case, nor did it contain a chain of legal arguments to prove that John O'Connell, individually, had not been guilty of conspiracy, such as others of the counsel emploj'cd subsequentlj' in favour of their own clients. Shiel's speech was one of those numerous anomalies with which this singular trial was crowded ; and which together, showed the THE TRIAL. 13 great difficulty of coming to a legal decision on a political ques- tion, in a criminal court. Of this, the present day gave two specimens, which will not be forgotten ; when a Privy Councillor, a member of a former government, whilst defending his client as a barrister, proposed in Court a new sort of legislation for Ireland, equally distant from that adopted by Grovernment, and that sought to be established by him whom he was defending ; and when the traverser on his trial rejected the defence of his counsel, and declared aloud in Court, that he would not, by his silence, appear to agree in the suggestions then made. This spirit of turning the Court into a political debating arena extended to all present. In spite of the vast efforts made by them all, only one of the barristers employed has added much to his legal reputation by the occasion. Imputations were made, such as I presume were never before uttered by one lawyer against another in a court of law. An Attorney-General sent a challenge from his very seat of office ; and though that challenge was read in Court, it was passed over by four judges with hardly a reprimand. If any seditious speech was ever made by O'Connell, that which he made in his defence was especially so, and he was, without check, allowed to use his position as a traverser at the bar, as a rostrum from which to fulminate more thoroughly and publicly than ever, those doctrines for uttering which he was then being tried ; and, to crown it all, even the silent dignity of the bench was forgotten, and the lawyers pleading against the Crown were unhappily alluded to by the Chief Justice as the "gentlemen on the other side." Martin and John patiently and enduringly remained standing the whole day, till four o'clock; and then the latter had to effect his escape, in order to keep an appointment which he had made to meet Lord Ballindine. As they walked along the quays they both discussed the pro- ceedings of the day, and both expressed themselves positively cer- tain of the result of the trial, and of the complete triumph of O'Connell and his party. To these pleasant certainties Martin added his conviction, that Eepeal must soon follow so decided a victory, and that the hopes of Ireland would be realised before tha close of 1844. John was neither so sanguine nor so enthusiastic ; it was the battle, rather than the thing battled for, that was dear to him ; the strife rather than the result. He felt that it would be dull times in Dublin, when they should have no usurping Government to abuse, no Saxon Parliament to upbraid, no English laws to ridicule, and no Established Church to curse. The only thing which could reconcile him to immediate Eepeal, 14 THE EELLYS AND THE O'KELLYS. would be the probability of having then to contend for the election of an Irish Sovereign, and the possible dear delight which might follow, of Ireland going to war with England, in a national and becoming manner. Discussing these important measures, they reached the Dublin brother's lodgings, and Martin turned in to wash his face and hands, and put on clean boots, before he presented himself to hia landlord and patron, the young Lord Ballindine. CHAPTER II. THE TWO HEIEESSES. Eeancis John Mountmorris O'Kelly, Lord Viscount Ballindine, was twenty-four years of age when he came into possession of the Ballindine property, and succeeded to an Irish peerage as the third viscount ; and he is now twenty-six, at this time of O'Con- neU's trial. The head of the family had for many years back been styled " The O'Kelly," and had enjoyed much more local influence under that denomination, than their descendants had possessed, since they had obtained a more substantial though not a more respected title. The O'Kellys had possessed large tracts of not very good land, chiefly in County Bosoommon, but partly in Mayo and Galway. Their property had extended from Dunmore nearly to Roscommon, and again on the other side to Castlerea and Bally- haunis. But this had been in their palmy days, long, long, ago. ■When the government, in consideration of past services, in the year 1800, converted " The O'Kelly " into Viscount Ballindi -e, the family property consisted of the greater portion of the land lying between the villages of Dunmore and Ballindine. Their old residence, which the peer still kept up, was called Kelly's Court, and is situated in that coriier of County Roscommon which runs up between Mayo and Galway. The first lord lived long enough to regret his change of title, and to lament the increased expenditure with which he had thought it necessary to accompany his more elevated rank. His son succeeded, and showed in his character much more of the new- fangled viscount than of the ancient O'Kelly. His whole long life was passed in hovering about the English Court. From the time of his father's death, he never once put his foot in Ireland. He had been appointed, at different times from his youth upwards, THE TWO HEIRESSES. 15 Page, Gentleman in "Waiting, Usher of the Black Rod, Deputy Groom of the Stole, Chief Equerry to the Princess lloyal (which appointment only lasted till the princess was five years old), Lord Gold Stick, Keeper of the Royal Robes ; till, at last, he had cul- minated for ten halcyon years in a Lord of the Bedchamber. In the latter portion of his life he had grown too old for this, and it was reported at Ballindino, Dunmore, and Kelly's Court, — with how much truth I don't know, — that, since her Majesty's acces- sion, he had been joined with the spinster sister of a Scotch Marquis, and an antiquated English Countess, in the custody of the laces belonging to the Queen Dowager. This nobleman, publicly useful as his life had no doubt been, had done little for his own tenants, or his own property. On his father's death, he had succeeded to about three thousand a-year, and he left about one ; and he would have spent or mortgaged this, had he not, on his marriage, put it beyond his own power to do so. It was not only by thriftless extravagance that he thus destroyed a property which, with care, and without extortion, would have doubled its value in the thirty-five years during which it was in his hands ; but he had been afraid to come to Ireland, and had been duped by his agent. When he came to the title, Simeon Lynch had been recommended to him as a fit person to manage his property, and look after his interests ; and Simeon had manage it well in that manner most conducive to the prosperity of the person he loved best in the world ; and that was himself. When large tracts of land fell out of lease, Sim had represented that tenants could not be found — that the land was not worth cultivating — that the country was in a state which prevented the possibility of letting ; and, ultimately, put himself into possession, with a lease for ever, at a rent varying from half a crown to five shillings an acre. The courtier lord had one son, of whom he made a soldier, but who never rose to a higher rank than that of Captain. About a dozen years before the date of my story, the Honourable Captain O'Kelly, after numerous quarrels with the Right Honourable Lord of the Bedchamber, had, at last, come to some family settle- ment with him ; and, having obtained the power of managing the property himself, came over to live at his paternal residence of Kelly's Court. A very sorry kind of Court he found it, — neglected, dirty, and out of repair. One of the first retainers whom he met was Jack Kelly, the family fool. Jack was not such a fool as those who, of yore, were valued appendages to noble English establishments. He resembled them in nothing but his occasional wit. He was a 16 THE KELLtS AND THE o'KELtTS. dirty, barefooted, unshorn, ragged ruffian, who ate potatoes m the kitchen of the Court, and had never done a day's work in his life. Such as he was, however, he was presented to Captain O'Kelly, as "his honor the masther's fool." " So, you 're my fool, Jack, are ye ? " said the Captain. "Faix, I war the lord's fc-'i aiice; but I '11 no be anybody's fool but Sim Lynch's, now. I and the lord are both Sim's fools now. Not but I 'm first of the two, for I 'd never be fool enough to give away aU my land, av' my father 'd been wiss eii':iigh to lave m') any." Captain O'Kelly soon found out the manner in which the agent had managed his father's affairs. Simeon Lynch was dismissed, and proceedings at common law were taken against him, to break such of the leases as were thought, by clever attorneys, to have the ghost of a flaw in them. Money was borrowed from a Dublin house, for the purpose of carrying on the suit, paying off debts, and making Kelly's Court habitable ; and the estate was put into their hands. Simeon Lynch built himself a large staring house at Dunmore, defended his leases, set up for a country gentleman on his own account, and sent his only son, Barry, to Eton ; — merely because young O'Kelly was also there, and he was deter- mined to show that he was as rich and ambitious as the lord's family, whom he had done so much to ruin. Kelly's Court was restored to such respectability as could ever belong to so ugly a place. It was a large red stone mansion, standing in a demesne of very poor ground, ungifted by nature with any beauty, and but little assisted by cultivation or improve- ment. A belt of bald-looking firs ran round the demesne inside the dilapidated wall ; but this was hardly sufiicient to relievo the barren aspect of the locality. Fine trees there were none, and the race of O'Kellys had never been great gardeners. Captain O'Kelly was a man of more practical sense, or of better education, than most of his family, and he did do a good deal to humanise the place. He planted, tilled, manured, and improved ; he imported rose-trees and strawberry plants, and civilised Kelly's Court a little. But his reign was not long. He died about five years after he had begun his career as a country gentleman, leav- ing a widow and two daughters in Ireland ; a son at school at Eton ; and an expensive law-suit with numerous ramifications, all unsettled. Francis, the son, went to Eton and Oxford, was presented at Court by his grandfather, and came back to Ireland at twenty- two, to idle away his time till the old lord should die. Till this occurred, he could neither call himself the master of the placcj nor THE TWO HEIRESSES. 17 toKch the rents. In the mean time, the lawsuits were dropped, both parties having seriously injured their resourses, without either of them obtaining any benefit. Barry Lynch was recalled from his English education, where he had not shown off to any great credit ; and both he and his father were obliged to sit down prepared to make the best show they could on eight hundred pounds a-year, and to wage an underhand internecine war with the O'Keilys. Simeon and his son, however, did not live altogether alone. Anastasia Lynch was Barry's sister, and older than him by about ten years. Their mother had been a Eoman Catholic, whereas Sim was a Protestant ; and, in consequence, the daughter had been brought up in the mother's, and the son in the father'a religion. When this mother died, Simeon, no doubt out of respect to the memory of the departed, tried hard to induce his daughter to prove her religious zeal, and enter a nunnery ; but this, Anty, though in most things a docile creature, absolutely refused to do. Her father advised, implored, and threatened; but in vain ; and the poor girl became a great thorn in the side of both father and son. She had neither beauty, talent, nor attraction, to get her a husband ; and her father was determined not to encumber his already diminished property with such a fortune as would make her on that ground acceptable to any respectable suitor. Poor Anty led a miserable life, associating neither with supe- riors nor inferiors, and her own position was not sulEciently declared to enable her to have any equals. She was slighted by her father and the servants, and bullied by her brotlier; and was only just enabled, by an humble, unpresuming dispositiou, to carry on her tedious life from year to year without grumbliug. In the meantime, the ci-devant Black Hod, Gold Stick, Royal Equerry, and Lord of the Bedchamber, was called away from hia robes and his finery, to give an account of the manner in which he had renounced the pomps and vanities of this wicked world ; and Frank became Lord Balliudine, with, as I have before said, an honourable mother, two sisters, a largo red house, and a thousand a-year. He was not at all a man after the pattern of his grand- fatlier, but he appeared as little likely to redeem the old fauiily acres. He seemed to be a reviving chip of the old block of the O'Keilys. During the two years he had been living at Kelly's Court as Frank O'Kelly, he had won the hearts of all the tenants —of all those who would have been tenants if tlio property had not been sold, and who still looked up to him as their " raal young masther" — aad of the whole country round. The " thrue dhrop 18 THE ICELLTS AND THE o'KELLYS. of tlie ould blood," was in hia veins ; and, whatever faults he might have, he wasn't likely to waste his time and his cash with furs, laces, and hangings. This was a great comfort to the neighbourhood, winch had learned heartily to despise the name of " Lord Ballindine ; " and Frank was encouraged in shooting, hunting, racing— in preparing to be a tliorough Irish gentleman, and in determining to make good the prophecies of his friends, that he would be, at last, one more " raal O'Kelly to brighthen the counthry." And if he could have continued to be Frank O'Kelly, or even " the O'Kelly," he would probably have done well enough, for he was fond of his mother and sisters, and he might have continued to hunt, shoot, and farm on his remaining property without further encroaching on it. But the title was sure to be his ruin. When he felt himself to be a lord, he could not be content with the simple life of a country gentleman ; or, at any rate, without taking the lead in the country. So, as soon as the old man was buried, he bought a pack of harriers, and despatched a couple of race-horses to the skilful hands of old Jack Igoe, the Curragh trainer. Frank was a very handsome fellow, full six feet high, with black hair, and jet-black silky whiskers, meeting under his chin — the men said he dyed them, and the women declared he did not. I am inclined, myself, to think he must have done so, they were so very black. He had an eye like a hawk, round, bright, and bold ; a mouth and chin almost too well formed for a man ; and that kind of broad forehead which conveys rather the idea of a gene- rous, kind, open-hearted disposition, than of a deep mind or a commanding intellect. Frank was a very handsome fellow, and be knew it ; and when he commenced so many ill-authorised expenses immediately on his grandfather's death, he consoled himself with the idea, that with his person and rank, he would soon be able, by some happy matri- monial speculation, to make up for what he wanted in wealth. And he had not been long his own master, before he met with the lady to whom he destined the honour of doing so. He had, however, not properly considered his own disposition, when he determined upon looking out for great wealth ; and on disregarding other qualifications in his bride, so that he obtained that in sufficient quantity. He absolutely fell in love with Fanny Wyndham, though her twenty thousand pounds was felt by him to be hardly enough to excuse him in doing so, — certainly not enough to malce his doing so an accomplishment of his prudential resolutions. What would twenty thousand pounds do toward* ¥BtE TWO HEIRESSES. 19 clearing the O'Kelly property, and establishing himself in a manner and style fitting for a Lord Ballindine ! However, ho did propose to her, was accepted, and the match, after many difS- culties, was acceded to by the lady's guardian, the Earl of Cashel. It was stipulated, however, that the marriage should not take place till the lady was of age ; and at the time of the bargain, she wanted twelve months of that p-eriod of universal discretion. Lord Cashel had added, in his prosy, sensible, aristocratic lecture on the subject to Lord Ballindine, that he trusted that, during the interval, considering their united limited income, his lordship would see the wisdom of giving up his hounds, or at any rate of withdrawing from the turf. Frank pooh-poohed at the hounds, said that horses cost nothing in Connaught, and dogs less, and that he could not well do there without them ; but promised to turn in his mind what Lord Cashel had said about the turf; and, at last, went so far as to say that when a good opportunity offered of backing out, he would part with Finn M'Coul and GranueU — as the two nags at Igoe's were patriotically denominated. They continued, however, appearing in the Curragh lists in Lord Ballindine's name, as a part of Igoe's string ; and running for Queen's whips, Wellingtons and Madrids, sometimes with good and sometimes with indifferent success. While their noble owner, when staying at Grey Abbey, Lord Cashel's magnihcent seat near KilcuUen, spent too much of his time (at least so thought the earl and Fanny Wyndbam) in seeing them get their gallops, and in lecturing the grooms, and being lectured by Mr. Igoe. Nothing more, however, could be done; and it was trusted that when the day of the wedding should come, he would be found minus the animals. What, however, was Lord Cashel's surprise, when, after an absence of two months from Grey Abbey, Lord Ballindine declared, in the earl's presence, with an air of ill- assumed carelessness, that he had been elected one of the stewards of the Curragh, in the room of Walter Blake, Esq., who had retired in rotation from that honourable oiEce ! The next morning the earl's chagrin was woefully increased by his hearing that that very valuable and promising Derby colt, Brien Boru, now two years old, by Sir Hercules out of Eloisa, had been added to hia lord- ship's lot. Lord Cashel felt that he could not interfere, further than by remarking that it appeared his young friend was determined to ieave the turf with eclat; and Fanny Wyndham could only be silent and reserved for one evening. This occurred about four TOonths before the commencement of my tale, and about fiva 30 THE KELLYS AND TI£E O'KELLYS. before the period fised for the marriage ; but, at the time at which Lord Ballindine will be introduced in person to the reader, he had certainly made no improvement in his manner of going on. ^ Ho had, during this period, received from Lord Cashel a letter inti- mating to him that his lordship thought some further postpone- ment advisable ; that it was as well not to fix an}' day ; and that, though bis lordship would always be welcome at Grey Abbey, when, his personal attendance was not required at the Curragh, it was better that no correspondence by letter should at present be carried on between him and Miss Wyudham ; and that Miss Wyndham herself perfectly agreed in the propriety of these suggestions. Now Grey Abbey was only about eight miles distant from the Curragh, and Lord Ballindine had at one time been in the habit of staying at his' friend's mansion, during the period of his attend- ance at the race-course ; but since Lord Casliel had shown an entire absence of interest in the doings of Finn M'Coul, and Fanny had ceased to ask after Granuell's cough, he had discon- tinued doing so, and haa spent much of his time at his friend Walter Blake's residence at the Curragh. Now, Handicap Lodge offered much more dangerous quarters for him than did Grey Abbey. In the meantime, his friends in Connaught were delighted at the prospect of his bringing home a bride. Fanny's twenty thousand were magnified to fifty, and the capabilities even of fifty were greatly exaggerated ; besides, the connection was so good a one, so exactly the thing for the O' Kelly s ! Lord Cashel was one of the first resident noblemen in Ireland, a representative peer, a wealthy man, and possessed of great influence ; not unlikely to be a cabinet minister if the Whigs came in, and able to shower down into Connaught a degree of patronage, such as had never yet warmed that poor unfriended region. And Fanny Wj'ndham was not only his lordship's ward, but his favourite niece also ! The match was, in ever''' way, a good one, and greatly pleasing to all the Kellys, whether with an O or without, for " shure they wera all the one family." Old Simeon Lynch and his son Barry did not participate in the general joy. They had calculated that their neighbour was on the high road to ruin, and that he would soon have nothing but his coronet left. They could not, therefore, bear the idea of his making so eligi't^e a match. They had, moreover, had domestic dissensions to disturb the peace of Dunmore House. Simeon had insisted on Barry's taking a farm into hia own hands, and looking after it- f^'.nf had declared his inability to do so, and had neaxlj THE TWO HEIRESSES. 31 Mtrified the old man by expressing a -ivish to go to Paris. Then, Barry's debts had showered in, and Simeon had pledged himself not to pay them. Simeon had threatened to disinherit Barry; and Barry had called his father a d— d obstinate old fool. These quarrels had got to the ears of the neighbours, and it was being calculated that, in the end, Barry would get the best of the battle ; when, one morning, the war was brought to an end by a fit of apoplexy, and the old man was found dead in his chair. And then a terrible blow fell upon the sou ; for a recent will was found in the old man's desk, dividing his property equally, and witliout any other specification, between Barry and Anty. This was a dreadful blow to Barry. He consulted with his friend MoUoy, the attorney of Tuaiii, as to the validity of the document and the power of breaking it ; but in vain. It was properly attested, though drawn up in the old man's own hand- writing ; and his sister, whom he looked upon but as little better than a head maid-servant, had not only an equal right to all the property, but was equally mistress of the house, the money at the bank, the wine in the cellar, and the very horses in the stable ! This was a hard blow ; but Barry was obliged to bear it. At first, he showed his ill-humour plainly enough in his treatment of his sister ; but he soon saw that this was folly, and that, though her quiet disposition prevented her from resenting it, such con- duct would drive her to marry some needy man. Then he began, ■with an ill grace, to try what coaxing would do. He kept, how- ever, a sharp watch on all her actions ; and on once hearing that, in his absence, the two Kelly girls from the hotel had been seen walking with her, he gave her a long lecture on what was due to her own dignity, and the memory of her departed parents. He made many overtures to her as to tlie division of the pro- perty ; but, easy and humble as Anty was, she was careful enough to put her name to nothing that could injure her rights. They had divided the money at the banker's, and she had once rather startled Barry by asking him for his moiety towards paying the butcher's bill ; and his dismay was completed shortly afterwards by being informed, by a steady old gentleman in Dunmore, whom he did not like a bit too well, that he had been appointed by Miss Lynch to m.anage her business and receive her rents. As soon as it could be decently done, after his father's burial, Barry took himself off to Dublin, to consult his friends there as to what he should do ; but he soon returned, determined to put a bold face on it, and come to some understanding with his sister. lie first proposed to her to go and live in Dubhn, but she said she preferred Dunmore. He then t'^ed of selling the house, 82 tHE EELIiYS AND THE O'KELLYS. tind to this she agreed. He next tried to borrow money for the payment of his debts ; on which she referred him to the steady old man. Though apparently docile and obedient, sbe would not put herself in his hands, nor would her agent allow him to take any unfair advantage of her. TVliilst this was going on, our friend Martin Kelly had set hia eye upon the prize, and, by means of his sister's intimacy with Anty, and his own good looks, had succeeded in obtaining from her half a promise to become his wife. Anty had but little innate respect for gentry ; and, though she feared her brotlier's dis- pleasure, she felt no degradation at the idea of uniting herself to a man in Martin Kelly's rank. She could not, however, be brousrht to tell her brother openly, and declare her determination; and Martin had, at length, come to the conclusion that he must carry her off, before delay and unforeseen changes might either alter her mind, or enable her brother to entice her out of the country. Thus matters stood at Punmore when Martin Kelly started for Dublin, and at the time when he was about to wait on his patron at Morrison's hotel. Both Martin and Lord Ballindine (and they were related in Bome distant degree, at least so always said the Kellys, and I never knew that the O'Kellys denied it) — both the young men were, at the time, anxious to get married, and both with the same somewhat mercenary views; and I have fatigued the reader with the long history of past affairs, in order to imbue him, if possible, with some interest in the ways and means which they both adopted to accomplish their objects. CHAPTEE III. morejson's hotel. At about fire o'clock on the evening of the day of Sheil's speech. Lord Balhndine and his friend, "Walter Blalte, were lounging on different sofas in a room at Morrison's Hotel, before they went up to dress for dinner. "Walter Blake was an effemi. nate-looking, slight-made man, about thirty or thirty-three years of age; good looking, and gentlemanlike, but presenting quite a contrast in his appearance to his friend Lord Ballindine. He had a cold quiet grey eye, and a thin lip ; and. thoLuxh he was in MOERISON S HOTEL. S3 reality a mucli cleverer, he was a much less engaging man. Yet Blake could be very amusing ; but he rather laughed at people than with them, and when there were more than two in company, he would usually be found making a butt of one. Nevertheless, his society was greatly sought after. On matters connected with racing, his word was infallil)le. He rode boldly, and always rode good horses ; and, though he was anything but rich, he managed to keep up a comfortable snuggery at the Curragh, and to drink the very best claret that Dublin could procure. AValter Blake was a finished gambler, and thus it was, that with about six hundred a year, he managed to live on equal terms with the richest around him. His father, Laurence Blake of Castle blakeney, in County Galwaj-, was a very embarrassed man, of good property, strictly entailed, and, when Walter came o*;' age, he and his father, who could never be happy in the same house, though possessing in most things similar tastes, had made such a dis- position of the estate, as gave the father a clear though narrowed income, and enabled the son at once to start into the world, with- out waiting for his father's death; though, by so doins;, he greatly lessened the property which he must otherwise have inherited. Blake was a thorough gambler, and knew well how to make tlie most of the numerous chances which the turf afl'orded him. He had a large stud of horses, to the training and working of which he attended almost as closely as the person whom he paid for doing so. But it was in the betting-ring that he was most formid- able. It was said, in Kildare Street, that no one at Tattersall's could beat hun at a book. He had latterly been trying a wider field than the Curragh supplied him, and had, on one or two occasions, ran a horse in England with such success, as had placed him, at any rate, quite at tiie top of the Irish sporting tree. He was commonly called ' Dot Blake,' in consequence of his having told one of his friends that the cause of his, the friend's, losing so much money on the turf, was, that he did not mind ' the dot and carry on ' part of the business ; meaning thereby, that he did not attend to the necessary calculations. For a short time after giving this piece of friendly caution, he had been nick-named, ' Dot and carry on ' ; but that was too long to last, and he had now for some years been known to every sporting man in Ireland as ' Dot ' Blake. This man was at present Lord Ballindine's most intimate friend, and he could hardly have selected a more dangerous one. They were now going down together to Handicap Lodge, though there was nothing to be done in the way of racing, for months to come. Yet Blake knew his business too well to suppose that his pr'^ ti^^A.d'n J«4 24 THE EELLTS A1*I> THE o'eELLYS. was necessary only when the horses were running ; and he easily persuaded his friend that it was equally important that he should go and see that it was all right with the Derby colt. They were talking almost in the dark, on these all-absorbing topics, when the waiter knocked at the door and informed them that a young man named Kelly wished to see Lord Ballindine. " Show him up," said Prank. " A tenant of mine. Dot ; one of the respectable few of that cattle, indeed, almost the only one that I 've got ; a sort of sub-agent, and a fifteenth cousin, to boot, I believe. I am going to put him to the best use I know for such respectable fellows, and that is, to get him to borrow money for me." "And he'll charge you twice as much for it, and make three times as much bother about it, as the fellows in the next street who have your title-deeds. When I want lawyer's business done, I go to a lawyer ; and when I want to borrow money, I go to my own man of business ; he makes it his business to find money, and he daren't rob me more than is decent, fitting, and customary, because he has a character to lose." "Those fellows at Guinness's make such a fuss about every- thing ; and I don't put my nose into that little back room, but what every word I say, by some means or other, finds its way down to Grey Abbey." " Well, Frank, you know your own affairs best ; but I don't think you '11 make money by bemg afraid of your agent ; or your wife's guardian, if she is to be your wife." ■'Afraid, man ? I 'm as much afraid of Lord Cashel as you are. I don't think I 've shown myself much afraid ; but I don't choose to make him my guardian, just when he 's ceasing to be hers ; nor do I wish, just now, to break with Grey Abbey altogether." " Do you mean to go over there from the Curragh next week ? " " I don't think I shall. They don't like me a bit too well, when I 've the smell of the stables on me." " There it is, again. Prank ! What is it to you what Lord Cashel likes ? If you wish to see Miss Wyndham, and if the heavy-pated old Don doesn't mean to close his doors against you, what business has he to inquire where you came from ? I suppose he doesn't like me a bit too well; but you're not weak enough to be afraid to say that you 've been at Handicap Lodge ? " " The truth is. Dot, I don't think I '11 go to Grey Abbey at all, till Fanny 's of age. She only wants a month of it now ; and then I can meet Lord Cashel in a business way, as one man should meet another." -" I can't for the life of me," said Blake. " make out what it ia ■^iat hag set that old fellow so strong against horses. He won the MORRISON S HOTEL. 25 Oal;s twice himself, and that not so very Ions; ago; and his own eon, Iviicullcn, is deeper a good de.il on the turf tliau I am, and, by a long cliaik less likely to pull through, as I take it. But here 's the Connaught man on the stairs, — I could swear to Gralway by the tread of his foot ! " — and Martin knocked at the door, and walked in. " Well, Kelly," said Lord Ballindine, " how does Dublin agree with you ? " And, " I hope I see your lordship well, my lord ? " Baid Martin. " How are they all at Dunmore and Kelly's Court ? " ""Why thin, they 're all well, my lord, except Sim Lynch — and he 's dead. But your lordship '11 have heard that." " What, old Simeon Lynch dead ! " said Blake, " well then, bhere 's promotion. Peter Mahon, that was the agent at Castle- blakeney, is now the biggest rogue alive in Connaught." " Don't swear to that," said Lord Ballindine. " There 's some of Sim's breed still left at Dunmore. It wouldn't be easy to beat Barry, would it, Kelly ? " " Why then, I don't know; I wouldn't like to be saying S-gainst the gentleman's friend that he spoke of; and doubtless I:-.^ honor knows him well, or he ^'onldn't aay so much of him." " Indeed I do," said Blake. " I never give a man a good character till I know he deserves it. Well, Frank, I '11 go and dress, and leave you and Mr. Kelly to your business," and he left the room. "I'm sorry to hear you speak so hard agin Mr. Barry, my lord," began Martin. " May-be he mayn't be so bad. Not but that he 's a cross-grained piece of timber to dale with." " And why should you be sorry I 'd speak against him ? There 's not more friendship, I suppose, between you and Barry Lynch now, than there used to be ? " " Why, not exactly frindship, my lord; but I 've my rasons why I 'd wish you not to belittle the Lynches. Tour lordship might forgive them all, now the old man 's dead." " Forgive them ! — indeed I can, and easily. I don't know I ever did any of them an injury, except when I thrashed Barry at Eton, for calling himself the son of a gentleman. But wh;it makes you stick up fer them ? Tou 're not going to marry the daughter, are you ? " Martin blushed up to his forehead as his landlord thus hit the nail on the head ; but, as it was dark, his blushes couldn't ba Been. So, after dangling his hat about for a minute, and standing first on one foot, and theK on the other, he tov4£ courage, an^ answered. 26 THE KELLYS AND THE O KELLTS. " Well, Mr. Frank, that is, your lordship, I mane— I b'lievu I might do worse." '' Bodv and soul, man ! " exclaimed the other, jumping from lii? recumbent position on the sofa, "Tou don't mean to tell me you 're going to marry Anty I;ynch ? " " In course not," answered Martin ; " av' your lordship objects." " Object, man !— How the devil can I object ? Why, she 's si hundred a year, hasn't she ? " " About four, my lord, I think 's nearest the mark." " Four hundred a year ! And I don't suppose you owe a penny in the world ! " " Not much — unless the last gale to your lordship — and we never pay that till next May." " And so you 're going to marry Anty Lynch ! " again repeated Frank, as though he couldn't bring himself to realise the idea ; "and now, IMartin, tell me all about it, — how the devil you managed it — when it's to come off — and how you and Bariy mean to hit it off together when you 're brothers. I suppose 1 '11 lose a good tenant any way ? ' ' " Not av' I 'm a good one, you won't, with my consent, my lord." " Ah ! but it '11 be Anty's consent, now, you know. She mayn't like Toueroe. But tell me all about it. What put it into vour head?" " AVhy, my lord, you run away so fast ; one can't tell you any- thing. I didn't say I was going to marry her — at laist, not for certain — I only said I might do worse." " Well then ; are you going to marry her, or rather, is she going to marry you, or is she not ? " "Why, 1 don't know. I'll tell your lordship just how it is. Tou know when old Sim died, my lord ? " " Of course I do. Why, I was at Kelly's Court at the time." " So you were, my lord ; I was forgetting. But you went away again immediately, and didn't hear how Barry tried to come round his sisther, when he heard how the will went; and how he tried to break the will and to chouse her out of the money." " Why, this is the very man you wouldn't let me call a rogue, a minute or two ago ! " " Ah, my lord! that was just before sthrangers ; besides, its no nse calliuff one's own neople bad names. Not that he belongs to me yet, and maybe neTor will. But, between you and I, he is a rogue, and his father's son every inch of him." " Well, Martin, I '11 remember. I 'U not abuse him when he 's your brother-in-law. But how did you. get round the sister ?— That 's the question." moertson's hotel. 27 " "Well, my lord, I '11 tell you. You know tliere was al Trays a kind of frindsliip between Anty and the girls at home, and they set her up to going to old jNIovlan — he that receives the rents on young Barron's property, away at Strype. Moylan's uncle to Flaherty, that married mother's sister. Well, she went to him — be 's a kind of oiEce at Dunmore, my lord." " Oh, I know him and his of&ce ! He knows the value of a name at the back of a bit of paper, as well as any one." " May-be he does, my lord ; but he 's an honest old fellow, is Moylan, and manages a little for mother." " Oh, of course he 's honest, Martin, because he belongs to you. You know Barry's to be an honest chap, then." " And that 's what he niver will be the longest day he lives ! But, however, Iiloylan got her to sign all the papers; and, when Barry was out, he went and took an inventhory to the house, and made out everything square and right, and you may be sure Barry 'd have to get up very 'arly before he 'd come round him. Well, after a little, the ould chap came to me one morning, and asked me all manner of questions — whether I knew Anty Lynch? whether we didn't used to be great friends ? and a lot more. I never minded him much ; for though I and Anty used to speak, and she 'd dhrank tay on the sly with us two or three times before her father's death, I 'd never thought much about her." " INTor wouldn't now, Martin, eh ? if it wasu't for the old man's wiU." " In course I wouldn't, my lord. I won't he denyini^ it. But, on the other hand, I wouldn't marry her now for all her money, av' I didn't mane to trate her well. Well, my lord, after beating about the bush for a long time, the ould thief popped it out, and told me that he thought Anty 'd be all the betther for a husband ; and that, av' I was wanting a wife, be b'lieved I might suit myself now. Well, I thought of it a little, and tould him I 'd take the hint. The next day he comes to me again, all the way down to Toneroe, where I was walking the big grass-field by myself, and be^an saying that, as he was Anty's agent, of course he wouldn't see her wronged. ' Quite right, Mr. Moylan,' says I ; ' and, as I mane to be her husband, I won't see her wronged neither.' ' Ah ! bnt,' says he, ' I mane that I must see her property properly settled.' ' Why not ? ' says I, ' and isn't the best way for her to marry ? and then, you know, no one can schame her out of it. There 's lots of them schamers about now,' says I. ' That 'a thrue for you,' says he, 'and they're not far to look for,' — and that was thrue, too, my lord, for he and I were both schaming about poor Anty's money at that moment. 'Well,' says he, .28 THE ICELLi'3 AND THE O KELLVR. eftber walking on a little, quite quiet, ' av' you war to mstTy her.' — ' Ob, I 've made up my mind about that, Mr. 3Ioylan,' says L ' Well, av' it sbould come to pass that you do marry ber — of Jburse you'd expect to have the money settled on herself? ' 'In course I would, when I die,' says I. ' iN'o, but,' says he, 'at once: wouldn't it be enough for you to have a warm roof over your head, and a leg of mutton on the table every day, and no work to do for it ? ' and so, my lord, it came out that the money was to be settled on herself, and that he was to be her agent." " Well, Martin, after that, I think you needn't go to Sim Lynch, or Barry, for the biggest rogues in Connaught — to be settling the poor girl's money between you that way! " " Well, but listen, my lord, I gave in to the ould man ; that 58, I made no objection to his scbame. But I was determijied, av' I ever did marry Anty Lynch, that I would be agent and owner too, myself, as long as I lived; though in course it was but right that they should settle it so that av' I died first, the poor crature shouldn't be out of her money. But I didn't let on to him about all that ; for, av' he was angered, the ould fool might perhaps spoil the game ; and I knew av' Anty married me at all, it 'd bo for liking; and av' iver I got on the soft side of her, I'd soon be able to manage matthers as I plazed, and ould Moylan 'd soon find his best game 'd be to go asy." " Upon my soul, Martin, I think you seem to have been the sharpest rogue of the two ! Is there an honest man in Connaught at all, I wonder P " " I can't say rightly, just at present, my lord ; but there 'U be two, plaze God, when I and your lordship are there." " Thank ye, Kelly for the compliment, and especially for the good company. But let me hear how on eartli you ever got face enough to go up and ask Anty Lynch to marry you." " Oh ! — a little soft sawther did it ! I wasn't long in puttin"' my com'ether on her when I once began. Well, my lord, irora that day out — from afther Moylan's visit, you know — I began really to think of it. I 'm sure the ould robber meant to have asked for a wapping sum of money down, for his good will in the bargain ; but when he saw me he got afeard." " He was another honest man, just now ! " " Only among sthrangers, my lord. I b'lieve he 'a a far-off cousinof your own, and I woulda't like to spake ill of the blood." " God forbid ! But go on, Kelly." " Well, so, from that out, I began to think of it in arnest. The Lord forgive me ! but my first thoughts was how I 'd like to pull down Barry Lynch; and my second that I'd r^n 'l^maRg MORRISON S HOTEL. yp myself by marrying the sisther of such an out-ftnd-oufc riifTi?.!!, niid that it, wouldn't bucome me to live on the money that 'd been got by chating your lordship's grandfather." 'My loidship's grandfather ought to have looked after th:it lilm- self. If those are all your scruples they needn't sticii in yjui throat liiucii." " I said as much as that to myself, too. So I soon -n-enl to work. I was rather shy about it at first; but the girls helped ive. I'hey put it into her head, I think, before I mentioned it at r.ii Howc'ver, by degrees, I asked her plump, whether she'd any njind to be Mrs. Kelly ? and, though she didn't say 'yes,' she didn't say 'no.'" " But how the devil, man, did you manage to get at her ? I 'in fold Barry watches her like a dragon, ever since he read his lather's will." " He couldn't watch her so close, but what she could make her wa}' down to mother's shop now and again. Or, for the matter of that, but what I could make my way up to the house." "That's true, for what need she mind Barry, now? She may marry whom she pleases, and needn't tell him, imless -il-v; likes, until the priest has his book ready." "Ah, my lord ! but there's the rub. She is afraid of Barry; and though she didn't say so, she Avon't agree to tell hii.ri, or "to let me tell him, or just to let the priest walk into tl\e houne with- out telling him. She's fond of Barry, though, for the Jile of me, I can't see what there is in him for anybody to be Ibnd of. He and his father led her the divil's own lite mewed up tliere, because she wouldn't be a nun. But still she is both fond and afraid of him ; and, though I don't think she '11 marry anybody else — al laist not yet awhile, I don't think she '11 ever get courage to marry me — at any rate, not in the ordiuary way." " Why then, Martiu, you must do something extraordinary, J Buppo:-e." '■ Tiiat 's just it, my lord ; and what I wanted was, to ask _\ our lord.ship's adi'ice and sanction, like." " Sanction ! Why I shouldn't think yon 'd want ajiybodv'a sanction for marrying a wife with four hundred a-year. But, if at ■ anything to you, I can assure you I approve of it.' " Thank you, my lord. Tliat 's liuid.' " To tell the truth," continued Lord Ballindine, "I 've a liltlo of your own first feeling. I 'd be glad of it, if it were only for tl.e rise it would take out of my schoolfellow, Bariy. A'ot but that I think you 're a deal too good to be his brother-in-law. And you know, KeUy, or ought to know, that I 'd be heartily glad of 30 THE KELLYS AND THE o'kELLYS. an)'thing for your own welfare. So, I 'd advise you to hammer away while the iron 's liot, as the saying is." " That 's just what I'm coming to. What'd your lordship advise me to do ? " "Advise you? Why, you must know best yourself how the matter stands. Talk her over, and make her tell Barry." " Divil a tell, my lord, in her. She wouldn't do it iu a month of Sundays." " Then do you tell him, at once. I suppose you 're not afraid of him?" " She 'd niver come to the scratch, av' T did. He 'd bully the life out of her, or get her out of the counthry some way." " Then wait till his back 's turned for a month or ao. When he 'a out, let the priest walk in, and do the matter quietly that way." " AVell, I thought of that myself, my lord ; but he 's as wary aa ■ a weazel, and 1 'm afeard he smells something in the wind There's that blackguard Moylan, too, he'd be telling Barry— and would, when he came to find things weren't to be settled as he intended." " Then you must carry her off, and marry her up here, or in Galway or down in Connemara, or over at Liverpool, or any where you please." " Now you 've hit it, ray lord. That 's just what I 'm thinking myself. Unless I take her off Gretna Green fashion, I '11 never get her." " Then why do you want my advice, if you 've made up your mind to that ? I think you 're quite right ; and what 's more, I think yo-u ought to lose no time in doing it. Will she go, do you thiuk?" " Why, with a little talking, I think she will." " Then what are you losing your time for, man ? Hurry down, and off with her! I think l)ublin 's probably your best ground." " Then you think, my lord, I'd betther do it at once ? " " Of course, I do ! What is there to delay you ? " "Why, you see, my lord, the poor girl's as good as got no friends, and 1 wouldn't like it to be thought in the counthry, I 'd taken her at a disadvantage. It 's thrue enough in one waj', I 'm marrying her for the money ; that is, in course, I wouldn't marrv her without it. And I tould her, out open, before her face, and before the girls, that, av' she 'd ten times as much, I wouldn't marry her unless I was to be masther, as long as I lived, of every- thing in my own house, like another man ; and I think she liked me the betther for it. But, for all that, I wouldn't like to catcb her up without having something fair done by the property," MOERI son's hotel. ' The lawyers, Martin, can manage that, afterwards. When she's once Mrs. Kelly, you can do what you like about tha fortune." " That 's tbrue, my lord. But I wouldn't like the bad name I 'd get through the counthry av' I whisked her oft" without letting her settle anything. They'd be saying I robbed her, whether I did or no : and when a thing 's once said, it 'a difficult to unsay it. The like of me, my lord, can't do things like you noblemen and gentry. Besides, mother 'd never forgive me. They think, down there, that poor Anty 'a simple lilie ; tho' she 's cute enough, av' they knew her. I wouldn't, for all the money, wish it should be said that j\Iartin Kelly ran off with a fool, and robbed her. Barry 'd be making her out a dale more simple than she is ; and, altogether, my lord, I wouldn't like it." " Well, Martin, perhaps you're right. At any rate you're on the right side. What ia it then you think of doing P " " Why, I was thinking, my lord, av' I could get some lawver here to draw up a deed, just settling all Anty'a property on her- self when I die, and on her children, av' she has any, — so that I couldn't spend it you know; she could sign it, and so could I, before we started ; and then I 'd feel she'd been iraited aa well as tho' she 'd all the friends in Connaught to her back." " And a great deal better, probably. Well, Martin, I 'ra no lawyer, but I should think there 'd not be much difficulty about that. Any attorney could do it." "But I'd look so quare, my lord, walking into a sthranger's room and explaining what I wanted — all about the running away and everything. To bo sure there's my brother John's people; they 're attorneys ; but it 's about robberies, and hanging, and such things they're most engaged; and I was thinking, av' your lordship wouldn't think it too much throuble to give me a line to your own people ; or, may-be, you'd say a word to them explain- ing what I want. It 'd be the greatest favour in life." " I '11 tell you what J '11 do, Kelly. I '11 go with you, to-morrow, to Mr. Blake's lawyers — that 's my friend that was sitting here — and I 've no doubt we '11 get the matter settled. The Guinnesses, you know, do all my business, and they 're not lawj'ers." " Long life to your lordship, and that's just like yourself! I knew you'd stick by me. And shall I call on you to-morrow, my lord ? aud at what time ? " " Wait ! here 's Mr. Blake. I '11 ask him, and you might as well meet me there. Grey and Forrest's the name; it 's in Clara Street, I think." Here Mr. Blake again entered the room. '-' What! " said he; "isn't your business over yet, Ballindine ? 3:^ THE KELLTS AND THE o'kELLYS. I suppose I 'tn ie trop then. Only mind, dinner 's ordered for half past six, and it 's that now, and you 're not dressed yet ! " "Tou 're not de trop, and I was jast wanting you. We're all friends here, KeWj, you know; and you needn't mind my telling Mr. Blake, liere 's this fellow going to elope with an heiress from Connaught, and he wants a decently honest lawyer first." "I should have thought," said Blake, "that an indecently dishonest clergyman would have suited him better under those circumstances." " May-be he '11 want that, too, and I 've no doubt you can recommend one. But at present he wants a lawyer; and, as I have none of my own, I think Forrest would serve his turn." " I 've always found Mr. Porrest ready to do anything in the way of his profession — for money." "No, but — he 'd draw up a deed, wouldn't he, Blake ? It 's a sort of a marriage settlement." " Oh, he 's quite at home at that work ! He drew up five, for my five sisters, and thereby ruined my father's property, and my prospects." " Well, he 'd see me to-morrow, wouldn't he ? " said Lord Ballindine. " Of course he would. But mind, we 're to be ofi" early. We ought to be at the Curragh, by three." " I suppose 1 could see him at ten ? " said his lordship. It was then settled that Blake should write a line to the lawyer, mforming him that Lord Ballindine wished to see him, at hia office, at ten o'clock the next morning ; it was also agreed that Martin should meet him there at that hour; and Kelly took his leave, much relieved on the subject nearesc his heart. " AVell, Frank," said Blake, as soon as the door was closed, "and have you got the money you wanted ? " " Indeed I 've not, then." " And why not ? If your protege is going to elope with an heiress, he ought to have money at command." " And so he will, and it '11 be a great temptation to me to know where I can get it so easily. But he was telling me all about this woman before I thought of my own concerns — and I didn't like to be talking to him of what I wanted myself, when he 'd been asking a favour of me. It would be too much like looking for payment." " There, you *re wrong ; fair barter is the truest and honestest system, all the world over,. — ' Ca me, ca thee,' as the Scotch call it, is the best system to go by. I never do, or ask. a favour ; MOKEISON S HOTEL. 83 that is, for whatever I do, I expect a return ; and for whatever I get, I intend to make one." "I'll get the money from Guiness. After all, that '11 be the best, and as you say, the cheapest." " There you 're right. His business is to lend money, and he 'U lend it you as long as you've means to repay it; and I 'm sure no Connaught man will do more — that is, if I know them." " I suppose he will, but heaven only knows how long that '11 be ! " and the young lord threw himself back on the sofa, as if lie thought a little meditation would do him good. However, very little seemed to do for him, for he soon roused himself, and said, " I wonder how the devil, Dot, you do without borrowing ? My income 's larger than yours, bad as it is ; I 've only tliree liorses in training, and you 've, I suppose, above a dozen; and, take the year through, I don't entertain half the fellows at Kelly's Court that you do at Handicap Lodge ; and yet, I never hear of your borrowing money." " There 's many reasons for that. In the first place, I haven't an estate ; in the second, I haven't a mother ; in the third, I haven't a pack of hounds; in the fourth, I haven't a title; and, in the fifth, no one would lend me money, if I asked it." "As for the estate, it 's devilish little I spend on it ; as for my mother, she has her own jointure; as for the hounds, they eat my own potatoes ; and as for the title, 1 don't support it. But I haven't your luck. Dot. Tou 'd never want for money, though the mint broke." " Very likely I mayn't when it does ; but I 'm likely to be poor enough till that happy accident occurs. But, as far as luck goes, you 've liad more than me ; you won nearly as much, in stakes, aa I did, last autumn, and your stable expenses weren't much above a quarter what mine were. But, the truth is, I manage better ; I ivnow where my money goes to, and you don't ; I work hare, and j'ou don't ; I spend my money on what 's necessary to my style of living, you spend yours on what 's not necessary. AVhat the deuce have the fellows in IMayo and lioscommon done for you, that you should mount two or three rascals, twice a-week, to show them sport, when you 're not tliere yourself two months in the season ? I suppose you don't keep the horses and men for nothing, if you do the dogs ; and I much doubt whether they 'm not the deai-cst part of the bargain." '• Of course they cost something ; but it's the on]}' tiling I can do for the country ; and there were always hounds at Kelly'n Court till my grandfather got the property, and they looked upoa him as no better than an old woman, because he gave them up, TSE KELLYS AND THE O'KELLYS. IBsBides, I suppose I shall be livinp; at Kelly's Court soon, Altogether, and I could never get on then without hounds. It 's bad enough, as it is." " I liaven't a doubt in the world it 's bad enough. I know what Castleblafceuey is. But I doubt your living there. I 'vo no doubt you'll try; that is, if you do marry Miss Wyndham ; but she '11 be sick of it in three months, and yoa in six, and you 'I! go and live at Paris, Eiorence, or Naples, and there '11 be anotho? end of the O'Kellys, for thirty or forty years, as far as Ireland 's soncerned. You '11 never do for a poor country lord ; you 're not Bufficiently proud, or stingy. Tou 'd do very well as a country gentleman, and you 'd make a decent nobleman with such a fortune as Lord Cashel's. But your game, if you lived on your own pn^perty, would be a very difficult one, and one for which you 've neither tact nor temper." " Well, I hope I '11 never live out of Ireland. Though I mayn't hare tact to mal^e one thousand go as far as five, I 've sense enough to see that a poor absentee landlord is a great curse to his country ; and that 's what I hope I never shall be." " My dear Lord Ballindine ; all poor men are curses, to them- selves or some one else." "A poor absentee 's the worst of all. He leaves nothing behind, and can leave nothing. He wants aU he has for himself ; and, if he doesn't give his neighbours the profit which must arise some- where, from his own consumption, he can give nothing. A rich man can aiford to leave three or four thousand a year behind him, in the way of wages for labour." " My gracious, Prank ! Tou should put all that in a pamphlet, and not in&ict it on a poor devil waiting for his dinner. At present, give your profit to Morrison, and come and consume some mock-turtle ; and I '11 tell you what Shell's going to do for us all." Lord Ballindine did as he was bid, and left the room to prepare for dinner. By the time that he had eaten his soup, and drank a glass of wine, he had got rid of the fit of blue devils which the thoughts of his poverty had brought on, and he spent the rest of the evening comfortably enough, listening to his friend's comical version of Shell's speech ; receiving instruction from that great master of the art as to the manner in which he should treat his Derby colt, and being flattered into the belief that he would be s prominent favourite for that great race. When they had finished their wine, they sauntered iut/j tQf> Xildare Street Club. Blake -j-g^ soon busy "with his little betting-book, and Lord MOEEISON S HOTEL. 30 Ballindin* followed his example. Brien Boru wna, before lon^, in great demand. B!i\ke took lifty lo one, and th(n talked the horse up till he ended 1 y givins; t'.venty-five. He vras joon raTiked the first of the Irish lot ; and the success of the Hibernians had made them very sanguine of late. Lord Ballindine found himself the centre of a little sporting circle, as being the man with the crack nag of the day. He was talked of, courted, and appealed to ; and, I regret to say, that before he left the club he was again nearly forgetting Kelly's Court and Miss Wyndham, had altO" gether got rid of his patriotic notions as to the propriety of living on his own estate, had determined forthwith to send Brien Boru over to Scott's English stables ; and then, went to bed, and dreamed that he was a winner of the Derby, and was preparing for the glories of Newmarket with five or six thousand pounds in his pocket. Martin Kelly dined with his brother at Jude's, and spent his eve-ning equally unreasonably ; at least, it may be supposed so from the fact that at one o'clock in the morning he was to be seen standing on one of the tables at Burton Bindou's 03'ster- house, with a pewter pot, full of porter, in his hand, and insisting that every one in the room should drink the health of Anty Lynch, whom, on that occasion, he swore to be the prettiest and ''he youngest girl in Connaught. It was lucky he was so intoxicated, that no one could under- etand him ; and that his hearers were so drunk that they could understand nothing; as, otherwise, the publicity of his admiration might have had the effect of preventing the accomplishment of hie design. He managed, however, to meet his patron the next morning at the lawyer's, though his eyes were very red, and his cheeks palej and, after being there for some half hour, left the office, with the assurance that, whenever he and the lady might please to call there, they should find a deed prepared for their signature, which would adjust the property in the manner required. That afternoon Lord Ballindine left Dublin, with his friend, to make instant arrangements for the exportation of Brien Boru; and, at two o'clock the next day, Martin left, by the boat, for Ballinasloe, having evinced his patriotism by paying a yea! 'a subscription in advance to the ' Nation ' newspaper, and with hie mind fully made up to bring Anty away to Dublin with as litlie delay rs possible. THE KELLTfs AND THE O'KELLrg. CHAPTER lY, THE dunmoue ikn. Akv^- Ltnch was not the prettiest, or tlie youugest g-A \:\ Connauglit; nor would Martin have affirmed her to b.> so, imlov, he had been very much inebriated indeed. However young she iTiigbt have been once, she was never pretty; but, in all Ireluiid, there was not a more single-hearted, simple-minded young womnn. I do not use the word simple as foolish ; for, though uneducated, she was not foolish. But she ivas unaffected, honest, humble, and true, entertaining a very bwly idea of her own value, and anelated by her newly acquired wealth. She had been so little thought of all her life by others, that she had never learned to think much of herself; she had had but few acquaintances, and no friends, and had spent her life, hitherto, so quietly and silently, that her apparent apathy was attributable rather to want of subjects ol' excitement, than to any sluggishness of disposition. Her mother had died early ; and, since tlien, the only case in which Anty had been called on to exercise her own judgment, was in refusing to comply with her father's wish that she should become a nun. On this subject, though often pressed, she had remained positive, always pleaiiing that she felt no call to the sacred duties which would be required, and innocently assuring her father, that, if allowed to remain at home, she would cause him no trouble, and but little expense. So she had remained at home, and had inured herself to bear without grumbling, or thinking that she had cause for grumbling, the petulance of her father, and the more cruel harshness and ill- humour of her brother. In all the family schemes of aggrandise- ment she had been set aside, and Barry had been intended by the father as the scion on whom all the family honours were to fall. His education had been expensive, his allowance liberal, and his whims permitted; while Anty was never better dressed than a decent English servant, and had been taught nothing save the lessons she had learnt from her mother, who died when she was but thirteen. Jlra. Lynch had died before the commencement of Sim's palmy days. They had seen no company in her time — for they were then oiily rising people; and, since that, the great friends to whom Sim, in his wealth, had attached himself, and with whom alone he intended that Barry should associate, were all of the ciasculirie gender. He gave bachelor dinner-parties to hard' THE DUNMOKE ENN. 37 drinking young men, for whom Anty was well contented to cook ; and when they — as they often, from the effect of their potations, were perforce obliged to do — stayed the night at Dunmore House, Anty never shoued herself in the brf akfast-parlour, but boiled the eg:js, made the tea, and took her own breakfast in the Icitchen. Ic was not wonderfid, therefore, that no one proposed for Anty ; and, though all who knew the Lynches, knew that Sim had a daughter, it was verj' generally given out that she was not so wise as her neighbours ; and the father and brother took no pains to deny the rumour. The inhabitants of the village knew better ; the Lynches were very generallv disliked, and the shameful way " Miss Anty was trated," was often discussed in the little shops; ■ind many of the townspeople were ready to aver that, " simplo or no, Anty Lynch was the best of the breed, out-and-out." Jlatters stood thus at Uunmore, when the quarrel before alluded to, occurred, and when Sim made his will, dividing his property,-- and died before destroying it, as he doubtless v/ould have dora, when his passion was ovi'r. Great was the surprise of every one concerned, and of many who were not at all concerned, when it was ascertained that Ant} Lynch was an heiress, and that she was now possessed of fout hundred pounds a-year in her own riglit ; but the passion of hei brother, it would be impossible to describe. He soon, however, found that it was too literally true, and that no direct means were at hand, by which he could" deprive his sister of her patrimony. G'he lawyer, when he informed Anty of her fortune and present station, "made her understand that she had an equal right with her brother in everything in the house ; and thougli, at first, she tacitly acquiesced in his management, she was not at all simple enough to be ignorant cf the rights of possession, or weak enough to relinquish them. Barrv soon made up his mind that, as she had and must have the property, all he could now do was to take care that it should revert to him as her heir ; and the measure of most importance in effecting this, would be to take care that she did not maory. In his first passion, after his father's death, he had been rougli and .ruel to her ; but he soon changed his conduct, and endeavoured to flatter her into docility at one moment, and to frighten her into obedience in the next. He soon received another blow which was also a severe one. Moylan, the old man who proposed the match to jMartin, c.-died on him", and showed him that Auty had appointed him her ageut,^aivd had executed the necessary legal documents for the purpose. Upon this subject he argued for a long time with his sister—poiutiag 8& THE ICELLTg AND THE o'KELLTS. out to lier tliat the old man would Rurriy rob bor — oflering to act as her agout hiuiself— recommending others as more lionest and fittirirf — and, lastly, telling her that she was an obstinute fool, who would soon be robbed of every penny she had, and that she would die in a workhouse at last. But Anty, though she dreaded her brother, was firm. Wonder- ful as it may appear, she even loved him. She begged him not to quarrel with her — promised to do everything to oblige him, and answered his wrath with gentleness ; but it was of no avail. Barry knew that her agent was a plotter — that he would plot against his influence — though he little guessed then what would be the first step Moylan would take, or how likely it would be, if really acted on, to lead to his sister's comfort and happiness. After this, Barry passed two months of great misery and \ esation. He could not make up his mind what to do, or what final steps to take, either about the property, his sister, or himself. At first, he thought of frightening Moylan and his sister, by pretending that he would prove Anty to be of weak mind, and not fit to manage her own affairs, and that he would indict the old man for conspiracy ; but he felt that Moylan was not a man to be frightened by such bug- bears. Then, he made up his mind to turn all he had into money, to leave his sister to the dogs, or any one who might choose to rob her, and go and live abroad. Then he thought, if his sister should die, what a pity it would be, he should lose it all, and how he should blame himself, if she were to die soon after having married some low adventurer ; and he reflected, how ])robable Buch a thing would be — how likely that such a man would soon get rid of her; and then his mind becjau to dwell on her death, and to wish for it. He found himself constantly thinking of it, and ruminating on it, and determining ih.at it was the only event which could set him right. His own debts would swallow up half his present property ; and how could he bring himself to live on the pitiful remainder, when that stupid idiot, as he called her to himself, had three times more than she could possibly want ? Morning after morning, he walked about the small grounds round the house, with his hat over his ej'es, and his hands tossing about the money in his pockets, thinking of this — cursing his father, and longing — almost praying for his sister's death. Theuvbe would have his horse, and flog the poor beast along the roads with- out going anywhere, or having any object in view, but alwayt turning the same thing over and over in his mind. And, after dinner, he would sit, by the hour, over the fire, drinking, longing for his sister's money, and calculating the probabilities of his ever poBsesaiiig it. He began to imagiae all the circumstances which THE DUNMORE INN. .19 might lead to her death ; he thought of all the ways in which persons situated as she was, might, and often did. die. He reflected, without knowing that he was doing so, on the ])robability of robbers brealting into the house, if slie were left alone in it," and of their murdering her; he thought of silly women setting their own clothes on fire — of their failing out of window— drowning themselves — of their perishing in a Imndred possible but impro- bable ways. It was after he had been driulciiig a while, that these ideas became most vivid before his eyes, and seemed like golden dreams, the accomplishment of which he could hardly wish for. And, at last, as the fumes of the spirit gave him courage, other and more horrible images would rise to his imagination, and tlio drops of sweat would stand on his brow as he would invent Bchemes by which, were he so inclined, he could accelerate, without detection, the event for which he so ardently longed. With such thoughts would he turn into bed; and though in the morning he would try to dispel the ideas in which he had indulged overnight, they still left their impression on his mind — they added bitterness to his hatred — and made him look on himself as a man injured by his father and sister, and think that he owed it to himself to redress his injuries by some extraordinary means. It was whilst Barry Lynch was giving wav to such thoughts aa these, and vainly endeavouring to make up his mind as to what he would do, that JNIartin made liis offer to Anty. To tell the truth, it was Jlartin's sister Meg wlio had made the first overture ; and, as Anty had not rejected it with any great disdain, but had rather shown a dispositioji to talk about it as a thing just possible, Martin had repeated it in person, and had reiterated it, till Anty had at last taugl'.t herself to look upon it as a likely and desirable circum- stance, ilartin had behaved openly and honourably with regard to the money part of the business ; telling his contemplated bride that it was, of course, her fortune which had first induced liim to think of her ; but adding, that he would also value her and love her for hei'self, if she would allow him. He described to lier the sort of settlement he should propose, and ended by recommending an early day for the wedding. Anty bad sense enough to be pleased at his straightforward and honest manner ; and, though she did not say much to himself, she ffiid a great deal in his p.raiso to jMec, which all found its way to Martin's ears. But still, he couM not get over the dilliculty which Ivj hud dc'scrihed to Lord Jjallindine. Anty wanted to wait tdl her hi"-.t'icr shr>;;]r; go out of tlie eop.ntrv, and Martin was afraia that he would not go; and tilings wero in this state when he started for Dublin. 40 THE KELLYS AND THE KELLYS. The village of Dunmore lias Dotliing about it which can espedally recommend it to the re;,dci-. It liaa none of t]io.v(; beauties'of nature which have taught Irishmen to consider thcii' country as the " first flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea." It is a dirty, ragged little town, standing in a very |)Oor part of the country, with nothing about it to induce the traveller to go out of his beaten track. It is on no high road, and is blessed with no adventitious circumstances to add to its prosperity. It was once the property of the O'Kellys ; but, in those times the landed proprietors thought but little of the towns ; and now it is parcelled out among different owners, some of whom would think it folly to throw away a penny on the place, and others of whom have not a penny to throw away. It consists of a big street, two little streets, and a few very little lanes. There is a Court-house, where the barrister sits twice a year ; a Barrack, once inhabited by soldiers, but now given up to the police ; a large slated chapel, not quite finished ; a few shops for soft goods ; half a dozen shebeen-houses, ruined by Father Mathew ; a score of dirtv cabins oflering " lodging and eiithfrtninment," as announced on the window-shutters; Mrs. Kelly's inn and grocery-shop; and, last though not least, Simeon Lynch's new, staring house, built just at the edge of the town, on the road to Eoscommon, which is dignified with the name of Dunmore House. The people of most influence in the village were Mrs. Kelly of the inn, and her two sworn friends, the parish priest and his curate. The former. Father Geoghegan, lived about three miles out of Dun- more, near Toneroe ; and his curate, Father Pat Connel, inhabited one of the small houses in the place, very little better in appear- ance than those which ofiered accommodation to travellers and trampers. Such was, and is, the town of Dunmore in the county of Galway ; and I must beg the reader to presume himself to be present there with me on the morning on which the two young Kellys went to hear Shell's speech. At about ten o'clock, the widow Kelly and her daughters were busy in the shop, which occupied the most important part of the ground-floor of the inn. It was a long, fjftrambling, ugly-looking house. Next to the shop, and opening out of it, was a large drinking-room, furnished with narrow benches and rickety tables ; ana here the more humble of Mrs Kelix's guests regaled themselves. On the other side of this, was the hall, or passage of the house ; and, next to that again, a large, dingv, dark kitchen, over which Sally reigned with her teapot dynasty, and in which were always congregated a parcel of ragged old men, boys, aud noisy women, pretending to be busy, but usually doing THE DUNMORE INN. 41 but little good, and attracted by the warmtli of tlic V';: Rvc, and the liopey of ijomu scraps of food and dri/ik. " l<\>r tlie widow Kelly — God bless her ! was a thrue Christliian, and didn't be- grudge the poor — more power to her — like some upstarts wlio might live to be in want yet, glory be to the Almighty ! " The difference of the English and Irish character ia nowhere more plainly discerned than in their respective kitchens. Witli the former, this apartment is probably the cleanest, and certainly the most orderly, in the house. It is rarely intruded into by those unconnected, in some way, with its business. Everything it con- tains is under the vigilant eye of its chief occupant, who would imagine it quite impossible to carry on her business, wliether of an humble or important nature, if her apparatus was subjected to the hands of the unauthorised. An Irish Idtchen is devoted to hospitality in every sense of the word. Its doors are open to almost all loungers and idlers ; and the chances are that Billy Bawn, the cripple, or Judy Molloy, the deaf old hag, are more likely to know where to find the required utensil than the cook herself. It ia usually a temple dedicated to the goddess of disorder ; and, too often joined with her, is the potent deity of dirt. It ia not that things are out of their place, for thev have no place. It isn't that the floor is not scoured, for you cannot scour dry mud into anything but wet mud. It isn't that the chairs and tables look filthy, for there are none. It isn't that the pots, and plates, and pans don't shine, for you see none to shine. All you see is a grimy, black ceiling, an uneven clay floor, a small darkened window, one or two unearthly-looking recesses, a heap of potatoes in the corner, a pile of turf against the wall, two pigs and a dog under the single dresser, three or four chickens on the window- sill, an old cock moaning on the top of a rickety press, and a crowd of ragged garments, squatting, standing, kneeling, and crouching, round the fire, from which issues a babel of strange tongues, not Dne word of which is at first intelligible to ears unaccustomed to Buch eloquence. And yet, out of these unfathomable, unintelligible dens, proceed in due time dinners, of which the appearance of them gives no promise. Such a kitchen was Mrs. Kelly's ; and yet, it was well known and attested by those who had often tried the csperiment, that a man need think it no misfortune to have to get his dinner, his punch, and his bed, at the widow's. Above stairs were two sitting-rooms and a colony of bed-rooma, occupied indiscriminately by the family, or by such customers as might require them. If you came back to dine at the inn, after (& day's ehooting on the bogs, you would probably find Misa Jano's 43 THE KELIiYS AND THE o'EELLYS. work-box on tho table, or Miss Meg's album on the sofa ; and, when a little accustomed to sojourn at such places, you would feel no surprise at discovering their dresses turned inside out, and hanrjing on the pegs in your bed-room ; or at seeing their side- corn ba and black pms in the drawer of your dressing-table. On the morning in question, the widow and her daughters were engaged in the shop, putting up pen'norths of sugar, cutting bita of tobacco, tying bundles of dip candles, attending to chance customers, and preparing for the more busy hours of the day. It was evident that something had occurred at the inn, which had rufSed the even tenor of its way. The widow was peculiarly gloomy. Though fond of her children, she was an autocrat in hei house, and accustomed, as autocrats usually are, to scold a good deal ; and now she was using her tongue pretty freely. It wasn't the girls, however, she was rating, for they could answer fur them- selves ; and did, when they thought it necessary. But now, they were demure, conscious, and quiet. Mrs. Kelly was denouncing one of the reputed sins of the province to which she belonged, and describing the horrors of " schaming." " Them underhand ways," she declared, " niver come to no good. Av' its thrue what Father Connel's afther telling me, there'll harum come of it before its done and over. Schaming, schaming, and schaming for iver ! The back of my hand to such doings ! I wish the tongue had been out of Moylan's mouth, the ould rogue, before he put the tiling in his head. Av' he wanted the young woman, and slie was willing, why not take her in a dacent way, and have done with it. I 'm sure she 's ould enough. But what does he want with a wife like her ? — making innimies for himself. I suppose he '11 be sitting up for a gentleman now — bad cess to them for gentry ; not but that he 's as good a right as some, and a dale more than others, who are ashamed to put their hand to a turn of work. I hate such buggery muggery work up in a corner. It 's half your own doing ; and a nice piece of work it '11 be, when he's got an ould wife and a dozen lawsuits! — when he finds liia farm gone, and his pockets empty; for it'll be a dale asier for him to be getting the wife than the money — when he 's got every body's abuse, and nothing else, by his bargain ! " It was very appari'nt that Martin's secret had not been well kept, and that the fact of his intended marriace with Anty Lynch was saon likely to bo known to siil Diinroore. The truth was, that l^loyl.'in had begun to think hin-aelf ovc^rrcuched in the matter — to he iilVaid that, by the very m^W!»ure he had himseli proposed, he woulil lose all share in the great prize he had ptUy iu Martin's way, and that ho sliould himself be the means of excluding big own A LOVING BROTHER. 4.9 Enger from the plo. It appeared to him that if he allowed this, his own folly would 03ly be equalled by the 5'oiing man's ingrati- tude ; and he determined therefore, if possible, to prevent the match. Whereupon he told the matter as a secret, to those whom he knew would set it moving. In a veiy short space of time it reached the ears of Father Connel; and he lost none in stepping down to learn the truth of so important a piece of luck to one of his parishieners, and to congratulate the widow. Here, however, he was out in his reckoning, for she declared she did not believe it — that it wasn't, and couldn 't be true ; and it was only after his departure that she succeeded in extracting the truth from her daughters. The news, however, quickly reached the kitchen and its lazy crowd; and the inn door and its constant loungers; and wag readily and gladly credited in both places. Crone after crone, and cripple after cripple, hurried into the shop, to congratulate the angry widow on " raasther Martin's luck; and warn't he worthy of it, the handsome jewel — and wouldn't he look the gintleman, every inch of him ? " and Sally expatiated greatly on it in the kitchen, and drank both their healths in an extra pot of tea, and Kate grinned her delight, and Jack the ostler, who took care of Martin's horse, boasted loudly of it in the street, declaring that " it was a good thing enough for Anty Lynch, with all her money, to get a husband at all out of the Kellys, for the divil a know any one knowed in the counthry where the Lynchs come from ; but every one knowed who the Kellys w^or — and Martin wasn't that far from the lord himself." There was great commotion, during the whole day, at the inn. Some said Martin had gone to town to buy furniture ; others, that he had done so to prove the will. One suggested that he'd surely have to fight Barry, and another prayed that " if he did, he might kill the blackguard, and have aU the fortin to himself, out and out, God bless him ! " CHAPTER V, A LOVING BHOTHEB. The great news was not long before it reached the ears of one not disposed to receive the information with much satisfaction, and this was Barry Lynch, the proposed bride's amiable brother. Tha medium through which he first heard it was noS one likely' to tidd 44 THE iCELlYS AND THfi o'KEtLYS. to liis good humour. Jacky, the fool, had for many years been attached to the Kelly's Court family ; that is to say, he had attached himself to 'it, by getting his food in the hitchen, and calling himself the lord's fool. But, latterly, he had quarrelled with Kelly's Court, and had insisted on being Sim Lynch's fool, much to the chagrin of that old man ; and, since his death, he had nearly maddened Barry by following him through the street, ani^ being continually found at the house-door when he went out. Jack's attendance was certainly dictated by affection rather that* anv mercenary vieAvs, for he never got a scrap ont of the Dunnioiv House kitchen, or a halfpenny from his new patron. But still, he was Barry's fool; and, like other fools, a desperate annoyance to Ms master. On the day in question, as young Mr. Lynch was riduig out of the gate, about three in the afternoon, there, as usual, was Jack. "Now yer honor, Mr. Barry, darling, shure you won't forget Jacky to-day. Tou'll not forget your own fool, Mr. Barry ? " Barry did not condescend to answer this customary appeal, but only looked at the poor ragged fellow as though he'd like to flog the life out of him. " Shure your honor, Mr. Barry, isn't this the time then to open jer honor's hand, when Miss Anty, God bless her, is afther m.aking sich a great match for the family ? — Glory be to God 1 " " What d'ye mean, you ruffian ? " "Isn't the Kellys great people intirely, Mr. Barry? and won't it be a great thing for Miss Anty, to be sib to a lord ? Shure yer honor 'd not be refusing me this blessed day." " "What the d are you saying about Miss Lynch ? " said Barry, his attention somewhat arrested by the mention of his Bister's name. " Isn't she going to be married then, to the dacentest fellow in Dunmore f Martin Kelly, God bless hi i^! Ah! there'll be fine limes at Dunmore, then. He's not tl^ 6oy to rattle a poor divU out of the kitchen into the cold winther night I The Kellys waa always the right sort for the poor." Barry was frightened in earnest, now. It struck him at onc( that Jack couldn't have made the story out of his own head ; and the idea that there was any truth in it, nearly knocked hirn off his horse. He rode on, however, trying to appear to be regardless of what had been said to him ; and, as he trotted off, he heard the fool's parting salutation. "Ai-dwi'l yer honor be forgething me afther the news I 're brought jci ? Well, hard as ye are, Slisther Barry, I 've hot yet now, any way." A LOVING BROTHEB. 45 And, in truth, Jack had hit liim hard. Of all thincfs that could happen to him, thia would be about the worst, ilt; had ofleo fchou;j;hfc, with dread, of his sister's nuirryino;, and of hia thus being forced to divide everything — all his spoil, with soma conf'oundrd stranger. But for her to marry a shopkeeper's son, in the very village in which he lived, was more than he could bear. He could never hold up his head in the county again. Aud then, he thought of his debts, and tried to calculate whether he miuht get over ic Prance without paying them, and be able to carry his share of tha property with him ; and so he went on, pursuing his wretched, uneasy, solitary ride, sometimes sauntering along at a snail's pace, and then again spurring the poor brute, and endeavouring to bring his mind to some settled plan. But, whenever he did so, the idea of his sister's death was the only one which seemed to present either comfort or happiness. He made up liis m.ind, at last, to put a bold face on the matter; to find out from Anty herself whether there was any truth in the story; and, if there should be, — for he felt confident she would not be able to deceive him, — to frighten her and the whole party of the Kellys out of what lie considered a damnable conspiracy to rob liim of his fatlier's property. He got off his horse, and stalked into the house. On inquiry, '/le found that Anty was in her own room. He was sorry she was not out ; for, to tell the truth, he was rather anxious to put off the meeting, as he did not feel himself quite up to the mark, and was ashamed of seeming afraid of her. He went into the stable, and abused the groom ; into the kitchen, and swore at the maid ; and then into the garden. It was a nasty, cold, February day, and he walked up aud down the damp muddy walks till he was too tired and cold to walk longer, aud then turned into the parlour, and remained with his back to the fire, till the man came in to lay the cloth, thinking on the one subject that occupied all his mind — occasionally grinding his teeth, and heaping curses on his father and sister, who, together, bad inflicted such grievous, such un- expected isj'wi'ies upon him. If, at tkss moment, there was a soul in all Ireland over whom Satan had full dominion — if there was a breast unoccupied by one good thought — if there was a heart wishing, a brain conceiving, and organs readv to execute all that was evil, from the wor.st motives, thev were to be found in that miserable creature, as he stood tliera urtrini; linnself on to hate those whom he sh"uld have lnved — cursnia thiise w ho were nearest to him — feannt; her, wliom he had ill-treated all lus life- — aud striving to pluck up coui'age to take sucii measiu-es as might entirely qqeli her. Money was to m THE KELLYS AND THS KTilLLTS. him the only source of gratification. lie had looked forward, when a boy, to his manhood, as a period when he might indulge, unrestrained, in pleasures which money w/uld buy; and, when a man, to his fr ther's death, as a tiino when those means -would be at his full command. He had neither ambition, nor affection, in his nature; his fatlier had taught him nothing but the excellence of money, and, having fully imbued him with this, had cut him off from the use of it. He was glad when he found that dinner was at hand, and that he could not now see his sister until after he had fortified himself ■with drink. Anty rarely, if ever, dined with him ; so he sat down, and swallowed his solitary meal. He did not eat much, but he gulped down three or four glasses of wine ; and, immediately on having done so, he desired the servant, with a curse, to bring him hot water and sugar, and not to keep him waiting all night for a tumbler of punch, as he did usually. Before the man had got into the kitchen, he rang the bell again ; and when the servant returned breathless, with the steaming jug, he threatened to turn him out of the house at once, if he was not quicker m obeying the orders given him. He then made a tumbler of punch, filling the glass half full of spirits, and drinking it so hot as to scald his throat ; and when that was done he again rang the bell, and desired the servant to tell Miss Anty that he wanted to speak to her. When the door was shut, he mixed more drink, to support his courage during the interview, and made up his mind that nothing should daunt him from preventing the marriage, in one way or another. "When Anty opened the door, he was again standing with his back to the fire, his hands in his pockets, the flaps of his coat hanging ever his arms, his shoulders against the mantel-piece, and his foot on the chair on which he had been sitting. His face was red, and his eyes were somewhat blood-shot; he had always a surly look, though, from his black hair, and large bushy whiskers, many people would have called him good looking ; but now there was a scowl in his restless eyes, which frightened Anty when she saw it ; and the thick drops of perspiration on his forehead did not add benignity to his face. " "Were you wanting me, Barry f " said Anty, who was the first to speak. " What do you stand there for, with the door open ? " replied her brother, " d' you think I want the servants to hear what I 've got to say p " "Deed I don't know," said Anty, shutting the door; "but they '11 hear just as well now av' they wish, for they '11 come to the kay-hole." A LOVING BROTHER. 47 " Tv ill Ihey, by G — ! " said Barry, aud he rushed to the doop, ■^hvS'A !u' l!;i:iL,'cd open; fiudins: no victim outside on whom to exeicise lui "ivrath — "lot uie catch 'em! " aud he returned to hia P'j^ilion by i-he fire. Aiity had sat down on a sofa tliat stood by the wall opposite the fireplace, and Barry remained for a minute, thinking how he 'd open the campaign. At last ho began: " Anty, look you here, now. AVhat scheme have you got ic your liead ? — You 'd better let me know, at once." " A\' hat schame, Barry ? '' " Well — what schame, if you like that better." " I 've no schame in my head, that I know of— at laist — " and then Anty blushed. It would evidently be easy enough to make the poor girl tell her own secret. " Well, go on— at laist—" " I don't know wliat you mane, Barry. Av' you 're going to be badgering me again, I'll go away." " It 's evident you 're going to do something you 're ashamed of, when you 're afraid to sit still, and answer a common question. But you must answer me. I 'm your brother, and have a right to know. What 's this you 're going to do ? " He didn't like to ask her at once whether she was going to get married. It might not be true, and then he would only be putting the idea into her head. " "Well — why don't you answer me ? What is it you 'ro going to do ? " " Is it about the property you mane, Barry?" " What a d — d hypocrite you are ! As if you didn't know what I mean ! As for the property, I tell you there '11 be little left the way you 're going on. And as to that, I '11 tell you what I 'm going to do ; so, mind, I warn you beforehand. Tou 're not able — that is, you 're too foolish and weak-headed to manage it your- self; and I mean, as your guardian, to put it into the hands of those that shall manage it for you. I 'm not going to see you robbed and duped, and myself destroyed by such fellows as Moylau, and a crew of hustering blackguards down in Dunmore. And now, tell me at once, what 's this I hear about you and the Kellys ? " " What Kellys ? " said Anty, blushing deeply, and half beside herself with fear — for Barry's face was very red, and full of fierce anger, and his rough words frightened her. " What Kellys ! — Did you ever hear of Martin Kelly ? — d — d young robber that he is ! " Auty blushed still deeper — rose a little way from the sofa, and then sat down again. " Look you here, Antj — I 'U have the truth out of you. 1 'm not going 48 THE KEIJ.,YS AND THE 0KE,1-.LY». to be Imraboojled by such an idiot as you. You got an old man, when he was dying, to make a will that has robbed rae of whaf was my own, and now you think you '11 play your own low game ; but vou're mistaken! You've lived long enough without a husband to do without one now ; aJid I can tell you I 'm not going to see my property carried off by such a low, paltry blackguard as Martin Kelly." "How can he take your property, Barry ? " sobbed forth the poor creature, who was, by this time, far gone in tears. " Then the long and the short of it is, he shan't have what you call yours. Tell me, at once, will you— is it true, that you 've promised to marry him ? " Anty replied nothing, but continued sobbing violently " Cease your nonsense, you blubbering fool! A precious creature you are to take on yourself to marry any man ! Are you going to answ er me, Anty ? " And he walked away from the fire, and came and stood opposite to her as she sat upon the sofa. "Are you going to answer me or not?" he continued, stamping on the floor. " I 'U not stop here — and be trated this way^ — Barry — I 'm sura — I do all I— I can for you — and you 're always — bullying ma because father divided the property." And Auty continued sob" bing more violently than ever. " I won't stop in the room any more," and she got up to go to the door. Barry, however, rushed before her, and prevented her. He turned the lock, and put the key in his pocket ; and then he caught her arm, as she attempted to get to the bell, and dragged her back to the sofa. "Tou 're not nff so easy as that, I can tell you. Why ; d' you think you 're to marry whom you please, v.ithout even telling me of it? What d' you think the world would say of me, if I were to let such an idiot as you be caught up by the first sharper that tried to rob you of your money ? Now, look here," and he sat don-n beside her, and laid his hand violently on her arm, as he spoke, "you don't go out of this room, alive, until you've given me your solemn promise, and sworn on the cross, that you 'li never marry without my consent ; and you '11 give me that ia writing, too." Anty at first turned very pale when she felt his heavy hand on her arm, and saw his red, glaring eyes so near her own. Bat when he said she shouldn't leave the room alive, she jumped from tha Kifa, and shrieked, at the top of her shrill voice — " Oh, Barry I you 'U not murdher me ! shure you wouldn't miirdher your owB aiether ! " A LOVING BEOTHEB, <9 Barry was rather frightened at the noise, and, moreover, the *'ocd ' murder' quelled him. But when he found, after a Siioment's pause, that the servants had not heard, or had not heeded his sister, he determined to carry on his game, now that he had proceeded so far He took, however, a long drink out of his tumbler, to give him fresh courage, and then returned to the charge. " Who talked of murdering you ? But, if you bellow in that way, 1 '11 gag you. It 's a great deal I'm asking, indeed — that, when I 'm your only guardian, my advice should be asked before you throw away your money on a low rufilan. Tou're more fit for a mad-house than to be any man's wife ; and, by Heaven, that's ^\■he^e I'll put you, if you don't give me the promise I ask ! Will you swear you '11 marry no one without my leave ? " Poor Autjf shook with fear, as she sate, with her eyes fixed on her brother's face. He was nearly drunk now, and she felt that he was so, — and he looked so hot and so fierce — so red and cruel, that she was all but paralysed. Nevertheless, she mustered strength to say, " Let me go, now, Barry, and, to-morrow, I '11 tell you every- thing — indeed I will — and I'll thry to do all you'd have me; indeed, nnd indeed, I will ! Only do let me go now, for you've frighted me." "' You 're likely to be more frighted yet, as you call it ! And be tramping along the roads, I suppose, with Martin Kelly, before the morning. No ! I '11 have sm answer from you, any way. I've a right to that!" " Oh, Barry ! — What is it you vs'ant ? — Pray let me go— pray, pray, for the love of the blessed Jesus, let me go." " 1 '11 tell you where you '11 go, and that 's into Ballinasloe mad-house ! Now, mark me — so help me I '11 set off with you this uight, and have you there in the morning — as an idiot aa you are, i*'you won't make the promise I'm telling you! " By tbi.i time Anty's presence of mind had clean left her. Indeed, all the faculties of her reason had vanished ; and, as she saw her brother's scowling face so near her own, and heard him threatening to drag her to a mad-house, she put her hands before her eyes, and made one rush to escape from him — to the door — to the window— anywhere to get out of his reach. Barry was quite drunk now. Had he not been so, even he would hardly have done what he then did. As she endeavoured to rush by him, he raised his fist, and struck her on the face, with all his force. The blow fell upon her hands, as they were crossed over her face ; but the force of the blow knqcked her down, and 60 THE KELLYS AND THE o'kELLYS. she fell upon the floor, senseless, striking the back of her head egainst the t;iblc. " Coafound licr," muttered the brute, between his teeth, as she fell, " for an obstinate, pig-headed fool! What the d — 1 shall I do now ? Anty, get up ! — get up, wijl you ! — What ails you ? " — and then again to himself, " the d — 1 seize her ! What am I to do now ? " and he succeeded in dragging her on to the sofa. The man-servant and the cook although up to this point, they had considered it would be ill manners to interrupt the brother and sister in their family interview, were nevertheless at the door ; and though thev could see nothing, and did not succeed in hearing much, were not the less fully aware that the conversation was of a somewhat stormy nature on the part of the brother. When they heard the noise which followed the blow, though not exactly knowing what had happened, they became frightened, and began to think something terrible was being done. " Go in, Teriy, avich," whispered the woman — "KJnock, man, and go in — shure he 's murdhering lier ! " "What 'ud he do to me thin, av' he 'd stricka woman, and she his own flesh and blood ! He '11 not murdherher — but, faix, he 's afther doing something now ! Knock, Biddy, knock, I say, and screech out that you 're afther wanting Miss Anty." The woman had more courage than the man — or else more com- passion, for, without further parleying, she rapped her knuckles loudly against the door, and, as she did so, Terry sneaked away to the kitchen. Barry had just succeeded in raising his sister to the sofa as he heard the knock. " Who 's that ? " he called out loudly ; " what do you want ? " " Plaze yer honor, Miss Anty's wanting in the kitchen." " She 's busy, and can't come at present ; she '11 be there directly." " Is she ill at all, Mr. Barry ? God bless you, spake. Miss Anty ; in God's name, spake thin. Ah ! Mr. Barry, thin, shure she 'd spake av' she were able." " Go away, you fool ! Tour mistress '11 be out in a minute." Then, after a moment's consideration, he went and unlocked the door, "or — go in, and see what she wants. She's fainted I thiuk." Barry Lynch walked out of the room, and into the gardes before the house, to think over what he had done, and what he 'd better do for the future, leaving Anty to the care of the Irin-btened woman. She soon came to herself, and, excepting that her head was A LOVING BEOTIIER. 61 braised in the fall, vras not much Lurt. The blow, falling on her hands, had neither cut nor mai'ko'^ licr-, but ehe was for a long time so flurried that she did not knosv ^vhere she was, and, in answer to all Biddy's tender inquiries as to the cause of lier fall, and anathemas as to the master's bad temper, merely said that " she 'd get to bed, for her head ached so, she didn't know where she was." To bed accordingly she went ; and glad she was to have escaped alive from that savage drunken face, which had glared on her for the last half hour. After wandering about round the house and through the grounds, for above an hour, Barr}' returned, half sobered, to the room ; but, in his present state of mind, he could not go to bed sober. He ordered more hot water, and again sate down alone to drink, and drown the remorse he was beginning to feel for what he had done — or rather, not remorse, but the feeliug of fear that every one would know how he had treated Ant}^ and that they would side with her against him. ^Vllicheve^ way lie looked, all was misery and disappointment to him, and his only hope, for the present, was in driuk. There he sat, for a long time, with his eyes fixed on tlie turf, till it was all burnt out, trying to get fresh courao-e from the spirits he swallowed, and swearing to himself that he would not be beat by a woman. About one o'clock he seized one of the candles, and staggered up to bed. As he passed his sister's door, lie opened it and went in. She was fast asleep ; her shoes were off, and the bed- clothes were thrown over her, but she was not undressed. He slowlv shut the door, and stood, for some moments, looking at her • 'then, walking to the bed, he took her shoulder, and shook it as gently a3 his drunkenness would let him. This did not wake her, so he put the candle down on the table, close beside the bed, and, steadying himself against the bedstead, he shook her again and a^ain'. " Anty," he whispered, " Anty ; " and, at last, she opened her eyes. Directly she saw his face, she closed them ai'aiu and buried her own in the clothes ; liowcver, he saw that she was awake, and, bending his head, he muttered, loud enough for her to hear, but in a thick, harsh, hurried, drunken voice, « ^uty— d' ye hear ? If you marry t-hat man, I '11 have your life! "and then, leaving the candle behind him, he staggered oft into his own room in the dark. (,g THE KELLYS AND THE O'KELLTS. CHAPTER VI. THE ESOAPS. lu vain, after that, did Anty try to sleep ; turn wliich way she would, she saw the bloodshot eyes and horrid drunken face of her cruel brother. For a long time she lay, trembling and anxious ; fearing she knew not what, and trying to compose herself — trying to make herself think that she bad no present cause for fear ; but in vain. If she heard a noise, she thought it was her brolher'a footstep, and when the house was perfectly silent and still, she feared the very silence itself. At last, slie crept out of bed, and, taking the candle left by her brother, which bad now burned down to the socket, stepped softly down the stairs, to the place where the two maid-servants slept, and, having awakened them, she made iiddy return with her, and keep her company for tiie remainder of the night. She did not quite tell the good-natured girl all tliat had passed ; she did not own that her brother had threatened to send her to a mad-house, or that he hud sworn to have her life , but she said enough to show that he had shamefully ill-treated her, and to convince Biddy that wherever her mistress might find a home, it would be very unadvisable that she and Barry should continue to live under the same roof. Early in the morning, " Long afore the break o' day," as the song says, Biddy got up from her hard bed on the floor of her mistress' room, and, seeing that Anty was at last asleep, started to carry into immediate execution the counsels she had given during the night. As she passed the head of the stairs, she heard the loud snore of Barry, in his drunken slumber ; and, wishing that he might sleep as sound for ever aud ever, she crept down to er own domicile, and awakened her comrade. " Whist, Judy — whist, darlint ! Up wid ye, and let me out." '- And what 'd you be doing out now ? " yawned Judy. ''An arrand of the misthress — shure, he used her dispcrate I Pais, it 's a wondher he didn't murther her outright! " " And where are ye going now ? " " Jist down to Dunmore — to the Kellys then, avich. Asy flow ; I '\l be telling you all bye and bye. She must be out of this intirely." " Is't Miss Anty ? Where 'd she be going thin out of this ? " " Divil a matther where ! Ho 'd murther her, the ruffian, 'ay he cotched her another night ax his dhrunkenness. We must git THE ESCAPE. "•-■ her out before he sleeps hisself right. But hurry now, I '11 be fceiliiig vou all whea I 'm back again." The two ci-ept off to the back door together, and, Judy liaving opened it, Biddy sallied out, on her imporiaut and good-natured mission. It was slill darlc, thoufrh the morning was beginning to break, as she stood, pautiiig, at the front door of the inn. tilie tried to get in at the back, bat the yard gates were fastened ; and Jack, the ostler, did not seem to be about yet. So she gave a timid, modest kuocli, witli the iron knocker, on the front door. A pause, and then a second knock, a little louder ; another pause, and then a third ; and then, as no one came, she remembered the importance of lier message, and gave suoli a rap as a man might do, who badly wanted a glass of hot drink alter travelling the w hole niglit. The servants bail good or hardy consciences, for they slept soundly ; but the widow Kelly, in her little bed-room behind the sliop, well liuew the sound of that knocker, and, hurrying on hef slippers and her gown, she got to the door, and asked wdio was there. "Is that iSally, ma'am ?" said Biddy, well knowing the widow's voice. " i\o, it 's not. What is it you 're wanting ? " " Is it Kate thin, ma'am ? " "No, it's not Kate. Who are you, I say; and what d' you want?" " I 'm Biddy, plaze ma'am — from Lynch'a, and I'm wanting to spake to yei-self, ma'am — about Miss Anty. She 's very bad iutirely, ma'am." " What ails her — and why d' you come here ? Wliy don't you go to Doctor Colligan, av' she 's ill ; and not come knocking here ?" " It aui't bad tiiat way, iliss Anty is, ma'am. Av' you 'd just be good enough to open the door, I 'd tell you in no time." It would, I am sure, be doing injustice to Mrs. Kelly to say that her curiosity was stronger tliaa her charity ; they both, how- ever, no doubt had their effi'ct, and the door was speedily opea&d. " Oh, ma'am ! " commenced Biddy, "sich terrible doinga up at the house ! Miss Anty 's almost kilt ! " " Come out of the cowld, girl, in to the kitchen fire," said the widow, who didn't like the February blast, to which Biddy, in her anxiety, had been quite indifferent ; and the careful widow again bolted the door, and followed the woman into certainly the warmest place in Dunmore, for the turf fire in the inn kitchen was burning day and night. " And now, teli me what is it aila Mus Anty ? She war well enough yesterday. I think, and I heard more of her then than I wished." 54 TEE KELLY3 A^D THJ: O KliLI^Xa. Biddy now pulled lier cloak from oif lier head, settled it over her yliouldci's, and picpared fur iellini: a good subbtantial story. " Oh, Misthress Kelly, mu'am, there's been disperate doings last night up at the house. We were all hearing, in the morn yesterday, as how Miss Anty and Mr. Martin, God bl-'ss hiin ! — were to make a match of it,— as why wouldn't they, ma'am? fot wouldn't Mr. Martin make her a tidy, dacent, good husband ? " " Well, well, Biddy — don't mind Mr. Martin ; he '11 be betther without a wife for one while, and he needn't be quarrelling for one when he wants her. What ails Miss Anty ? " " Shure I 'm telling you, ma'am ; howsomevcr, whether its thrue or no about Mr. Martin, we were all hearing it yestherday ; and the masther, he war afther hearing it too, for he come into his dinner as black as tunder ; and Terry says he dhrunk the whole of a bottle of wine, and then he called for the sperrits, and swilled away at them till he was nigh dhrunk. Well, wid that, ma'am, he sent for Miss Anty, and the moment she comes in, he locks to the door, and pulls her to the sofa, and swears out- right that he '11 murdlier her av' she don't swear, by the blessed Mary and the cross, that she'll niver dhrame of marrying no one." " Who tould you all this, Biddy ? was it herself? " " Why, thin, partly herself it war who tould me, ma'am, and partly — ; vou see, when Mr. Barry war in his tantrums and dhrunken like, I didn't like to be laving Miss Anty alone wid him, and nobody nigh, so I and Terry betook ourselves nigh the door, and, partly, heard what was going on; that's the thruth on it, Mrs. Kelly ; and, afther a dale of rampaging and scolding, may I niver see glory av' he didn't up wid his clenched fist, strik her in the face, and knock her down — all for one as 'av she wor & dhrunken blackguard at a fair! " " You didn't see that, Biddy ? " " No, ma'am — I didn't see it ; how could I, through the door ? — bat I heerd it, plain enough. I hoerd the poor cratur fall for dead amongst the tables and chairs — I did, Mrs. Kelly — and I heerd the big blow smash agin her poor head, and down she wint . — why wouldn't she ? and he, the born ruffian, her own brother, the big blackguard, stricking at her wid all his force ! Well, wid that ma'am, 1 rushed into the room — at laist, I didn't rush in^ for how could I, and the-n she cpuld forget her brother's thresita for a time, MK. BABEY LYNCH MAKES A MORKING CALL. 61 ueemed to be more comfortable and happy than she had been for years. _ In vain did the widow that morning repeatedly invoke Meg and Jane, fii-st one and tlien the other, to assist in her commercial labours. In vain were Sally and Kate commissioned to bring them down. If, on some urgent behest, one of them darted down to mix a dandy of punch, or weigh a pound of sugar, when the widow wab imperatively employed elsewhere, she was up-stairs again, before her mother could look about her; and, at last, Mrs. Kelly was obliged to content herself with the retiection that girls would be girls, and that it was "nathural and right they sliouldu't wish to lave Anty alone the first morning, and" she s'thrango to the place." _ At five o'clock, the widow, as was her custom, went up to her dinner; and Meg was then obliged to come down and mind the shop, till her sister, having dined, should come down and relieve guard. She had only just ensconced herself behind the counter, vvhen who should walk into the shop but Barr^^ Lynch. Had Meg seen an ogre, or the enemy of all mankind himself, she could not, at the moment, have been more frightened ; and she stood staring at him, as if the sudden loss of the power of motion alone prevented her from running away. " I want to see Mrs. Kelly," said Barry ; " d' ye hear ? I want to see your mother; go and tell her." But we must go back, and see how Mr. Lynch had managed to get up, and pass his morning. CHAPTER VIL MB. BABRT LTNCH MAKES A MORKINO CALIi. It was noon before Barry first opened his eyes, and discovered the reality of the headache which the night's miserable and solitarv debauch had entailed on him. Por, in spite of the oft-repented assurance that there is not a headache in a hogshead of it, v.hiskey punch will sicken one, as well as more expensive and more I'asliiou- able potent drinks. Barry was very sick when he first awoke ; and very miserable, too ; lor vague recollections of what he had done, and doubtful fears of what he might have done, crowded ou him. A drunken man always feels more anxiety about what he has not done in bis drunkenness, th^n about what be has ; and so «$3 THE KELLYS AND THE KELLX5. it was with Barry. He reraf^ubered ha\ing used rough language with his sister, but he could not reuieiriber how far he had gone. He reinemberud strikiug her, and he knew that the servant had come in; but he could not remember how, or with what he had struck her, or whether he had done so more than once, or whether she had been much hurt. He could not even think whether he had seen her since or not; he remembered being in the garden, after she had fallen, and drinking again after that, but nothing further. Surely, he could not have killed her ? he could not even have hurt her very much, or he would have heard of it before this. If anything serious had happened, the servants would have taken care that he should have heard enough about it ere now. Then he began to think what o'clock it could be, and that it must be late, for his watch was run down ; the general fate of drunkards, who are doomed to utter ignorance of the hour at which they wake to the consciousness of their miserable disgrace. He feared to ring the bell for the servant ; he was afraid to ask the par- ticulars of last niijht's work ; so he turned on his pillow, and tried to sleep again. But in vain. If he closed his eyes, Anty was before them, and he was dreaming, half awake, that he was trying to stifle her, and that she was escaping, to tell all the world of his brutality and cruelty. This happened over and over again ; for when he dozed but for a minute, the same thing re-occurred, as vividly as before, and made even his waking consciousness prefer- able to the visions of his disturbed slumbers. So, at last, he roused himself, and endeavoured to think what he should do. Whilst he was sitting up in his bed, and reflecting that he must undress himself before lie could dress himself — for he had tumbled into bed with most of his clothes on — Terry's red head appeared at the door, showing an anxiety, on the part of its owner, to see if " the masther " was awake, but to take no step to bring about Buch a state, if, luckily, he still slept. " What 's the time, Terry? " said Lynch, frightened, by his own state, into rather more courtesy than he usually displayed to those dependent on him. " Well then, I b'lieve it 's past one, yer honer." " The d — 1 it is! I've such a headache. I was screwed last night ; eh, Terry ? " " I b'lieve yer war, yer honer." " What o'clock was it when I went to bed ? " " Well then, I don't rightly know, Mr. Barry ; it wasn't only about ten when I tuk in the last hot wather, and I didn't see jer honer afther that." " Well ; tell Miss Anty to make me a cup of tea, and do vou MB. BARRY LYNCH MAKES A MORNING CALL. 68 bring it up here." This was a feeler. If anything was the mnttci with Aiity, Terry vrould be sure to tell him now ; but oo oul* maid, " Tis, yer honer," and retreated. Barry now comforted ''imself with the reflection that thcj'C wa« no great harm done, an i that though, certainly, there had been some row between him and Anty, it would probahl}' blow over; and then, also, he began to reflect that, perhaps, what he Imd said ftnd done, would frighten her out of her match with Kelly. In the mean time, Terry went into the kitchen, witli the news that " masther was awake, and axing for tay." Biddy had eon- eidered herself entitled to remain all the morning at the inn, having, in a manner, earned a right to he idle for that day, by her activity during the night ; and the other girl had endeavoured to enjoy the same luxury, for she had been found once or twice during the morning, ensconced in the kitchen, under Sally's wing; but Mrs. Kelly had hunted her back, to go and wait on her master, giving her to understand that she would not receive the whole household. " And ye 're afther telling him where Miss Anty 's gone, Terry ? " i.iquired the injured fair one. " Divil a tell for me thin, — shure, he may find it out hisself, widout my telling him." " Faix, it 's he '11 be mad thin, when he finds she 's taken up with the likes of the widdy Kelly ! " " And ain't she betther there, nor being murthered up here ? He 'd be killing her out and out some night." " Well, but Terry, he 's not so bad as all that ; there 's worse than him, arid ain't it rasonable he shouldn't be quiet and asy, and she taking up with the likes of Martin Kelly ? " " May be so; but wouldn't she be a dale happier with Martin than up here wid him ? Any ways it don't do angering him, so, get him the tay, Judy." It was soon found that this was easier said than done, for Anty, in her confusion, had taken away the keys in her pocket, and there was no tea to be had. The bell was now rung, and, as Barry had gradually re-assured himself, rung violently ; and Terry, when he arrived distracted at the bed-room door, was angrily asked by his thirsty master why the tea dida't appear P The truth was now obliged to come out, or at any rate, part of it : so Terry answered, that Mis3 Anty was out, and had the keys with her. l\Liss Anty was so i-arely out, that Barry instantly trembled a"ai/i. Had .°he gone to a magistrate, to swear against him? Had sne run j-,wav from him ? Had she gone off with Martin ? 64 THE KELLTS AND THE O'KEtLSS. " "Wl^.ere tlie d — 1 'a she gone, Terry ?" said he, in his extremity. "Fail, yer honer, thin, I 'm not rightly knowing ; but I hear lell she 's down at the widow Kelly's." " Who told you, you fool ? " " Well thin, yer lioner, it war Judy." " And where 's Judy ? " And it ended in Judy's being produced, and the two of them, at lengtli, explained to tlieir master, that the widow had come up early in the morning and fetched her away ; and Judy swore " thut not a know she knowed how it had come about, or what had induced the widow to come, or Miss Anty to go, or anything about it; only, for sbure. Miss Anty was down there, snug ennugh, with Miss Jane and Miss Meg; and the widdy war in her tantrums, and wouldn't let ony dacent person inside the house-door — barring Biddy. And that wor all she knowed, av' she wor on the book." The secret was now out. Anty had left him, and put herselt under the protection of Martin Kelly's mother; had absolutely defied him, after all his threats of the preceding night. What should he do now! All his hatred for her returned again, all his anxious wishes that she might be somehow removed from his path, as an obnoxious stumbling-block. A few minutes ago, he was afraid he had murdered her, and he now almost wished that he had done so. He finished dressing himself, and then sat down in the parlour, which liad been the scene of his last night's brutality, to concoct fresh schemes for the persecution of his sister. In the mean time, Terry rushed down to the inn, demanding the keys, and giving Mrs. Kelly a fearful history of his master's anger. This .she very wisely refrained from retailing, but, having procured the keys, ga>3 them to the messenger, merely informing him, tliat "thanks to God's kind protectiou, Miss Anty was tolerably well over the last night's work, and he might tell hia master so." This message Terry thought it wisest to suppress, so he took the breakfast up in silence, and his master asked no more ques- tions. He was very sick and pale, and could eat nothing ; but he drank a quantity of tea, and a couple of glasses of brandy-and- water, and then he felt better, and again began to think what measures he should take, what scheme he could concoct, for stopping this horrid marriage, and making his sister obedient to hie wishes. " Confound her," he said, almost aloud, as he thought, with bitter vexation of spirit, of her uniucumbered moiety of the propeity, " coniouud them all ! " grinding his teetli, and meaning, by the "all " to include with Anty his lather, and every one who might have assisted hi.s father in making the odious will, as well Mil. BARRY LYNCH MAKES A MORNING CALL. &ti as his own attorney in Tuam, who wouldn't find out some legal expedient by which he could set it aside. And then, as he thought of the shameful persecution of which he was the victim, he kicked the fender with impotent violence, and, as the noise of the falling fire-irons added to his passion, he reiterated his kicks till the unoffending piece of furniture was smashed ; and then witu manly indignation he turned away to the window. But breaking the furniture, though it was what the widow pre- dicted of him, wouldn't in any way mend matters, or assist him in getting out of his difliculties. What was he to do ? He couldn't live on £200 a-year ; he couldn't remain in Dunmore, to be known by every one as Martin Kelly's brother-in-law ; he couldn't endure the thoughts of dividing the property with such " a low-born huxtering blackguard," as he called him over and over again. He couldn't stay there, to be beaten by him in the course of legal proceedings, or to give him up amicable possession of what ought to have been — what should have been his — what he looked upon as his own. He came back, and sat down again over the fire, contemplating the debris of the fender, and turning all these miserable circumstances over in his mind. After remaining there till five o'clock, and having fortified himself with sundry glasses of wine, he formed his resolution. He would make one struggle more ; he would first go down to the widow, and claim his sister, as a poor simple young woman, inveigled away from lier natural guardian ; and, if this were unsuccessful, as he felt pretty sure it would be, ne would take proceedings to prove her a lunatic. If he failed, he might still delay, and finally put off the marriage ; and he was sure he could get some attorney to put him in the way of doing it, and to undertake the work for him. His late father's attorney had been a fool, in not breaking the will, or at ftny rate trying it, and he would go to Daly. Young Daly, he knew, was a sharp fellow, and wanted practice, and this would just suifhim. And then, if at last he found that nothing could be done by this means, if his sister and the property must go from him, he would compromise the matter with the bridegroom, he would meet him half way, and, raising what money he could on his share of the estate, give leg bail to his creditors, and go to Bome place abroad, where tidings of Dunmore would never reach him. AVhat did it matter what people said? he should never hear it. He would make over the whole property to Kelly, on getting a good life income out of it. Martin was a prudent fellow, and would jump at such a plan. As he thought of this, ha even begau to wish that it was done; he pictured to himself the easy pleasures, the card-tables, the billiard-rooms and cafes of 66 THE KELLYS AND TIIE O'KELLYS. some Calais or Boulogne ; pleasures which he had never knowT3, but which had been so glowingly described to him ; and he got almost cheeriu! again as he felt that, in any way, there might be bright days yet in store for him. He would, however, still make the last effort for the whole stake. It would be time enough to give in, and make the best of a }ns aller, when he was forced to do so. If beaten, he would make use of Martin Kelly ; but he would first try if he couldn't prove liim to be a swindling adventurer, and his sister to be an idiot. Much satisfied at having come to this salutary resolution, he took up his hat, and set out for the widow's, in order to put into operation the first part of the scheme. He rather wished it over, as he knew that Mrs. Kelly was no coward, and had a strong tongue in her head. However, it must be done, and the sooner the better. He first of all looked at himself in his glass, to see that his appearance was sufficiently haughty and indignant, and, as he flattered himself, like that of a gentleman singularly out of his element in such a village as Dunmore ; and then, having ordered his dinner to be ready on his return, he proceeded on his voyage for the recovery of his dear sister. Entering the shop, he communicated his wishes to Meg, in the manner before described ; and, while she was gone on her errand, he remained alone there, lashing his boot, in the most approved, but still, in a very common-place manner. "Oh, mother!" said Meg, rushing into the room where her mother, and Jane, and Anty, were at dinner, " there 's Barry Lynch down in the shop, wanting you." " Oh my ! " said Jane. " Now sit still, Anty dear, and he can't come near you. Shure, he '11 nive. 6e afther coming up stairs, will he, Meg ? " Anty, who had begun to feel quite happy in her new quarters, and among her kind friends, turned pale, and dropped her knife and fork. " What 'U I do, Mrs. Kelly ? " she said, as she saw the old lady complacently get up. " Tou 're not going to give me up ? Tou '11 not go to him ? " " Faith 1 will thin, my dear," replied the widow ; " never fear else — I 'U go to nim, or any one else that sends to me in a dacent manner. May-be it 's wanting tay in the shop he is. I '11 go to him immadiately. But, as for giving you up, I mane you to stay here, till you've a proper home of year own; and Barry Lynch has more in him than I think, av' he makes me alter my miod. Set down quiet, Meg, and get your dinner." And the widow got up, and proceeded to the shop. The girls were all in commotion. One went to the door at the MB. BARRY LtNCH MAKES A MORNING CALL. 67 top of the stairs, to overhear as much as possible of what was to take place ; and the other clasped Anty's haud, to re-assure her, having 6rst thrown open the door of one of the bed-rooras, that she might have a place of retreat in the event of the enemy Buoceeding- in pushing his way up stairs. "Tour humble sarvant, Mr. Lynch," said the widow, entering the shop and immediately taking up a position of strengLh in her accustomed place behind the counter. " Were you wanting me, this evening ?" and she took up the knife with which she cue pen- n'orths of tobacco for her customers, and hitting the counter with its wooden handle looked as hard as copper, and as bold as brass. " Yes, Mrs. Kelly," said Barry, with as much dignity as he could muster, " I do want to speak to you. My sister has foolishly left her home this morning, and my servants tell me she is under your roof. Is this true ? " " Is it Anty ? Indeed she is thin : ating her dinner, up stairs, this very moment ; " and she rapped the counter again, and looked her foe in the face. " Then, with your leave, Mrs. Kelly, I '11 step up, and speak to her. I suppose she 's alone ? " " Indeed she ain't thin, for she 's the two girls ating wid her, and myself too, barring that I 'm just come down at your bidding. No ; we 're not so bad as that, to lave her all alone ; and as for your seeing her, Mr. Lynch, 1 don't think she 's exactly wishing it at present; so, av' you've a message, I'll take it." " Tou don't mean to say that Miss Lynch — my sister — is in this inn, and that you intend to prevent my seeing her? You'd better take care what you 're doing, Mrs. Kelly. I don't want to say anything harsh at present, but you'd better take care what you 're about with me and my family, or you '11 find yourself in a scrape that you little bargain for." " I '11 take care of myself, Mr. Barry ; never fear for me, darling; and, what's more, I'll take care of your sister, too. And, to give you a bit of my mind — she '11 want my care, I 'm thinking, while you're in the counthry." " I 've not come here to listen to impertinence, Mrs. KeUy, and I will not do so. In fact, it is very unwillingly that I came into this house at all." " Oh, pray lave it thin, pray lave it! We can do without you." " Perhaps you will have the civility to listen to me. It is very unwillingly, I say, that I have come here at all ; but my sister, who is, unfortunately, not able to judge for herself, is here. How Bhe came here I don't pretend to say — " "Oh, she walked," eaid the widow, interrupting him; "she 65 THfi KfiLLYS AND TUB KELLTTS. w*VKcd, quiet and aaj', out of your door, and into mine. But th^t 'a a lie, for it '.viis out of ber own. She didn't come tlirough the kav'-hoie, nor yet out of the window." " i 'm saying nothing about how sbe came here, but here sLe is, poor creature ! " " Poor crature, indeed ! She wa.'i like to be a poor crature, av' she stayed up there much longer." " Here she is, I say, and I consider it my duty to look after her. Ton cannot but be aware. Mrs. Kelly, that this is not a fit place for Miss Lynch. You must be aware that a road-side public-house, however decent, or a village shop, however respect- able, is not the proper place for my sister; and, though I may not yet be legally her guardian, I am her brother, and am in charge of her property, and I insist on seeing her. It will be at your peril if you prevent me." " Have you done, now, Misther Barry ? " "That's what I've got to say; and I think you've sense enough to see the folly — not to speak of the danger, of preventing me from seeing my sister." "That's your say, Misther Lynch; and now, listen to mine. Av' Miss Anty was wishing to see you, you'd be welcome up stairs, for her sake ; but she ain't, so there's an end of that; for not a foot will you put inside this, unless you 're intending to force your way, and 1 don't think you '11 be for trying that. And as to bearing the danger, why, I'll do my best; and, for all the harm you 're likely to do me — that 's by fair manes, — I don't think I '11 be axing any one to help me out of it. So, good bye t' ye, av' you've no further commands, for I didn't yet well finish the bit I was ating." " And you mean to say, Mrs. Kelly, you '11 take upon yourself to prevent my seeing my sister? " "Indeed I do; unless she was wishing it, as well as yourself; and no mistake." " And you '11 do that, knowing, as you do, that the unfortunate young woman is of weak mind, and unable to judge for herself, and that I 'm her brother, and her only living relative and guardian ? " " All blathershin, Masther Barry," said the uncourteous widow, dropping the knite from her hand, and sm.icking her fingers : " as for wake mind, it 'a sthrong enough to take good care of herself and her money too, now she's once out of Duumore House. There's many waker than Anty Lynch, though fow have had worse tratement to make them so. As for guardian, I 'm thinking it 'b long since she was of age, and, av' her father didn't think MR. BARRT LYKCH MAliES A MOENING CALL. 63 ehe wanted one, wlien lie made his will, you needn't bother your- self about it, now she 's no one to plaze only herself. And as for brother, Masther Barry, why didn't you think of that before you struoK her, like a brute, as you are — before you got dlirunli, lik'i d baste, and then tlireatened to niurdher her? Why didn't you think about biolher and sisther before you thried to rob the poor wake crature, as you call her ; and when you found she wasn't quite wake enough, as you call it, swore to have her life, av' she wouldn't act at your bidding? That's being a brother and a guardian, is it, Masther Barry ? Talk to me of danger, you ruflian," continued the widow, with her back now thoroughly up ; "you'd betther look to yourself, or I know who'll be in most danger. Av' it wasn't the throuble it 'd be to Anty, — and, God knows, she 's had throubles enough, I 'd have had her before the magisthrates before this, to tell of what was done last night up at the house, yonder. But mind, she can do it yet, and, av' you don't take yourself very asy, she shall. Danger, indeed ! a robber and ruffian like you, tn talk of danger to me — and his dear sisther, too, and afther trying his best, last night, to murdher her! " These last words, with a long drand on the word dear, were addressed rather to the crowd, whom the widow's loud voice had attracted into the open shop, than to Barry, who stood, during this tirade, half stu|)ified with rage, and half frightened, at the open attack made on him with reference to his iil-treatiiient of Anty. Hovi'cver, he couldn't pull in his horns now, and he was obliged, in self-defence, to brazen it out. " Very well, Mrs. Kelly — you shall pay for this impudence, and that dearly. Tou 've invented these lies, as a pretext for getting my sister and her property into your hands ! " "Lies!" screamed the widow; " av' you say lies to me agin, in this house, 1 '11 smash the bones of ye mysjlf, with the broom- handle. Lies, indeed! and from you, Barry L\nch, the biggest liar in all Oonnaught — not to talk of robber and ruffian ! You 'd betther take yourself out of that, fair and asy, while you 're let. Tou '11 find you '11 have the worst of it, av' you come rampaging here wid me, my man ; " and she turned round to the listening crowd for sympathy, which those who dared were not slow in giving her. " And that 's thrue for you, Mrs. Kelly, Ma'am," exclaimed one. " It 's a shame for him to come storming here, agiu a lone widdy, so it is," said a virago, who seemed well able, like tljf widow herself, to take her own part. " Who iver knew any good of a Lynch — barring Miss Ant] herself? " argued a third. 70 THE KELLYS AND THE KELLY3. " The Kellys is always too good for tbe likes of them," put iu a fourth, presuming that the intended marriage was the subject immediately in discourse. "Faix, Mr. Martin's too good for the best of 'em," declared another. " Niver mind Mr. Martin, boys," said the widow, who wasn't well pleased to have her son's name mentioned in the affiiir — "it 's no business of his, one way or another; he ain't in Dunmore, nor yet nigh it. Miss Anty Lynch has come to me for protection; and, by the Blessed Virgin, she shall have it, as long as my name 's Mary Kelly, and I ain't like to change it ; so that 's the long and short of it, Barry Lynch. So you may go and get dbrunk agia as soon as you plaze, and bate and bang Terry Eooney, or Judy Smith ; only I think either on 'em 's more than a match for you." " Then I tell you, Mrs. Kelly," replied Barry, who was liardly able to get in a word," that you'll hear more about it. Steps are now being taken to prove Miss Lynch a lunatic, as every one here knows she unfortunately is ; and, as sure as you stand there, you '11 have to answer for detaining her ; and you 're much mistaken if you think you '11 get hold of her property, even though she were to marry your son, for, I warn you, she 's not her own mistress, or able to be so." " Drat your impudence, you low-born ruffian," answered his opponent ; " who cares for her money ? It 's not come to that yet, that a Kelly is wanting to schame money out of a Lj'nch." " I 've nothing more to say, since you insist on keeping possession of my sister," and Barry turned to the door. " But you '11 be indicted for conspiracy, so you 'd better be prepared." " Conspiracy, is it ? " said one of Mrs. Kelly's admirers; " may- be, Ma'am, he '11 get you put in along with Dan and Father Tieruy, God bless them ! It 's conspiracy they 're afore the judges for." Barry now took himself off, before hearing the last of the I widow's final peal of thunder. I " Get out wid you ! You 're no good, and never will be. An' it wasn't for the young woman up stairs, I 'd have the coat off I your back, and your face well mauled, before I let you out of the shop ! " And so ended the interview, in which the anxious brother can hardly be said to have been triumphant, or successful The widow, on the other hand, seemed to feel that she had acquitted herself well, and that she had taken the orplian's part, like a woman, a Christian, and a mother ; and merely saying, with a kind of inward chuckle, " Come to me, indeed, with his roguery ! he 's got the wrong pig by the ear ! " ehe walked off, to joLa the MR. BARRY LYNCH MAKES A MORNING CALL. 71 more timid trio up stairs, one of whom was speedily sent down, to Bee that business did not go astray. And then she gave a long account of the interview to Anty and ]\Ieg, which was hardly necessary, as they had heard most of what had passed. The widow however was not to know that, and she was very voluble in her description of Barry's insolence, and of the dreadfully abusive things he bad said to her— how he had given her the lie, and called her out of her name. She did not, however, seem to be aware that she had, herself, said a word wliich was more than necessarily violent ; and assured Anty over and over again, that, out of respect to her feelings, and because the man was, after all, her brother, she had refrained from doing and saying what she would have done and said, had she been treated in such a manner by anybody else. She seemed, however, in spite of the ill-treatment which she had undergone, to be in a serene and liappy state of mind. She shook Anty's two hands i'l hers, and told lier to make herself " snug and asy where she was, like a dear girl, and to i'ret for nothing, for no one could hurt or harum her, and she undher Mary Kelly's roof." Then she wiped her face in lier apron, set to at her dinner ; and even went so far as to drink a glass of porter, a thing she hadu't done, except on a Sunday, since iicr eldest daughter's marriage. Barry Lynch sneaked up the town, like a beaten dog. He felt that the widow had had the best of it, and he also felt that every one in Dunmore was against him. It was however only what he had expected, and calculated upon ; and what sliould he care for the Dunmore people ? They wouldn't rise up and kill him, nor would they be likely even to injure him. Let them hate on, he vsould follow iiis own plan. As he came near the house gate, there was sitting, as usual, Jacky, the fool. " Well, ver houer, Masther Barry," said Jacky, " don't forget youu poor fool this blessed morning! " " Away with you ! If I see you there again, I '11 have you in Bridewell, you blackguard." " Ah, you 're joking, Masther Barry. You wouldn't like to be afther doing that. So yer honor's been down to the widdy's ? That's well; it's a fine thing to see you on good terms, since you 're soon like to be so sib. Well, there an't no betther fellow, from this to Galway, than Martin Kelly, that 's one comfort, Masther Barry." Barry looked round for something wherewith to avenge himself for this, but Jacky was out of hia reach ; so he merely muttered some customary but inaudible curses, and turned into thu house. He immediately took pen, ink, and paper, and. writing the yg THE KELLYS AND THE KELLYS. following note dispatched it to Tuam, by Terry, mounted for t'le ocscasion, and directed on no account to return without an answer. If Mr. Daly wasn't at home, he was to wait for his return ; that i^ if he was expected home that night. Dunmore House, Feb. 1814. My dear Sir, I wish to consult you on legal business, which will hear no delay. The subject is of considerable importance, and I am induced to think it w'ill be more ably handled by you than by Mr. Blake, my father's man of business. There is a bed at your service at Dunraore House, and I shall be glad to see you to dinner to-monow. I am, dear Sir, Tour faithful servant, Baeet Lynch. P.S. — Tou had better not mention in Tuam that you are coming to me,— ^not that my business is one that I intend to keep secret. J. Daly, Esq., Solicitor, Tuam. In about two hours' time, Terry had put the above into the hands of the person for whom it was intended, and in two more he had brought back an answer, saying that Mr. Daly would be at Dunmore House to dinner on the following day. And Terry, on his journey there and back, did not forget to tell everyone he saw, from whom he came, and to whom he was going. CHAPTER VIII. MR. MARTIN KELLY KETORNS TO DDKMOEE. "We will now return to Martin Kelly. I have before .^aid th.it as soon as he had completed h?a legal business, — namelv, liis instructions for the settlement of Anty Lyuch's property, respocL- ing which he and Lord Ballindine had been to;;ether to the lawyer's in Clare Street,— he started for home, by the Ballinasloe canal-boat, and reached that famous depot of the fleecv tribe without adventure. I will not attempt to describe the tedium of that horrid voyage, for it has been often described before ; and to Martin, who was in no ways fastidious, it was not so unendurable ME. MARTIN KELLY RETURNS TO DUNMOEE. 73 OS it mMst always be to those who have been accustomed to more rapid movement. Nor yet will I attempt to put on record the miserable resources of those, who, doomed to a twenty hours' sojourn in one of these floating prisons, vainly eudeavour to occupy or amuse their minds. But I will advise any, who, from ill-contrived arrangements, or unforeseen misfortune,* may find themselves on board the Ballinasloe canal-boat, to entertain no such vain dream. The vis inertics of patient endurance, is the only weapon of any use in attempting to overcome the lengthened euuui of this most tedious transit. Reading is out of the question. I have tried it myself, and seen others try it, but in vaiu. The sense of the motion, almost imperceptible, but still perceptible; the noises above you ; the smells around you ; the diversifie.l crowd, of which you are a part; at one moment the heat this crowd creates; at the next, the draught which a window just opened behind your ears lets in on you; the fumes of punch; the snores of the man under the table ; the noisy anger of his neighbour, who reviles the attendant sylph ; the would-be witticisms of a third, who makes continual amorous overtures to the same over- tasked damsel, notwithstanding the publicity of his situation; the loud complaints of the old lady near the door, who cannot obtain the gratuitous kindness of a glass of water; and the baby-soothing lullabies of the young one, who is suckling her infant under youi elbow. These things alike prevent one from reading, sleeping, or thinking. All one can do is to wait till the long night gradually wears itself away, and reflect that, " Time and the hour run through the longest day." I hardly know why a journey in one of these boats should be much more intolerable than travelling either outside or inside a coach ; for, either in or on the coach, one has less room for motion, and less opportunity of employment. 1 believe the misery of tha cannl-boat chiefly consists in a pre-conceived and erroneous idea of its capabilities. One prepares oneself for occupation — an attempt is made to achieve actual comfort — and both end in disappointment; the limbs become weary with endeavouring to fix themselves in a position of repose, and the mind is fatigued more by the search after, than the want of, occupation. Martin, however, made no complaints, and felt no misery. He made great play at the eternal half-boiled leg of mutton, floating in a bloody sea of grease and gravy, which always comes on the • Of course it will be rememhered tta*-. this was written befor? milwr.J's 'n Ireland had been constructed. 74 THE KELLYS AND THE KELLYS. table tliree hours after tlie departure from Porto Belle. He, and otlipra equnlly gifted with the "dura ilia mesaorum" swallowed [luge collops of the raw animal, and vast heaps of yellow turnips, till the pit}' with which a stranger would at first be inclined to con- template the consumer of such unsavoury food, is transferred to the victim who has to provide the meal at two shillings a head. Neither love nor drink — and Martin had, on the previous day, been much troubled with both — had affected his appetite ; and lie ate out his money with the true persevering prudence of a Connaught man, who firmly determines not to be done. He was equally diligent at breakfast ; and, at last, reached Ballinasloe, at ten o'clock the morning after he had left Dublin, iu a ilourishing condition. Prom thence he travelled, by Bianconi'a car, as far as Tuam, and when there he went at once to the hotel, to get a hack car to take him home to Dunmore. In the hotel yard he found a car already prepared for a journey ; and, on giving his order for a similar vehicle for his own use, was informed, by the disinterested ostler, that the horse then being harnessed, was to take Mr. Daly, the attorney, to Tuam, and that probably that gentleman would not object to join him, Martin, in the cojiveyance. Martin, thinking it preferable to pay fourpence rather than sixpence a mile for his jaunt, acquiesced in this .•arrangement, and, as he had a sort of speaking acquaintance with Mr. Daly, whom he rightly imagined would not despise the economy which actuated himself, he had his carpet-bag put into the well of the car, and, placing himself on it, he proceeded to the attorney's door. He soon made the necessary explanation to Mr. Daly, who made no objection to the proposal ; and he also throwing a some- what diminutive carpet-bag into the same well, placed himself alongside of our friend, and they proceeded on their journey, with the most amicable feelings towards each other. They little guessed, either the one or the other, as they com- menced talking on the now all-absorbing subject of the great trial, that they were going to Dunmore for the express object — though not with the expressed purpose, of opposing each other — that Daly was to be employed to suggest any legal means for robbing iMartin of a wife, and Anty of her property ; and that Martin was going home with the fixed determination of effecting a wedding, to prevent which his companion was, in consideration of liberal payment, to use all his ingenuity and energy. Wiien they had discussed O'Coiinel and his companions, and their ciiarices of liberation for four or five miles, and when Martin had warmly expressed his assurance that no jury could convict tie Mil. MARTIN KELLt itETUENg TO i)tfi*MOilE. saviours of their country, and Daly had given utterance to r::,*i legal Opinion that saltpetre couldn't save them from two yearn ir. Newgate, Martin asked his companion whether he was going beyond Dunmore that night ? " Ko, indeed, then," replied Daly; " I have a client there now — a thing 1 never had in that part of the country before yesterday." " We 'Jl have you at tbo inn, then, I suppose, Mr. Daly ? " " Faith, you v.on't, for I shall dine on velvet. My new client ia one of the riglit sort, that can feed as well as fee a lawyer. I've got my dinner, and bed to-night, whatever else I may get." " There 's not many of that sort in Duumoro thin ; any way, there weren't when I left it, a week since. ^Vhose house are you going to, Mr. Dal}', ffv' it 's not impertinent asking ? " " Barry Lynch's." " Barry Lynch's ! " re-echoed Martin; "the divil you are! I wonder what's in the wind with him now. I thought Blake always did his business ? " " The devil a know I know, so I can't tell you ; and if I did, 1 shouldn't, you maybe sure. But a man that 's just come to his property always wants a lawyer ; and many a one, besides Barry Lynch, ain't satisfied without two." " Well, any way, I wish you joy of your new client. I 'm not over fond of him myself, I '11 own ; but then there were always rasons why he and I shouldn't pull well together. Barry's always been a dale too high for me, since he was at school with the young lord. Well, good evening, Mr. Daly. Never mind the car coming down the street, as you 're at your friend's gate," and Martin took his bag on his arm, and walked down to the inn. Though Martin couldn't guess, as he walked quickly down the street, what Barry Lynch could want with young Daly, who was beginning to be known as a clever, though not over-scrupulous practitioner, ho felt a presentiment that it must have some reference to Anty and himself, and this made him rather uncomfortable. Could Barry have heard of his engagement? Had Anty repented of her bargain, during his short absence? Had that old reptile Moylan, played him false, and spoilt his game? "That must be it," said Blartin to himself, "and it's odd but I '11 be even with the schamer, yet ; only she 's so asy frightened ! — Av' she 'd the laist pluck in life, it's little I 'd care for Moylan or Barry either." This little s.rliloquy brought him to the inn door. Some of the tribe of loungers who were always hanging about the door, and whom in her hatred of idleness the widow would one day rout from the place, and, in her charity, feed the next, had seen Martin coming down the street, and bad given intelligeuce in the 76 THE KELLtS AND THE O'KELLtS. kiiilien. Aa ho walked in, therefore, at the open door, Meg and Jar.e -svere ready to receive hiiri in the passage. Their looks were big with some "important news. Martin soon saw that they had something to tell. " Well, girls," he said, as he chucked his bag and coat to Sally, «' for heaven's sake get me something to ate, for I 'm starved. "\V hat 's the news at Dunraore ? " " It 's you should have the news thin," said one, "and you just from Dublin." " There 's lots of news there, then ; I '11 tell you when I 've got my dinner. How 's the ould lady ? " and he stepped on, as if to pass by them, up-stairs. " Stop a moment, Martin," said Meg ; " don't be in a hurry ; there's some one there." " Who 's there ? is it a stranger ? " " Wliy, then, it is, and it isn't," said Jane. " But you don't ask afther the young lady ! " said her sister. " Mayl be hanged thin, av' I know what the two of ye are afther ! Is there people in both the rooms ? Come, girls, av' ye 've anything to tell, why doii't you out wid it and have done ? I suppose I can go into the bed-room, at any rate ? " " Ais7, Mat-tin, and I '11 tell you. Anty 's in the parlour." " In the parlour up stairs ? " said he ; " the deuce she is ! And what brought her here? Did she quarrel with Barry, Meg ? " added he, in a whisper. " Indeed she did, out and out," said Meg. '• Oh, he used her horrible ! " said Jane. " He '11 liear all about that by and by," said Meg. " Come up and see her now, Martin." " But does mother know she 'a here ? " " Why, it was she brought her here ! She fetched her down from the house, yesterday, before we was up." Thus assured that Anty had not been smuggled up stairs, her lover or suitor as he might perhaps be more confidently called, proceeded to visit her. If he wished her to believe that his first impulse, on hearing of her being in the house, had been to throw himself at her feet, it would have been well that this conversation should have been carried on out of her hearing. But Anty was not an exigent mistress, and was perfectly contented that as much of her recent history as possible should be explained before Martin presented himself. Martin went slowly up stairs, and paused a moment at the door, as if he was a little afraid of commencing the interview ; he looked round to his sisters, and made a sign to them to come ia SIR. MAJ.riN IIELLY RETURNS TO DUHMORE. 71 with liim, and then, quickly pushing open the unfastened door, walked briskly up to Anty and shook hands with her. " 1 hope you 're very v/ell, Anty," said he ; " seeing you here is what I didn't expect, but I 'm very glad you 've come down." " Thank ye, Martin," replied she ; " it was ver^' good of your mother, fetching me. She 's been the best friend I 'vc had many a day." " Begad, it 'a a, fine thing to see you and the ould lady pull so well together. It was yesterday you came here ? " " Yesterday morning. I was so glad to come! I don't know what thty 'd been saying to Barry ; but the night before last he got drinkiog, and tben he was very bad to me, and tried to frighten me, and so, you aee, I come down to your mother till we could be friends r.gair>." Anty's apolog-' for being at the inn, was perhaps unnecessary ; but, with the feeding so natural to a woman, she was half afraid that Jfartin would fancy she had run after him, and she therefore thought it as well to tell him that it was only a temporary measure. Poor Anty! At the moment she said so, she trembled at the very idea of patting herself again in her brother's power. " Frinds, indeed!" said Meg; " how can you iver be frinds with the like of him ? What nonsense you talk, Anty ! Why, Martin, he ^yas like to murdher her! — he raised his fist to he', and knocked her down — and, afther that, swore to her he 'd k:.} her outright av' she wouldn't sware that she 'd niver — " " Whist, Meg ! How can you go on that way ? " said Anty, interrupting her, and blushing. " I '11 not stop in the room ; don't you know he was dhrunk when he done all that ? " "And won't he be dhrunk again, Anty ? " suggested Jane. " Shure he will : he '11 be dhrunk always, now he 's once begun," replied Meg, who, of all the family was the most anxious to push her brother's suit ; and who, though really fond of her friend, thought the present opportunity a great deal too good to be thrown away, and could not bear the idea of Antv'a even thinking of being reconciled to her brother. " Won't he be always dhrunk now ? " she continued ; "and ain't we all frinds here ? and why shouldn't you let me tell Martin all ? Afther all 's said and done, isn't he the best frind you 've got ? " — Here Anty blushed very red, and to tell the truth, so did Martin too — " well so he is, and unlesa you tell him what 's happened, how 's he to know what to advise ; and, to tell the truth, wouldn't you sooner do what ho says than any one else ? " "I'm sure I'm very much obliged to Mr. Martin'' — it haO b?en plain Martin before Meg's appeal ; " but vour mother 78 THE KELLyS AND a-HE O'eKLLYS. knoivs what's best for me, and I '11 do whatever sl'e sajs. At' it hadn't been for her, I don't know where I 'd be now.' " But you needn't quarrel with Martin because you 're frinds with mother," answered Meg. " Nonsense Meg," said Jane, " Anty 's not going to quarrel with him. Tou hurrj her too much." Martin looked rather stupid all this time, but he plucked up courage and said, " Who 's going to quarrel ? I 'm shure, Anty, you and I won't ; but, whatever it is Barry did to you, I hope you won't go back there again, now you 're once here. But did he railly sthrike you in arnest ? " " He did, and knocked her down," said Jane. " But won't you get your brother his dinner ? " said Anty ; " he must be very hungry, afther his ride — and won't you see your mother afther your journey, Mr. Martin ? I 'm shure she 's expecting you." This, for the present, put an end to the conversation ; the girls went to get something for their brother to eat, and he descended into the lower regions to pay his filial respects to his mother. A considerable time passed before Martin returned to the meal the three young women had provided for him, during which he was in close consultation with the widow. In the first place, she began upbraiding him for his folly in wishing to marry an old maid for her money ; she then taxed him with villany, for trying to cheat Anty out of her property ; and when he defended himself from that charge by telling her what he had done about the settle- ment, slie asked him how much he had to pay the rogue of a lawyer for that ' gander's job.' She then proceeded to point out all the difficulties -nhich lay in the way of a marriage between him, Martin, and her, Anty ; and showed how mad it was for either of them to think about it. From that, she got into a narrative of Barry's conduct, and Anty's sufferings, neither of which lost any- tliing in the telling ; and having by tiiis time gossipped herself into a good humour, she proceeded to show how, through her means and assistance, the marriage might take place if he w:is still bent upon it. She eschewed all running away, and would hear of no chmdestine proceedings. They should be married in the face of day, as the Kellys ought, with all their friends round them. " They 'd have no huggery-muggery work, up m a corner ; not they indeed ! why should they ?— for fear of Barry Lyut-h ? — who cared for a dhrunken blackguard like that ? — not she indeed ! — who ever heard of a Kelly being afraid of a Lynch ? — They 'd ax him to come and see his sister married, and av' ho didn't like it, he might do the Qther thing." affi. MARTIN KELLY RETURNS TO DUNMORE. 79 And so, the ■widow got quite eloquent on tlie glories of the wedding, and the enormities of her son's future brother-in-law, icho bad, she assured Martin, come down and abused her horribly, in her own shop, before all the town, because she allowed Antj to stay in the house. She then proceeded to the consequences of the marriage, and expressed her hope that when Martin got all that ready money he would " do something for his poor sisthers — for Heaven knew they war like to be bad enough oif, for all she 'd be able to do for them ! " Prom this she got to Martin's own future mode of life, suggesting a " small snug cottage on the farm, just big enough for them two, and, may-be, a slip of a girl servant, and not to be taring and tatthering away, as av' money had no eend ; and, afther all," she added, "there war nothing like industhry ; and who know'd whether that born villain, Barry, mightn't yet get sich a hoult of the money, that there 'd be no getting it out of his fist ? " and she then depicted, in most pathetic language, what would be the misery of herself and all the Kellya if Martin, flushed with his prosperity, were to give up the farm at Toneroe, and afterwards find that he had been robbed of his expected property, and that he had no support for himself and his young bride. On this subject Martin considerably comforted her by assuring her that be had no thoughts of abandoning Toneroe, although he did not go so far as to acquiesce in the very small cottage ; and he moreover expressed his thorough confidence that he would neither be led himself, nor lead Anty, into the imprudence of a marriage, until he had well satisfied himself that the property wda safe. The widow was well pleased to find, from Martin's prudent resolves, that he was her own son, and that she needn't blush for him ; and then they parted, she to her shop, and he to his dinner: not how- ever, before he had promised her to give up all ideas of a clandes- tine marriage, and to permit himself to be united to his wife in the face of day, as became a Kelly. The evening passed over quietly and snugly at the inn. Martia had not much dilEculty in persuading his three companions to take a glass of punch each out of his tumbler, and less in getting them to take a second, and, before they went to bed, he and Anty were again intimate. And, as he was sitting next her for a couple of hours on the little sofa opposite the fire, it is more than probable that he got his arm round her waist — a comfortable position, which seemed in no way to shock the decorum of either Meg or Jane. 80 THE KELLYS AND THE O'kELLYS. CHAPTER IX. MB. DALT, THE ATTORNET. Wb must now see how things went on in the enemy's camp. The attorney drove up to the door of Dunmore House on his car, and was shown into the drawing-room, where he met Barry Lynch. The two young men were acquainted, though not intimate with each other, and they bowed, and then shook hands ; and Barry told the attorney that he was welcome to Dunmore House, and the attorney made another bow, rubbed his hands before the fire and said it was a very cold evening ; and Barry said it was 'nation cold for that time of the year ; which, considering that they were now in the middle of February, showed that Barry was rather abroad, and didn't exactly know what to say He remained for about a minute, silent before the fire, and then asked Daly if he 'd like to see his room ; and, the attorney acquiescing, he led him up to it, and left him there. The truth was, that, as the time of the man's visit had drawn nearer, Barry had become more and more embarrassed ; and now that the attorney had absolutely come, his employer felt himself unable to explain the business before dinner. " These fellows are so confoundedly sharp — I shall never be up to him till I get a tumbler of punch onboard," said he to himself, comforting himself with the reflection ; " besides, I 'm never well able for anything till I get a little warmed. We '11 get along like a house on fire when we've got the hot water between us." The true moaning of all which was, that he hadn't the courage to make known his villanous schemes respecting his sister till he was half drunk: and, in order the earlier to bring about this necessary and now daily consummation, he sneaked down stairs and took a solitarj- glass of brandy to fortify himself for entertaining the attorney. The dinner was dull enough ; for, of course, as long as the man was in tbe room there was no talking on business, and, in his present frame of mind Barry was not likely to be an agreeable companion. The attorney ate his dinner as if it was a part of the fee, received in payment of the work t" was to do, and with a determination to make the most of it. At last, the dishes disappeared, and with them Terry Eoonev; who, however, like a faithful servant, felt too strong an" interest "in his master's afHars to be very far absent when matters of impoiv tance were likelv to be discussed. ME. DALY, THE ATTORNEY. 81 " And now, Mr. Daly,'' said Lyncli, " we can be snug here, without iiiieiTuption, for an hour or two. Tou '11 find ttat whiskey old and good, I tliink; but, if you prefer wine, that port on the table ciiiiic from E.irtou'a, in Sackville Street." " Tbank ye ; if I take anything, it '11 be a glass of punclj. But as we 've buaiuess to talk of, may-be I 'd better keep my head clear." " IiTy he.T-d 's never so clear then, as when I 've done my second tumbler. I 'in never so sure of what I 'm about as when I 'm a litile warmed ; ' but,' says you, ' because my head 'a strong, it 's no reason another's shouldn't be weak:' but do as you like; liberty b.-dl hcie now, Mr. Daly; that is, as far as I'm concorued. You knew my father, I believe, Mr. Daly ? " " Well then, Mr. Lynch, I didn't exactly know him ; but living so near liiai, and lie having so much business in the couutj'', and myself having a little, I believe I 've been in company with him, odd times." " He wiis a queer man : wasn't he, Mr. Daly ? " " Was he, then ? I dare say. I didn't know much about him. I '11 take the sugar from you, Mr. Lynch ; I believe I might as well mi.x a drop, as the night 's cold." "That's right. I thought you weren't the fellow to sit with an empty glass before you. But, as I was saying before, the old boy was a queer hand ; that is, latterly — for the last year or so. Of course you know all about his will? " " Faith then, not mucli. I heard he left a will, dividing the property b<.tween you and Miss Lj'nch." " He did ! Just at the last moment, when the breath wasn't much more tliau left in liim, he signed a will, making away half the estate, just as you say, to my sister. Blake could have broke the will, only he was so d pig-headed and stupid. It 's too late now, I suppose ? " " Why, I could hardly answer that, you know, as I never heard the circumstances ; but I was given to understand that Blake con- sulted McMahon ; and that McMahon wouldn't take up the cise, as there was nothing he could put before the Chancellor. Mind I 'm only repeating what people said in Tuain, and about there'. Of course, 1 couldn't think of advising till 1 knew the particulars. Was it on this subject, Mr Lynch, you were good enough to send forme?" "IN'ot at all, Mr. Daly. Hook upon that as done and gone; bad luck to Blake and McMahon, both. The truth is, between you and me, Daly — I don't mind telling you; as I hope now you will b.eppjpe my roan of buaiuess, and it 's only fair you should 82 THE KELLYS AND THE O KELLTS. know all about it — the truth is, Blake was more interested on tbo other side, and he was determined the case shouldn't go before the Chaticellor. But, when my father signed that will, it was just after one of those fits he had lately ; that could be proved, and he didn't know what he was doing, from Adam! He didn't know what was in the will, nor, that he was signing a will at all ; so help me, he didn't. However, that 's over. It wasn't to talk about that that I sent for you ; only, sorrow seize the rogue that made the old man rob me ! It wasn't Anty herself, poor creature; she knew nothing about it ; it was those who meant to get hold of my money, through her, that did it. Poor Anty ! Heaven knows she wasn't up to such a dodge as that ! " " Well, Mr. Lynch, of course I know nothing of the absolute facts ; but from what I hear, I think it 's as well to let the will alone. The Chancellor won't put a will aside in a hurry ; it 'a always a difficult job — would cost an immense sum of money, which should, anyway, come out of the property; and, after all, the chances are ten to one you 'd be beat." " Perhaps you 're right, now ; though I 'm sure, had the matter been properly taken up at first — had you seen the whole cat^e at the first start, the thing could have been done. I 'm sure you would have said so; but that's over now; it's another business I want you for. But you don't drink your punch ! — and it 's dry work talking, without wetting one's whistle," and Barry carried out his own recommendation. " I 'm doing very well, thank ye, Mr. Lynch. And what is it I can do for you ? " " That 's what I 'm coming to. Tou know that, by the will, my sister Anty gets from four to five hundred a year ? " "I didn't know the amount; but I believe she has half what- ever there is." " Exactly : half the land, half the cash, half the house, half everytliing, except the debts ! and those were contracted in my name, and I must pay them all. Isn't that hard, Mr. Daly ? " " I didn't know your father had debts." " Oh, but he had — debts which ought to have been his ; thoun-h as 1 said, they stand in my name, and I must pay them." " And, I suppose, what you now want is to saddle the debts on the entire property ? If you can really prove that the debts were incurred for your father's benefit, I should think you m.ight do that. But has your sister refused to pay the half? Tliev can't be heavy. Won't Miss Lynch agree to pay the half herself? '' This last lie of Barry's — for, to give the devil liia due, old Sim Jiftdn't owed one penny for the last twputy years — waa only 9 MR. DALY, THE ATTORNEY. 83 bfiglit invention of the moment, thrown off by our injured hero to aggravate the hardships of his case ; but he was determined to malce the most of it. '■'■ Not heavy ? — faith, they are heavy, and d — d heavy too, Mr. Daly! — what '11 take two hundred a-year out of my miserable share of the p-cperty ; divil a less. Oh ! there 's never any know- ing how a man '11 cut up till he 's gone." " That 's true ; but how could your father owe such a sum as that, and no one know it? Why, that must be four or five thousand pounds ? " " About five, I believe." " And you 've put your name to them, isn 't that it ? " "Something like it. You know, he and Lord Ballindino, years ago, were fighting about the leases we held under the old Lord ; and then, the old man wanted ready money, and borrowed it in Dublin ; and, some years since — that is, about three years ago, — ■ sooner than see any of the propert_Y sold, I took up the debt my- self. You know, it was all as good as my own then ; and now, confound it ! I must pay the whole out of the miserable thing that 's left me under this iufernal will. But it wasn't even about that I sent for you ; only, I must explain exactly how matters are, before 1 come to the real point." " But your father's name must be joined with yours in the debt; and, if so, you can come upon the entire property for the payment. Tli ere 's no difliculty about that ; your sister, of course, must pay the half" " It 's not so, my dear fellow. I can't explain the thing exactly, but it 's I that owe the money, and I must pay it. But it 's no good talking of that. AVell, you see, Anty — that 's my sister, has this property all in her own hands. But you don't drink your punch," and Barry mixed his third tumbler. " Of course she has ; and, surely, she won't refuse to pay half the claims on the estate ? " " Never mind the claims ! " answered Barry, who began to fear that he had pushed his little invention a thought too far. " I tell vou, I must stand to them ; you don't suppose I 'd ask her to pay a penny as a favour ? No; I 'm a little too proud for that. Besides, it 'd be no use, not the least; and that's what I'm coming to. You see, Anty's got this money, and—. You know, don't you, Mr. Daly, poor Anty's not just like other people ? " " No." said Mr. Daly — " 1 didn't. I can't say I know much about Miss Lynch. I never had the pleasure of seeing her,'' " But did you never hear she wasn't quite right ?'' " Judeed, I never did, then," 84 THE KELLYS AND THE O KELLYS. " Well that 's odd ; but we never tad it mucli talked about, poor creature. Indeed, there was no necessity for people to know much about it. for she never gave any trouble ; and, to tell tlie truth, as long as she was kept quiet, she never gave us occa- sion to tliiiik much about it. But, confound them for rogues — those that have got hold of her now, have quite upset her." " But what is it ails your sister, Mr. Lynch? " " To have it out, at once, then — she 's not right in her upper Btiiry. Miud, I dou't mean she 's a downright lunatic , but she's cnicked, poor thing, and quite unable to judge for herself, iu money -matters, and such like; and, though she miglit have done very well, poor thing, and passed without notice, if she 'd been left (J uiet, as was always intended, I'm afraid now, unless she 's well managed, she'd end her life in the Ballinasloe Asylum." The attorney made no answer to this, although Barry paused, to allow him to do so. Daly was too sharp, and knew his employer's character toucll too beheve all he said, and lie now began to fancy that he saw what the affectionate brotlier was after. " Well, Daly," continued Barry, after a minute's pause; "after the old man died, we went on quiet enougli for some time. I was up in Dublin mostly, about that confounded loan, and poor Anty was left here by herself; and what should she do, but take up with a low hu.xter's family in the town here." " That 's bad," said the attorney. "Was there an unmarried young man among them at all ? " " Faith there was so ; as great a blackguard as there is in Connaught." " And Miss Lynch is going to marry him i" '^ " 'J'hat 's just it, Daly-; that 's what we must prevent. Tou know, for the sake of tl>e family, I couldn't let it go on. Then, poor oreature, she 'd be plundered and ill-treated — she 'd be a downright idiot in no time ; and, you know, Daly, the property 'd go to the devil ; and where 'd I be then ? " Daly couldn't help thinking that, in all probability, his kind host would not be long iu following the property ; but he did not say so. He merely asked the name of the " blackguard" whom Miss Anty meant to marry ? " Wait till I tell you the whole of it. The first thing I heard was, that Anty had made a low ruffian, named Moylan, her agent." " I know him ; she couldn't have done much worsa Well ? " " She uiade him her agent without speaking to me, or telliu" me a word about it ; and I couldn't make out what had put it into her head, till I heard that this old rogue was a kind of coiisia to some ijeoplo livincj here, nampd Kelly." MR. DALY, THE ATTORNEY. 88 " Wnat, tne widow, that keeps the iun? " " The very same ! confound her, for an impertinent scheminf; fild hag, as she is. Well; that 's the house that Anty was alvvayn going to ; drinking tea with the daughters, and walking with the eon — an infernal young farmer, that lives with them, the worst of tlie whole set." " What, Martin Kelly ? — There 's worse fellows than him, Mr. Lynch." " I '11 be hanged if I know them, then ; but if there are, I don't choose my poor sister — only one remove from an idiot, and liardly that — to be carried off from her mother's house, and married to such a fellow as that. Why, it 's all the same infernal plot ; it 'a the same people that got the old ir.an to sign the will, when he was past his senses ! " " Begad, they must have been clever to do that ! How the deuce could they have got the will drawn? " "I tell you, they did do it!" answered Barry, whose courage was now somewhat raised by the whiskey. " That 's neither here nor there, but they did it ; and, when the old fool was dead, they got this Moylan made Anty's agent : and then, the hag of a nioiiitjr comes up here, before daylight, and bribes the servant, and carries her off down to her filthy deu, which she calls an inn ; and when I call to see ray sister, I get nothing but insolence and abuse." " And when did this happen? When did Miss Lynch leave the house f " " Yesterday morning, about four o'clock." " She went down of lier own accord, though ? " " D — 1 a bit. The old hag came up here, and filched her out of her bed." " But she couldn't have taken your sister away, unless she had wished to go." " Of course she wished it ; but a silly creature like her can' bo let to do all she wishes. She wishes to get a husband, an doesn't care what sort of a one she gets ; but you don't supposs au old maid — forty years old, who has always been too stupid aad foolish ever to be scien or spoken to, should be allowed to throw awav four hundred a-year, on the first robber that tries to cheat her? Tou don't mean to say there isn't a law to prevent that?" " I don't know how you '11 prevent it, Mr. Lynch. She 'a her own mistress." " What the d — 1 ! — Do you mean to say there 's nothijig to pr©- yeut an idiot like that frpm marrying ? " 66 THE KELLYS AND TIIE KELLYS. "If slie teas an idiot! But I think you'll fircJ yi^ur sister has sense enough bo mr.rry -sviioui she pleases." " T tell ■''ou bhe w an idiot ; not raving, mind ; but everybody knows she was never fit to manage anything." " Who 'd prove it ! " " Why, I would. Divil a doubt of it ! J. could prove that she never could, all her life." " Ah, my dear Sir ! you couldn't do it ; nor could I advise you to try — that is, unless there were plenty more who could swear positively tliat she was out of her mind. Would the servants swear that ? Could you yourself, now, positively swear that she was out of her mind ? " " Why — she never had any mind to be out of." " Unless you are very sure she is, and, for a considerable time back, has been, a confirmed lunatic, you 'd be very wrong — very ill-advised, I mean, Mr. Lynch, to try tliat game at all. Things would come out which you wouldn't like ; and your motives would be — would be — " seen through at once, the attorney was on the point of saying, but he stopped himself, and finished by the words "called in question." " And I 'm to sit here, then, and see that young blackguard Kelly, run off with what ought to be my own, and my sister into the bargain ? I'm blessed if I do ! If you can't put me in the A-ay of stopping it, I '11 find those that can." " Ton 're getting too much in a hurry, Mr. Lynch. Is your sister a*; the inn now ? " " To be sure she is." " And she is engaged to this young man ? " " She is." " Why, then, she might be married to him to-morrow, for any- thing you know." " She might, if he was here. But they tell me he 's away, in Dublin." "If they told you so to-day, they told you w-rong: he came into Dunmore, from Tuam, on the same car with myself, this very afternoon." " What, Martin Kelly? Then he '11 be off with her this night, while we 're sitting here ! " and Barry jumped up, as if to rush out, and prevent the immediate consummation of his worst fears. " Stop a moment, Mr. Lynch," said the more prudent and more sober lawyer. " If they were ofi', you couldn't follow them : and, if you did follow and find them, you couldn't prevent their being married, if such were their wish, and they had a priest ready to do MR. Daly, the attohnet. &7 it. Take my advice; remain quiet where you arc, and let's talk the matter over. As for taking out a commission ' de lunatico,' as we call it, you '11 find you couldn't do it. I\lis3 Lynch may be a little weak or so in the upper stor}^, but she 'a noc a lunatic; »nd you couldn't make her so, if you had half Dunmore to bad; you, because she 'd be brought before the Commissioners iierself, and tiiat, you know, would soon settle the question. But vou might still prevent the marriage, for a time, at any rate— at least, I tliink so; and, after that, you must trust to the cliapter of accidents." "So help me, that's all I want! If I got her once up here again, and was sure the thing was off, for a mouth or so, let me alone, then, for bringing her to reason ! " As_ Daly watched his comrade's reddening face, and saw the malicious gleam of his eyes as he declared how easily he 'd manage the aft'air, if poor Anty was once more in the house, his heart mis- gave him, even though he was a sharp attorney, at the idea of assisting such a cruel brute in his cruelty ; and, for a momeut, he had determined to throw up the matter. Barrv was so unprinci- pled, and so wickedly malicious in his want of principle, tliat ho disgusted even Daly. But, on second thoughts, the lawyer remembered that if he didn't do the job, auotiier would ; and, quieting his not very violent qualms of conscience with the idea that, though employed by the brother, he might also, to a certain extent, protect the sister, he proceeded to give his advice as to the course which would be most likely to keep the property out of the bands of the Kellys. He explained to Barry that, as Anty had left her own home in company with Martin's mother, and as she now was a guest at the widow's, it was unlikely that any immediate clandestine marriage should be resorted to ; that their most likely course would be to irazen the matter out, and have the wedding solemnised without any secrecy, and without any especial notice to him, Barry. That, on the next morning, a legal notice should be prepared in Tuam, and served on the widow, informing her that it was his intention tc indict her for conspiracy, in enticing away from her own home his Bister Anty, for the purpose of obtaining possession of her property, she being of weak mind, and not able properly to manage her own affairs ; that a copy of this notice should also be sent to Martin, warning him that he would be included in the indictment if he took any proceedings with regard to Miss Lynch ; and that a further copy should, if possible, be put into the hands of Miss Lynch herself. "You may be sure that'll frighten them," continued Daly, 88 THE KELLYS AND TSE o'EELtTS. " and then, you know, when we see what sort of fight they mak& we '11 be able to judge whether we ought to go on and prosecute or not. I think the widow '11 be very shy of meddling, when she finds you 're in earnest. And you see, Mr. Lynch," he went on, dropping his voice, " if you do go into court, as I don't think you will, you '11 go with clean hands, as you ought to do. Nobody can say anything against you for trying to prevent your sister from marrying a man so much younger than herself, and so much inferior in station and fortune ; you won't seem to gain anything by it, and that 's everything with a jury ; and then, you know, if it comes out that Miss Lynch's mind is rather touched, it 's an additional reason why you should protect her from intriguing and interested schemers. Don't you see ? " Barry did see, or fancied he saw, that he had now got the Kellys in a dead fix, and Anty back into his own hands again ; and his self-confidence having been fully roused by his potations, he was tolerably happy, and talked very loudly of the manner in which he would punish those low-bred huxters, who had presumed to interfere with him in the management of his family. Towards the latter end of the evening, he became even more confidential, and showed the cloven foot, if possible, more undis- guisedly than he had hitherto done. He spoke of the impossibility of allowing four hundred a year to be carried off from him, and suggested to Daly that his sister would soon drop oif, — that there would then be a nice thing left, and that he, Daly, should have the agency, and if he pleased, the use of Dunmore House. As for himself, he had no idea of mewing himself up in such a hole as that ; but, before he went, he 'd take care to drive that villain, Moylan, out of the place. " The cursed villany of those Kellys, to go and palm such a robber as that off on his sister, by way of an agent ! " To all this, Daly paid but little attention, for he saw that his host was drunk. But when Moylan's name was mentloued, he began to tliink that it might be as well either to include him in the threatened indictment, or else, which would be better still, to buy him over to their side, as they might probably learn from him what Martin's plans really were. Barry was, however, too tipsy to pay much attention to this, or to understand any deep-laid plans. So the two retired to their beds, Barry determined, as ho declared to the attorney in his drunken friendship, to have it out of Anty, when he caught her ; and Daly promising to go to Tuam early in the morning, have the notices prepared and served, and come back in the evening to dine and sleep, and have,, if possible, an interview with Mr. Moylan. As he undressed, he reflected i)OT BLAIiE S ADVICE. 89 that, during his short professional career, he had been throTvn into t)ie society of inanj' unmitigated rogues of every description ; but that his new friend, Barry Lynch, though he might not equa/ them in energy of villany and courage to do serious evil, bead them all hollow in selfishness, and utter brutal want of feelingj conscience, and principle. CHAPTER X. DOT BLAKE's advice. AN hour or two after Martin Kelly had left Porto Bello in the Ballinasloe fly-boat, our other hero. Lord Ballindine, and his friend Dot Blake, started from Morrison's hotel, with post horses, for Handicap Lodge; and, as they travelled in Blake's very comfort- able barouche, they reached their destination in time I'or a late dinner, without either adventure or discomfort. Here tliey remained for some days, fully occupied with tiie education of their horses, the attention necessary to the engagements for which they were to run, and with their betting-books. Lord Balliudine's liorse, Brieu Boru, was destined to give the Saxons a dressing at Epsom, and put no one knows how many thousands into his owner's hands, by winning the Derby ; and arrangements had already been made for sending him over to John Scott, the English trainer, at an expense, which, if the horse should by chance fail to be successful, would be of very serious consequence to his lordship. But Lord Ballindine had made up his mind, or rather, Blake had made it up for him, and the thing ■was to be done ; the risk was to be run, and the preparations— the sweats and the gallops, the physicking, feeding, and coddling, kept Erank tolerably well employed ; though the whole process would have gone on quite as well, had he been absent. It was not so, however, with Dot Blake. The turf, to him, waa not an expensive pleasure, but a very serious business, and one which, to give him his due, he well understood. He himself, regulated the work, both of his horses and his men, and saw that both did what was allotted to them. He took very good care that he was never charged a guinea, where a guinea was not necessary; and that he got a guinea's worth for every guinea he laid out. In fact, he trained his own horses, and was thus able to assure him- self th&t his interests were never made subservient to those of so IHE KfiliLtS AND THE O'&ELLIfS. others who kept horses iu the same stables. Dot was in his glory, and in his element on the Curragh, and he was never quite happ^- anywhere else. This, however, was not the case with hia companion. For a couple oi days the excitement attending Brien Boru was sufficient to fill Lord Ballindine's mind; but after that, he could not help recurring to other things. He was mucli in want of money, and had been civilly told by his agent's managing clerk, before he left town, that there was some difficulty in the way of his immediately getting tie sum required. This annoyed him, for he could not carry on ths game without money. And then, again, he was unhappy to be so near Fanny Wyndliam, from day to day, without seeing her. He was truly and earnestly attached to her, and miserable at the threat which had been all but made by her guardian, that the match should be broken off. It was true that he had made up his mind not to go to Grey Abbey, as long as he remained at Handicap Lodge, and, having made the resolution, he thought he v,as wise in keeping it ; but Btill, he continually felt that she must be aware that he was in the neighbourhood, and could not but be hurt at his apparent indif- ference. And then he knew that her guardian would make use of his present employment — his sojourn at such a den of sporting characters as his friend Blake's habitation — and his continued absence from Grey Abbey though known to be in its vicinity, as additional arguments for inducing his ward to declare the engage- ment at an end. These troubles annoyed him, and though he daily stood by and saw Brien Boru go through his manoeuvres, he was discontented and fidgety. He had been at Handicap Lodge about a fortnight, and was beginning to feel anything but happy. His horse was to go over in another week, money was not plentiful with him, and trades- men were becoming obdurate and persevering. His host, Blake, was not a soothing or a comfortable friend, under these circum- stances : he gave him a good deal of practical advice, but he could r»t sympathise with him. Blake was a sharp, hard, sensible man, who reduced everything to pounds shillings and pence. Lord Ballindine was a man of feeling, and for the time, at least, a man of pleasure ; and, though they were, or thouglit themselves friends, they did not pull well together ; iu fact, they bored each other terribly. One morning. Lord Ballindine was riding out from the training- ground, when he met, if not an old, at any rate an intimate acquaintance, named Tiemey. Mr. or, as he was commonly called. boT blake's advice. ^1 Mat Tierney, was a baolielor, about sixty years of ago, wlio uauril? inhabited a lodge near the Curragh ; and who kept a liorse or tvvr on the turf, more for the sake of the standing which it gave hitn in the society he liked best, than from any intense love of tl.o sport. He was a fat, jolly fellow, always laughing, and usually in a good humour; he was very fond of what he considered the world ; and the world, at least that part of it which knew him, returned the compliment. " Well, my lord," said he, after a few minutes of got-up enthu- siasm respecting Brien Boru, " I congratulate you, sincerely." " What about ? " said Lord Ballindine. " Why, I find you 've got a first-rate horse, and I hear you Ve got rid of a first-rate lady. Tou 're very lucky, no doubt, in both ; but I think fortune has stood to you most in the latter." Lord Ballindine was petrified : he did not know what to reply. He was aware that bis engagement with Miss Wyndham was so public that Tierney could allude to no other lady ; but he could not conceive how any one could have heard that his intended marriage was broken oflF — at any rate how he could have heard it spoken of so publicly, as to induce him to mention it in that sort of way, to himself. His first impulse was to be very indignant; but he felt that no one would dream of quarrelling with Mat 'Tierney ; so he said, as soon as he was able to collect his thoughts sufficiently, " I was not aware of the second piece of luck, Mr. Tierney. Pray who is the lady ? " " Why, Miss Wyndham," said Mat, himself a little astcniahed at Lord Ballindine's tone. " I 'm sure, Mr. Tierney," said Prank, " you would say nothing, particularly in connection with a lady's name, which you intended either to be impertinent, or injurious. Were it not that I am quite certain of this, I must own that what you have just said would appear to be both." " My dear lord," said the other, surprised and grieved, " I beg ten thousand pardons, if I have unintentionally said anything, which you feel to be either. But, surely, if I am not wrong in asking, the match between you and Miss Wyndham is broken off?" " May I ask you, Mr. Tierney, who told you so ? " " Certainly — Lord Kilcullen ; and, as he is Miss Wyndham's oousin, and Lord Cashel's son, I could not but think the report authentic." This overset Frank still more thoroughly. Lord Kilodlou would never have spread the report publicly unless be had been 92 THE KELLYS AND THE O'KELLYS. authorised to do so by Lord Cashel. Frank and Lord Rilcnllon had never been-ititimate ; and the former was aware thi'.t the other had always been averse to the proposed marriage ; Lv.t still, he would never have openly declared that the marriage was broken off, had he not had some authority for saying so. " As you seem somewhat surprised,'" continued Mat, seeing tliat Lord Ballindine remained silent, and apparently at a loss for what he ought to say, "perhaps I ought to tell you, that Lord KilcuUen meniioned it last night very publicly^at a dinner-party, ad in absolute fact. Indeed, from his manner, I thought he wished it to be generally made known. I presumed, therefore, that it had been mutually agreed between you, that the event was not to come off — that the match was not to be run ; and, with my peculiar views, you know, on the subject of m.atrimony, I thought it a fair point for congratulation. If Lord Kilcullen has misled me, I heartily beg to apologise ; and at the same time, bj .'giving you my authority, to show you that I could not intend anything imper- tinent. If it suits you, you are quite at libt-rty t-i tell Lord Kilcullen all I have told ynu ; and, if y ,,u wish me to contradict the report, which I must own I have spread, I will do so." Frank felt that he could not be angry with Mat Tierney ; he therefore thanked him for his open explanation, and, merely muttering something about private affairs not being worthy of public interest, rode off towards Handicap Lodge. It appeared very plain to him that the Grey Abbey family must have discarded him — that Fanny Wyndham, Lord and Lady Cashel, and the whole set, must have made up their minds to drop him altogether ; otherwise, one of the family would not have openly declared the match at an end. And yet he was at a loss to con- ceive how they could have done so — how even Lord Cashel could have reconciled it to himself to do so, without the common-place courtesy of writing to him on the subject. And then, when he thought of her, ' his own Fanny,' as he had so often called her, he was still more bewildered : she, with whom he had sat for so many sweet hours talking of the impossibility of their ever forgetting, deserting, or even slighting each other ; she, who had been so entirely devoted to him — so much more than engaged to him — could she have lent her name to such a heartless mode of breaking her faith ? " If I had merely proposed for her through her guardian," thought Frank, to himself — " if I had got Lord Cashel to make the engagement, as m.any men do, I should not be surprised ; but after all that has passed between ua — after all her vows, and all her " and then Lord Ballindiae struck his horse with liia t>ot Blake's ADViCfi. US Tii'c':. and n^ade n. cut at the air v.ith his wliip, as he rememhored ccrl,.:ii !;;i,sMii;i's more liiiuiinii; eveu tliaji promises, warmer even than vows, wliich seemed to make liira aa miserable now as they had made him liappy at the time of their occurrence. "I would not believe it," ho continued, meditating, "if twenty Kilcullens said it, or if fifty i\Iat Tierneys swore to it ! " and then he rode on towards the lodge, in a state of mind for which I am quite unable to account, if his disbelief in Fanny AVyndham's constancy was really as strong as he had declared it to be. And, as he rode, many unusual thoughts — for, hitherto, Frank had not been a very deep-thmking man — crowded his mind, as to the baseness, iu,lse hood, and iniquity of the human race, especially W rich caut. :us old peers who had beautiful wards in their power. By the time he had reached the lodge, he had detern.ined that he must now do something, and that, as he was quite .izi^.hls to come to any satisfactory conclusion on his own unassisted judg. ment, he must consult Blake, who, by the bye, was nearly as sick of Fanny Wyndham as he would have been had he himself been the person engaged to marry her. As he rode round to the yard, he saw his friend standing at the door of one of the stables, with a cigar in his mouth. " Well, Frank, how does Brien go to-day ? Not that he '11 ever be the thing till he gets to the other side of the water, They '11 never be able to bring a horse out as he should be, on the Curnigh, till they 've regular trained gallops. The slightest frost in spring, or sun in summer, and the ground 's so hard, you mi"-ht as well gallop your horse down the pavement of Grafton Street.'' " Confound the horse," answered Frank ; " come here, Dot, a minute. I want to speak to you." " What the d— I's tlie matter ?— he 's not lame, is he ? " " Who ?— what ?— Brien Boru p Not that I know of. I wish the brute had never been foaled." "And why so? What crotchet have you got in your head now ? Something wrong about Fanny, I suppose ? " " Why, did you hear anything? " " Nothing but what you 've told me." "I've just seen Mat Tierney, and he told me that Kilcullen had declared, at a large dinner-party, yesterday, that the match between me and his cousin was finally broken off." " Ton wouldn't believe what Mat Tierney would say ? Mat was only taking a rise out of you." " Not at all : he was not only speaking seriously, but he told me what I 'm very sure was the truth, as far as Lord Kilcullen wao concerned. I mean, I 'm sure Kilcullen said it, and in the 94 THE KELLYS AND THE 0'KELL?3. most public manner he could ; and now, the question is. wiai bad I better do?" " There '3 no douht as to -nhat you 'd better do ; the question is what you 'd rather do ? " " But what had I letter do ? — call on KilcuUen for an expla- nation ? " "That '3 the last thing to think of. No; but declare what he Reports to be the truth ; return Miss Wyudham tlie lock of hair you have in your desk, or next your heart, or whenever von keep it ; write her a pretty note, and conclude by saying that tlie ' Adriatic 's free to wed another.' That 's what I should do." " It 's very odd, Blake, that you wou't speak seriously to a man for a moment. You 've as much heart in you as one of 3'our own horses. I wish I 'd never come to this cursed lodge of yours. I 'd be all right then." " As for my heart, Frank, if I have as much as my horses, I ought to be contented — for race-horses are usually considered to have a good deal ; as for my cursed lodge, I can assure jou I have endeavoured, and, if you will allow me, I will still endeavour, to make it as agreeable to you as I am able ; and as to my speaking seriously, upon my word, I never spoke more so. Tou asked me what I thought you had better do — and 1 began by telling you there would be a great difference between that and what you 'd rather do." " But, in heaven's name, why would you have me break off with Miss Wyndham, when every one knows I'm engaged to her; and when you know that I wish to marry her ? " " Firstly, to prevent her breaking off with you — though I fear there 's hardly time for that ; and secondly, in consequence — aa the newspapers say, of incompatibility of temper." " Wliy, you don't even know her ! " " But I know you, and I know what your joint income would be, and I know that there would be great incompatibility between you, as Lord Ballindine, with a wife and family — and fifteen hundred a year, or so. But mind, I'm only telling you what I tliiuk you'd better do." " AVell, I shan't do that. If I was once settled down, I could live as well on fifteen hundred a year as any country gentleman in Ireland. It 's only the interference of Lord Cas'hel that makes me determined not to pull in till I am married. If he had let me have my own way, I shouldn't, by this time, have had a horse in the world, except one or two hunters or so, down in the country." " "Well, Frank, if you 're determined to get yourself married. DOT blake's advice. 96 I 'II give you the best advice in my power as to the means of doiiii; it. Isu't that wluit you want? " " I wan't to know what you think I ought to do, just at this minute." " With matrimony as the winning-post ? " " You know 1 wish to marry Fanny Wyndbam." " And the sooner the better — is that it ? " " Of course. She '11 be of age now, in a few days," replied Lord Balhndine. " Then 1 advise you to order a new blue coat, and to buy a weddiiit;-rinL;." " Conl'usiou ! " cried Frank, stamping his foot, and turning away in a passion ; and then he took up his hat, to rush out of the room, in which the latter part of the conversation had taken place. " Stop a minute, Frank," said Blake, "and don't be in a passion. What I said was only meant to show you how easy I think it is for \ou to marry Miss AVyndham if you choose." " Easy ! and every soul at Grey Abbey turned against me, in consequence of my owning that brute of a horse ! I '11 go over there at once, and I '11 show Lord Cashel that at any rate he shall not treat me like a child. As for KilcuUen, if he interferes with me or my name in any way, I '11 " " You '11 what ?— thrash him ? " " Indeed, I 'd like nothing better ! " " And then shoot him — be tried by your peers — and perhaps hung; is that it ? " "Oh, that's nonsense. I don't ■wish to fight any one, but I am not going to be insulted." " I don't think you are: I don't think there's the least chance of KilcuUen insulting you ; he has too much worldly wisdom. But to come back to Miss "Wyndhara: if you really mean to marry her, and if, as I believe, she is really fond of you. Lord Ciishel and all the family can't prevent it. She is probably angry that you have not been over there ; he is probably irate at your Btavin<'' here, and, not unlikely, has made use of her own anger to make her think that she has quarrelled with you; and hence KilcuUen's report." " And what shall I do now ? " " Nothing to-day, but eat your dinner, and drink your wine. Eide over to-morrow, see Lord Cashel, and tell him — but do it quite coolly, if you can — exactly what you have heard, and how you have heard it, and beg him to assure Lord KilcuUen that he 18 mistaken in his notioij tiiat the match is oif • and be^ also th^t 96 THE KELLTS AND THE KELLTS. the report may not be repeated. Do this ; and do it aa if you were Lord Casliel's equal, not as if you were his son, or his servant. If you are collected and steady with him for ten minutes, you '11 soon find that he will become bothered and un- Btendv." " 'i'hat 's very easy to say here, but it 's not so easy to do there. Ton don't know him as I do: he's so sedate, and so slow, and so dull— especially sitting alone, as he does of a morning, in that large, dingy, uncomfortable, dusty-looking book-room of his. He measures his words like senna and salts, and their tone is as disatrreeablo." " Then do you drop out yours like prussic acid, and you '11 beat liim at his own game. Those are all externals, my dear fellow". When a man knows he has nothing within his head to trust to, — when he has neither sense nor genius, he puts on a wig, ties up his neck in a white choker, sits in a big chair, and frightens the world with his silence. Eemember, if you were not a baby, he would not be a bugbear." " And should I not ask to see Fanny ? " " By all means. Don't leave Grey Abbey without seeing and making your peace with Miss Wyndham. That '11 be easy with you, because it 's your metier. I own that with myself it would be the most difficult part of the morning's work. But don't ask to see her as a favour. When you 've done with the lord (and don't let your conference be very long) — when you 've done with the lord, telL liiir. you '11 say a word to the lady ; and, whatever may have been his pre-determination, you '11 find that, if you 'ro cool, he '11 be bothered, and he won't know how to refuse ; and if he doesn't prevent vou, I 'm sure Miss Wyndham won't." " And if he asks about these wretched horses of mine f " "Don't let him talk more about your aflairs than you can help; but, if he presses you — and he won't if you plav your game well — tell him that you 're quite aware your income won't allow you to keep up an establishment at the Curragh after you're married." " But about Brien Boru, and the Derby ? " " BrioQ Boru ! You might as well talk to him about your washing-bills ! Don't go into particulars — stick to generals. He '11 never ask you those questions unless he sees you shiver and shake like a Iialf-whipped school-boy." After a great deal of confabulation, in which Dot Blake often repeated his opinion of Lord Ballindine's folly in not rejoicing afc a>i opport!i]iil,y of breaking ofl' the match, it was determined that hte.u\\ ,sh(,a!d ride over the next morning, and do exactly what hia iriend proposed. If, liowever, one mig'nt judge from hig apparent DOT BLAKE S ADVICE. 97 reatended that tJv» interview should end. But he would now 108 THE KELLYS AND THE o'lOLLLTS. have been glad to stay. He wanted to ask a hundred questions — how the ])oor Lad had died ? whether lie had been long ill p — whether it had been expected ? But he saw that he must go ; so be rose and putting out his hand, which Lord Cashel just touched, he said, " Good bye, my lord. I trust, after a few months are gone by you may see reason to alter the opinion you have espresse respecting your ward. Should I not hear from you before tlien, I shall again do myself the honour of calling at Grey Abbey ; but I will write to Miss Wyndham before I do so." Lord Cashel had the honour of wishing Lord Ballindine a very good morning, and of bowing him to the door ; and so the inter- view ended. CHAPTEE XII. FAKNT WYNDHAM. Wh^.k Lord Cashel had seen Frank over the mat which lav outside his study door, and that there was a six foot servitor to open any other dour through which he might have to pass, he returned to his seat, and, drawing his chair close to the fire, began to speculate on l'"anny and her discarded lover. He was very well satisfied with himself, and with his own judo-- nient and firmness in the late conversation. It was very evident that Frank had heard of Harry Wyndham's death, and of Fanny's great accession of wealth ; that he had immediatelv determined that the heiress was no longer to be neglected, and that he ou"-ht to strike wliile the iron was hot : hence his visit to Grey Abbey. His pretended ignorance of the young man's death, when he found he could not see Miss Wyndham, was a ruse ; but an old bird like Lord Cashel was not to be caught with chaff. And then, how indelicate of him to come and press his suit immediately alter news of so distressing a nature had reached Miss Wyndham ! How very imi)o!itic, thought Lord Cashel, to show such a hurry to take possession of the fortune ! — How completely he had destroyed his own game. And then, other thoughts passed through his mind. His ward had now one liundred thousand pounds clear, which was, certainly, a great deal of readv money. Lord Cashel had no younger SOUS; but his heir, Lord kilculleli, was an expensive man, and owed, he ilid not exactlv know, and was always afraid to ask, how much. He must marry soon, or ne FANNY WTNDHAM. 109 would be sure to go to the devil. He had been living with actxeases and Opera-dancers quite long enough for his own respecta- bility ; and, if he ever intended to be such a pattern to the country as his father, it was now time for him to settle down. And Lord Cashel bethought himself that if he could persuade his eon to marry Fanny Wyndham and pay his debts with her fortune — (surely he couldn't owe more than a hundred thousand pounds ?) — he would be able to give them a very handsome allowance to live on. To do Lord Cashel justice, we must say that he had fully deter- mined that it was his duty to break off the match between Frank and his ward, before he heard of the accident which had so enriched her. And Fanny herself, feeling slighted and neglected —knowing how near to her her lover was, and that nevertheless he never came to see her — hearing his name constantly mentioned in connection merely with horses and jockeys — had been induced to express her acquiescence in her guardian's views, and to throw poor Frank overboard. In all this the earl had been actuated by no mercenary views, as far as his own immediate family was concerned. He had truly and justly thought that Lord Ballindine, with his limited fortune and dissipated habits, was a bad match for his ward ; and he had, consequently, done his best to break the engagement. There could, therefore, he thought, be nothing unfair in his taking advantage of the prudence which he had exercised on her behalf. He did not know, when he was per- Buading her to renounce Lord Ballindine, that, at that moment, her young, rich, and only brother, was lying at the point of death. He had not done it for his own sake, or Lord Kilcullen's ; there could, therefore, be nothing unjust or ungenerous iu their turning to their own account the two losses, that of her lover and her brother, which had fallen on Miss Wyndham at the same time. If he, as her guardian, would have been wrong to allow Lord Ballindine to squander her twenty thopaands, he would be so much the more wrong to let him make da»is and drakes of five times as much. In this manner he quieted his conscience as to his premeditated absorption of his ward's fortune. It was true that Lord KUcullen was a heartless roue, whereas Lord Ballindine was only a thoughtless rake ; but then, Lord Kilcullen would be an earl, and a peer of parliament, and Lord Ballindine was only an Irish viscount. It was true that, in spite of her present anger, Fanny dearly loved Lord Ballindine, and was dearly loved by him ; ;ind that Lord Kilcullen was no|; a man to love or be loved; but then, the Kelly's Court rents^r^hat were they to the Grey Abbey rents ? ^Not a tweptietl( part oi" them ! 4-nd, above all 110 THE KELLYS AND THE O KELLTa. Lord Kilcullen'fi vices were filtered throusli tlie cleansing medium of his father's partiality, and Lord Ballindine's faults were magni- fied by the cautious scruples of Fanny's guardian. The old man settled, therefore, in his own mind, that Fanny should be his dear daughter, and the only diificulty he expected to encounter was with his hopeful son. It did not occur to him that Panny might object, or that slie could be other than pleased with the arrangement. He determined, however, to wait a little before the tidings of her future destiny should be conveyed to her, althougb no time was to be lost in talking over the matter with Lord KilcuUen. In the mean time, it would be necessary for him to tell Panny of Lord Ballindine's visit ; and the wily peer was glad to think that she cv^iild not but be further disgusted at the hurry which her former lover had shown to renew his protestations of affection, as soon aa the tidings of her wealth had reached him. However, he would say nothing on that head : he would merely tell her that Lord Ballindine had called, had asked to see her, and had been informed of her determination to see him no more. He sat, for a considerable time, musing over the fire, and strengthening his resolution ; and then he stalked and strutted into the drawing-room, where the ladies were sitting, to make his communication to Miss Wyndham. Miss Wyndham, and her cousin, Lady Selina Grey, the only unmarried daughter left on the earl's hands, were together. Lady Selina was not in her premiere jeunegse, and, in manner, face, and disposition, was something like her father : she was not, therefore, very charming ; but his faults were softened down in her ; and what was pretence in him, was, to a certain degree, real in her. She had a most exaggerated conception of her own station and dignity, and of what was due to her, and expected from her. Because her rank enabled her to walk out of a room before other women, she fancied herself better than them, and entitled to be thought better. She was plain, red-haired, and in no ways attractive ; but she had refused the offer of a respectable country gentleman, because he was only a country gentleman, and then flattered herself that she owned the continuance of her maiden condition to her high station, which made her a fit match only for the most exalted magnates of the land. But she was true, indus- trious, and charitable ; she worked hard to bring her acquirements to that pitch which she considered necessary to render her fit for her position ; she truly loved her family, and tried hard to love her neighbours, in which she might have succeeded but for the immeasurable height from which she looked down on them. She listened, complacently, to all those serious cautionb against pride, PANNt WTNDHAM. Ill wWcli her religion taugtt her, and considered that ohe was oheying its warnings, when she spoke condescendingly to those around her. She thought that condescension was humihty, and that her self- exaltation was not pride, but a proper feeling of her own and her family's dignity. Fanny Wyndham was a very difl'erent creature. She, too, was proud, but her pride was of another, if not of a less innocent cast ; Bhe was proud of her own position ; but it was as Fanny Wynd- ham, not as Lord Cashel's niece, or anybody's daughter. She had been brought out in the fashionable world, and liked, and was liked by, it ; but she felt that she owed the character which threa years had given her, to herself, and not to those around her. She stood as high as Lady Selina, though on very different grounds. Any undue familiarity would have been quite as impossible with one as with the other. Lady Selina chilled intruders to a distance ; Fanny Wyndham's light burned with so warm a flame, that butter- flies were afraid to trust their wings within its reach. She was neither so well read, nor so thoughtful on what she did read, as her friend ; but she could turn w hat she learned to more account, for the benefit of others. The one, in fact, could please, and the other could not. Fanny Wyndham was above the usual height; but she did not look tall, for her figure was well-formed and round, and her bust full. Siie had dark-brown hair, which was never curled, but worn in plp'n braids, fastened at the back of her head, together with the long rich folds which were collected there under a simple comb, Her forehead was high, and beautifully formed, and when she spoke, showed the animation of her character. Her eyes were full and round, of a hazel colour, bright and soft when she was pleased, but full of pride and displeasure when her temper was ruffled, or her dignit}' offended. Her nose was slightly retrousse, but not so much so as to give to her that percness, of which it is usually the index. The line of her cheeks and chin was very lovely: it was this which encouraged her to comb back that luxuriant hair, and which gave the greatest charm to her face, lier mouth was large, too large for a beauty, and therefore she was not a regular beauty ; but, were she talking to you, aad willing to please you, you could hardly wish it to be less. I can- not describe the shade of her complexion, but it was rich and glowing ; and, though she was not a brunette, I believe that in painting her portrait, an artist would have mixed more brown than ather colours. At the time of which I am now speaking, she was sitting, or rather lying, on a sofa, with her face turned towards her cousin, 112 THE KELLTS AKD THE b'KELLYS. int her eyes fixed on vacancy. As might have been expected, ahe was thinking of her brother, and his sudden death ; but other subjects crowded with that into her mind, and another figure shared with him her thoughts. She had been induced to give her guardian an unqualified permission to reject, in her name, any further intercourse with Frank ; and though she had doubtless been induced to do so by the distressing consciousness that slie had been slighted by him, she had cheated herself into the belief that prudence had induced her to do so. She felt that she was not fitted to be a poor man's wife, and that Lord Ballindine was as ill suited for matrimonial poverty. She had, therefore, induced herself to give him up ; may-be she was afraid that if she delayed doing so, she might herself be given up. Now, however, the case was altered ; though she sincerely grieved for her brother, she could not but recollect the difference which his death made in her own position ; she was now a great heiress, and, were she to marry Lord Ballindine, if she did not make him a rich man, she would, at any rate, free him from all embarrassment. Besides, could she give him up now P — now that she was rich ? He would first hear of her brother's death and her wealth, and then would immediately be told that she had resolved to reject him. Could she bear that she should be subjected to the con- struction which would fairly be put upon her conduct, if she acted in this manner ? And then, again, she felt that she loved him ; and she did love him, more dearly than she was herself aware. She began to repent of her easy submission to her guardian's advice, and to think how she could best unsay what she had already said. She had lost her brother; could she afibrd also to lose her lover ? She had had none she could really love but those two. And the tears again came to her eyes, and Lady Selina saw her, for the twentieth time that morning, turn her face to the back of the sofa, and heard her sob. Lady Selina was sitting at one of the windows, over her carpet- work frame. She had talked a great deal of sound sense to iTanny that morning, about her brother, and now prepared to talk some more. Preparatory to this, she threw back her long red curls from her face, and wiped her red nose, for it was February. " Fanny, you should occupy yourself, indeed you should, my 'dear. It 's no use your attempting your embroidery, for your mind would still wander to him that is no more. Tou should read ; indeed you should. Do go on with Gibbon. I '11 fetch it ibr you, only tell me where you were." " I could not read, Selina ; I could not think about what I read, more than about the work." FANNY WYNDHAM. 113 •'Bufc jou should try, Fanny, — the very attempt would he Aork to your mind : besides, you would be doing your duty. Could all your tears bring him back to you ? Can all your sorrow agaiu restore him to !iis friends? No! and you have great consolation, Fanny, in reflecting that your remembrance of your brother ia mixed with no alloy. He had not lived to be contaminated by tlie lieartiess vices of that portion of the world into which he would probably have been thrown ; he had not become dissipated — extra- vagant — and sensual. This should be a great consolation to you." It miglit be thought that Lady Selina was making sarcastic allusions to her own brother and to Fanny's lover; but she meant nothing of the kind. Her remarks were intended to bo sensible, true, and consolatory ; and they at any rate did no harm, for Fanny was thinking of something else before she had Ijalf finished her speech. They had both again been silent for a short time, when the door opened, and in came tlie earl. His usual pomposity of demeanour was somewhat softened by a lachrymose air, which, in respect to his ward's grief, he put on as he turned the handle of the door ; and he walked somewhat more gently than usual into the room. " Well, Fancy, how are you now ? " he said, as he crept up to her. " Ton shouldn't brood over these sad thoughts. Your poor brother has gone to a better world ; we shall always think of him as one who had lelt no sorrow, and been guilty of but few faults He died before he had wasted his fortune and health, as he might have done : — this will always be a consolation." It was singular how nearly alike were the platitudes of the daughter and the fatiier. The young man had not injured hia name, or character, in the world, and had left his money behind him: and, therefore, his death was less grievous! Fanny did not answer, but she sat upright on the sofa aa he came up to her — and he then sat down beside her. " Perhaps I 'm wrong, Fanny, to speak to you on other subjects 80 soon after the sad ev-jnt of which we heard last night ; but, ou the whole, I think it better to do so. It is good for you to rouse yourself, to exert yourself to think of other things ; besides it will be a comfort to you to know that I have already done, what I am sure you strongly wished to have executed at once." It was not necessary for the guardian to say anything further to induce his ward to listen. She knew that he was going to speak about Lord Balliudine, and she was all attention. " 1 shall not trouble you, Fanny, by speaking to yon now, 1 hope?" lit THE KKLLYS AND THE KELLYS. " No ; " said ¥anny, with her heart palpitating. " If it 'e any- fchinR I ought to hear, it will be no trouble to me." " Why, my dear, I do think you ought to know, without loss of time that Lord Ballindiue has been with me this moruina;." Fanny blushed up to her hair — not with shame, but with emotion as to what was coming next. " I have had a long conversation with him," continued the earl, " in the book-room, and I think I have convinced him that it is for your mutual happiness " — he paused, for he couldn't con- descend to tell a lie ; but in his glib, speechifying manner, he was nearly falling into one — "mutual happiness" was such an appro- priate prudential phrase that he could not resist the temptation ; but he corrected himself — " at least, I think I have convinced him that it is impossible that he should any longer look upon Miss Wyndham as his future wife." Lord Cashel paused for some mark of approbation. Fanny saw that she was expected to speak, and, therefore, asked whether Lord Ballindine was still in the house. She listened tremulously for his answer ; for she felt that if her lover were to be rejected, he had a right, after what bad. passed between them, to expect that she should, in person, express her resolution to him. And yet, if she had to see him now, could she reject him ? could she tell him that all the vows that had been made between them were to be as nothing ? No 1 she could only fall on his shoulder, aud weep in his arms. Eiit Lord Cashel had managed better than that. " No, Fanny ; neither he nor I, at the present moment, could expect you — could reasonably expect 3'ou, to subject yourself to anything so painful as an interview must now have been. Lord Ballindine has left the house — I hope, for the last time — at least, for many months." These words fell cold upon Fanny's ears, " Did he leave any — any message for me ? " " Nothing of any moment ; nothing which it can avail to com- municate to you : he expressed his grief for your brother's death, and desired I should tell you bow grieved he was that you should be so afflicted." " Poor Harry! " sobbed Fanny, for it was a relief to cry ao-ain, though her tears were more for her lover than her brother. " Poor Harry! they were very fond of each other. I'm sure he must have been sorry — I 'm sure he 'd feel it " — and she paused, and Bobbed again — " He had heard of Harry's death, then ? " "When she said this, she had in her mind none of the dirty suspicion that had actuated Lord Cashel ; but he guessed at her .ee lings br his own, and answered accordingly. PANNT WTNDHAM- 115 " At first I understood him to say he had ; but then, he seemed to wish to express that he had not. My impression, I own, is, that he must have heard of it ; the sad news must have reached him." Fanny still did not understand the earl. The idea of her lover comiug after her money immediately on her obtaiuing possession of it, never entered her mind; she thought of her wealth as far as it might have aflFected him, but did not dream of its altering hia conduct towards her. " And did he seem unhappy about it ? " she continued. " I am sure it would make him very unhappy. He could not have loved Harry better if he had been his brother," and then she blushed again through her tears, as she remembered that she had intended that they should be brothers. Lord Cashel did not say anything more on this head ; he was fully convinced that Lord Ballindine only looked on the young man's death as a windfall which he might turn to his own advantage ; but he thought it would be a little too strong to say so outright, just at present. " It will be a comfort for you to know that this matter is now settled," continued the earl, " and that no one can attach the slightest blame to you in the matter. Lord Ballindine has shown himself so very imprudent, so very unfit, in every way, for the honour you once intended him, that no other line of conduct was open to you than that which you have wisely pursued." This treading on the fallen was too much for Jfaniiy. " I have no right either to speak or to think ill of hiui," said she, through her tears ; " and if any one is iU-treated in the matter it is he. But did he not ask to see me ? " "Surely, Fanny, you would not, at the present moment, have wished to see him ! " " Oh, no; it is a great relief, under all the circumstances, not having to do so. But was he contented ? I should be glad thut he were satisfied — that he shouldn't think I had treated him harshly, or rudely. Did he appear as if he wished to see me aga'a?" " Why,- he certainly did ask for a last interview — which, anticipating your wishes, I have refused." *' But was he satisfied ? Did he appear to think that he had been badly treated? " " Rejected lovers," answered the earl with a stately smile, " seldom express much satisfaction with the terms of their rejection; but I cannot say that Lord Ballindine testified any Btrong emotion." He rose from the sofa as he said this, and then, 116 THE KELLYS AND -THE O'KELLYb- intending to clincli the nail, added as he went to the door — "to tell the truth, Fanny, I think Lord Ballindine ia much more enger for an alliance with your fair self now, than he was a few days back, when he could never find a moment's time to leave his horses, and his friend Mr. Blake, either to see his intended wifr, or to pay Lady Cashel the usual courtesy of a morning visit." He then opened the door, and, again closing it, added — "I thiidc, however, Fanny, that what has now passed between us will secure you from any further annoyance from him." Lord Cashel, in this last speech, had greatly ov-crahot his mark ; his object had been to make the separation between his ward and her lover permanent ; and, hitherto, he had successfully appealed to her pride and her judgment. Fanny had felt Lord Cashel to be right, when he told her that she was neglected, and that Frank was dissipated, and in debt. She knew she should be unhappy as the wife of a poor nobleman, and she felt that it would break her proud heart to be jilted herself. She had, therefore, tliougK unwillingly, still entirely agreed with her guardian as to tlie expediency of breaking oft' the match ; and, had Lord Cashel been judicious, he nright have confirmed her in this resolution ; but his last thunderbolt, which had been intended to crush Lord Ballindine, bad completely recoiled upon himself. Fanny now instantly under- stood the allusion, and, raising her face, which was again resting on her hands, looked at him with an indignant glance througli her tears. Lord Cashel, however, had left the room without observing the indignation expressed in Fanny's eyes ; but she was indignant ; she knew F'rank well enough to be sure that he had come to Grev Abbey that morning with no such base motives as those ascribed to him. He might have heard of Harry's death, and come there to express his sorrow, and ofier that consolation which she felt she could accept from him sooner than from any living creature : — or, he miglit have been ignorant of it altogether; but tliat he should come there to press his suit because her brother was dead — inunediately after his death — was not only impossible ; but the person who could say it was possible, must be false and untrue to her. Her uncle could not have believed it himself: he had baselv pretended to believe it, that he might widen the breach which he had made. i-'amiy was alone, in the drawing-room — for her cousin had left it as soon as her father began to talk about Lord Ballindine, and «he sat there glowering through her tears for a long tiuie. Had Lord Ballindine been able to know all her thoughts at this m. n,ent,_he would have felt little doubt as to the ultimate succesa of his suit. PATHEfi AND SON. 117 CHAPTER XIII. FATHER AND SOU. Lord Cashel firmly believed, when he left tlie room, that he had shown great tact in discovering Frank's mercenary schem.ea, and in laying them open before I'anny ; and that she had SrmJy and finally made up her mind to have nothing more to do with him. He had not long been re-seated in his customarv chair in the book-room, before he began to feel a certain degree of horror at the young lord's baseness, and to tiiink how worthily he iiad executed his duty as a guardian, iu saving Miss Wyudliam from so sordid a suitor. Prom thinking of his duties as a guardian, his miod, not unnaturally, recurred to those which were incumbent on him as a father, and here nothing disturbed his serenitv. It is true that, from an appreciation of the lustre which would reflect b;!ck upon himself from allowing his son to become a decidedly fashionable young man, he had encouraged him in extravagance, dissipation, and heartless worldliness ; he had brought him up to be supercilious, expensive, unprincipled, and useless. But then, he was gentlemanlike, dignified, and sought after; and now, the father reflected, with satisfaction, that, if he could accomplish his well-conceived scheme, he would pay his son's debts with hia ward's fortune, and, at the same time, tie him down to some degree of propriety and decorum, by a wife. Lord Kilculleu, when about to marry, would be obliged to cashier his opera-dancers and their expensive crews ; and, though he might not leave the turf ••iltogether, when married he would gradual!}' be drawn out of (urf society, and would doubtless become a good steady family nobleman, like his father. Why, he — Lord Cashel himself — wise, prudent, and respectable as he was — example as he knew himself to be to all peers, English, Irish, and Scotch, — had had his horses, and his indiscretions, when he was young. And then he stroked the calves of his legs, and smiled grimly; for the memory of his juvenile vices was pleasant to him. Lord Cashel thought, as he continued to reflect on the matter, that Lord Ballindine was certainly a sordid schemer; but that bis son was a young man of whom he had just reason to be proud, and ■who was worthy ot a wife in tie shape of a hundred thousand pounds. And then, he congratulated himself on being the most anxious of guardians and the best of fathers ; and, with these comfortable reflections, the worthy peer strutted ofi", through hia 118 THE KELLYS AND THE O'KELLYS. ample doors, up his lofty stairs, aad away through his long corridors, to dress for dinner. Ton might have heard his boots creaking till he got inside his dressing-room, but you must have owned that they did so with a most dignified cadence. It was pleasant enough, certainly, planning all these things ; but there would be some little trouble in executing them. In the first place, Lord Kilcullen — though a very good son, on the whole, as the father frequently remarked to himself — was a little fond of having a will of his own, and may-be, might object to dispense with his dancing-girls. And though there was, unfortunately, but little doubt that the money was indispensably necessary to him, it was just possible that he might insist on havin^ the cash without his cousin. However, the proposal must be made, and, as the operations necessary to perfect the marriage would cause some delay, and the money would certainly be wanted as soon as possible, no time was to be lost. Lord Kilcullen was, accordingly, summoned to Grey Abbey ; and, as he presumed his attendance was required for the purpose of talking over some method of raising the wind, he obeyed the summons. — I should rather have said of raising a etorm, for no gentle puff would serve to waft him through his present necessities. Down he came, to the great delight of his mother, who thought him by far the finest young man of the day, though he usually slighted, snubbed, and ridiculed her — and of his sister, who always hailed with dignified joy the return of the eldest scion of her proud family to the ancestral roof. The earl was also glad to find that no previous engagement detained him ; that is, that he so far sacrificed his own comfort as to leave Tattersall's and the Mguranii of the Opera-House, to come all the way to Grey Abbey, in the county of Kildare. But, though the earl was glad to see his son, he was still a little consternated : the business interview could not be postponed, as it was not to be supposed that Lord Kilcullen would stay long at Grey Abbey during the London season ; and the father had yet hardly sufficiently crammed himself for the occasion. Besides, the pressure from without must have been very strong to have produced so immediate a compliance with a behest not uttered in a very peremptory manner, or, generally speaking, to a very obedient chUd. On the morning after his arrival, the earl was a little uneasy in his chair during breakfast. It was rather a sombre meal, for Fanny had by no means recovered her spirits, nor did she appeal to be in the way to do so. The countess tried to chat a little to her son, but he hardly answered her; and Lady Selina, though she was often profound, was never amusing. Lord Cashe< vnt^a eundry FArHER ANC SON. 119 attempts at general conversation, but as often failed, It was, at last, however, over ; and the father requested the son to come with him into the book-rooiu. When the fire was poked, and the chairs were drawn together over the rug, there were no further preliminaries which could be decently introduced, and the earl was therefore forced to commence. " Well, Kilcullen, I 'm glad you 're come to Grey Abbey. I 'm afraid, however, we shan't induce you to stay with us long, so it's as well perhaps to settle our business at once. You would, how- ever, greatly oblige your mother, and I 'm sure I need not add, myself, if you could make your arrangements so as to stay with us till after Easter. We could then return together." " Till after Easter, my lord! I should be in the Hue and Cry before that time, if I was so long absent from my accustomed haunts. Besides I should only put out your own arrangements, or rather, those of Lady Cashel. There would probably be no room for me in the family coach." " The family coach won't go. Lord Kilcullen. I am sorry to say, that the state of my afl'airs at present renders it advisable that the family should remain at Grey Abbey this season. I shall attend my parliamentary duties alone." This was intended as a hit the first ai the prodigal sou, but K.ieullen was too crafty to allow it to tell. He merely bowed his .lead, and opened his eyes, to betoken his surprise at such a deci- s^i'n, and remained quiet. " Indeed," continued Lord Cashel, " I did not even intend to nave gone myself, but the unexpected death of Harry Wyndham renders it necessary. I must put Fanny's afiairs in a right train. Poor Harry ! — did you see much of him during his illness ? " " Why, no — I can't say I did. I 'm not a very good hand at doctoring or nursing. I saw him once since he got his commis- sion, glittering with his gold lace like a new weather-cock on a Town Hail. He hadn't time to polish the shine oif." " His death will make a great difference, as far as Eanny is con- cerned — eh ? " " Indeed it will : her fortune now is considerable ;— a deuced prettv thing, remembering that it 's all ready money, and that she can touch it the moment she 's of age. She 's entirely oft' with Ballindine, isn't she ? " " Oh, entirely," said the earl, with considerable self-complai cency ; " that affair is entirely over." " I 'ye stated so eyery where publicly ; but I dare say, she '11 120 THE KELLYS AND THE O KELLYS. give him her money, nevertheless. She 's not the girl to give oref B man, if she 'a really fond of him." " But, my dear Kilcullen, she has authorised me to give him a final answer, and I have done so. After that, you know, it vrould be quite impossible for her to —to — " " Tou'U see — she'll marry Lord Ballindine. Had Harry lived, it might have been different ; but now she 's got all her brother's money, she '11 think it a point of honour to marry her poor lover. Besides, her staying this year in the country will be in his favour ; she '11 see no one here — and she '11 want something to think of. I understand he has altogether thrown himself into Blake's hands — the keenest fellow in Ireland, with as much mercy as a fox- hound. He 's a positive fool, is Ballindine." " I 'm afraid he is — I 'm afraid he is. And you may be sure I 'm too fond of Fanny — that is, I have too much regard for the trust reposed in me, to allow her to throw herself away upon him." " That 's all very well ; but what can you do ? " " Why, not allow him to see her ; and I 've another plan in my head for her." " Ah ! — but the thing is to put the plan into her head. I 'd be Borry to hear of a fine girl like Fanny Wyndham breaking her heart in a half-ruined barrack in Connaught, without monev to pay a schoolmaster to teach her children to spell. But I 've' too many troubles of my own to think of just at present, to care much about hers ; " and the son and heir got up, and stood with his back to the fire, and put his arms under his coat-laps. " Upon my soul, my lord, I never was so hard up in my life ! " Lord Cashel now prepared himself for action. The first shot was fired, and he must go on with the battle. " So I hear, Kilcullen ; and yet, during the last four years, you 've had nearly double your allowance ; and, before that, t paid every farthing you owed. Within the last five years, you 've had nearly forty thousand pounds! Supposing you'd had younger brothers. Lord Kilcullen — supposing that I had had six or eight sons instead of only one ; what would you have done ? How then would you have paid your debts? " " Fate having exempted me and your lordship from so severe a curse, I have never turned my mind to reflect what I might have done under such an infliction." _ " Or, supposing I had chosen, myself, to indulge in those expen- eive habits, which would have absorbed my income, and left me unable to do more for you, than many other noblemen in my position do for their sons— do you ever reflect how impossible it FATHER AND SON. 121 would then liave been for me to have helped you out of your difllculties ? " "I feel as truly grateful for your self-denial in this respect, as ! do in tliat of my non-begotten brethren." Lord Cashel saw that he was laughed at, and he looked ani'vy ; but he did not want to quarrel with his son, he so continued : " Jervis writes me word that it is absolutely necessary tliat thirty thousand pounds should be paid for you at once ; or, th:it your remaining in London — or, in fact, in the country at all, is quite out of the question." " Indeed, my lord, X 'm afraid Jervis is right." " Thirty thousand pounds 1 Are you aware what yout income is ? " " Why, hardly. I know Jervis takes care that I never see much of it." " Do you mean that you don't receive it ?' " Oh ! I do not at all doubt its accurate payment. I mean to say, that I don't often have the satisfaction of seeing much of it at the right side of my banker's book." " Thirty thousand pounds ! And will that sum set you com- pletely free in the world ? " " I am sorry to say it will not — nor nearly." "Then, Lord Kilcullen," said the earl, with most severe, but still most courteous dignity, " may I trouble you to be good enough to tell me what, at the present moment, you do owe? " " I 'm afraid I could not do so with any accuracy ; but it ia more than double the sum you have named." " Do you mean, that you have no schedule of your debts ? — no means of acquainting me with the amount ? How can you expect that I can assist you, when you think it too much trouble to make yourself thoroughly acquainted with the state of your own affairs ? " " A list could certainly be made out, if I had any prospect of being able to settle the amount. If your lordship can undertak<^ to do so at once, I will undertake to hand you a correct list of the sums due, before I leave Grey Abbey. I presume you woulc not require to know exactly to whom all the items were owing." This eifrontery was too much, and Lord Cashel was very near to losing his temper. "Upon my honour, Kilcullen, you're cool, very cool. Tob come upon me to pay. Heaven knows how many thousands — more money, 1 know, than I 'm able to raise ; and you condescendingly tell me that you will trouble yourself so far as to let me know how much money I am to give you — biif. th^it I am not to know 122 THE KELLYS AND THE o'iCELLTS. what is done with it ! No ; if I am to pay your debts again, 1 will do it through Jervis." " Pray reiuember," replied Lord Kilcullen, not at all disturbed from his equanimity, "that I have not proposed that you sliould pay my debts without knowing where the money vrent ; and also that I have not yet asked you to pay them at all." " Who, then, do you expect will pay them ? I can assure you I should be glad to be relieved from the honour." " I merely said that I had not yet made any proposition respect ing them. Of course, I expect your assistance. Failing you, I have no resource but the Jews. I should regret to put the property into their hands ; especially as, hitherto, I have not raised money on post obits." "At any rate, I'm glad of that," said the father, willing to admit any excuse for returning to his good humour. " That would be ruin ; and I hope that anything short of that may be~may be — may be done something with." The expression was not dignified, and it pained the earl '■•o make it ; but it was expressive, and he didn't wish at once to say that he had a proposal for paying off his son's debts. " But Jiow, Kilcullen, tell me fairly, in round figures, what do you think you owe ? — as near as you can guess, without goiug to pen and paper, you know ? " " Well, my lord, if you will allow me, I will make a proposition to you. If you will hand over to Mr. Jervis fifty thousand pounds, for him to pay such claims as have already been made upon him as your agent, and such other debts as I may have sent in to him : and if you will give myself thirty thousand, to pay such debts as I do not choose to ha^e paid by an agent, I will under- take to have everything settled." " Eighty thousand pounds in four years ! Why, Kilcullen, what have you done with it ? — where has it gone ? Tou have five thousand a-year, no house to keep up, no property to support, no tenants to satisfy, no rates to pay — five thousand a-year for your own personal expenses — and, in four years, you have got eighty thousand in debt! The property never can stand that, you know. It never can stand at that rate. Why, Kilcullen, what have you done with it ? " " Mr. Crockford has a portion of it, and John Scott has some of it. A great deal of it is scattered rather widely — so widely that it would be difficult now to trace it. But, my lord, it has gone. I won't deny that the greater portion of it has been lost at play, or on the turf. I trust I may, in future, be more fortunate and more cautious." FATHER AND SOH. l23 "I trust so. I trust so, indeed. Eiglitj thousand pouncp! And do you think I can raise such a sum as that at a week's warning ? " " Indeed, I have no doubt as to your being able to do so : it may be another question whether you are willing." " I am not — I am not able," said the libelled father. " As you know well enough, the incumbrances on the property take more than a quarter of my income." " There can, nevertheless, be no doubt of your being able to have the money, and that at once, if you chose to go into the market for it. I have no doubt but that Mr. Jervis could get it for you at once at five per cent." "Four thousand a-year gone for ever from tlie property! — and what security am 1 to have that the same sacrifice will not be again incurred, after another lapse of four years ? " " Tou can have no security, my lord, against my being in debt, Tou can, however, have every security that you will not again pay my debts, in your own resolution. I trust, however, that I have some experience to prevent my again falling into so disagreeable a predicament. I think I have heard your lordship s;\v that you incurred some unnecessary expenses yourself in London, before your marriage ! " " I wish, Kilcullen, that you had never exceeded your income more than I did mine. But it is no use talking any further on this subject. I cannot, and I will not — I cannot injustice either to myself or to you, borrow this money for you ; nor, if I could, should I think it right to do so." " Then what the devil's the use of talking about it so long ? " Baid the dutiful son, hastily jumping up from the chair in which he had again sat down. "Did you bring tne down to Grey Abbey merely to tell me that you knew of my difficulties, and that you could do nothing to assist me ? " " Now, don't put yourself into a passion — pray don't!" said the father, a little frightened by the sudden ebullition. " If you '11 sit down, and listen to me, I'll tell you what I propose. I did not send for you here without intending to point out to you Borae method of extricating yourself from your present pecuniary embarrassment ; and, if you have any wish to give up your course, of— I must say, rec'tless profusion, and commence that upright and distinguished career, which I still hope to see von talcc, vou will, I think, own that my plan is both a safer and a more expedi- ent one than that v.hich you have proposed. It is quite time for you now to abandon the expensive follies of youth; and," Lord Cashel VftB getting into a delightfully dignified tone, and felt tiiraself I J 24 THE KELLTS AND THE KELLYS. TJrppared for a good burst of common-place eloquence; but t;i5 bOn looked impatient, and as he could not take such liberty with him as he could with Lord Ballindine, he came to the poiot at once, and ended abruptly by saying, " and get married." " For the purpose of allowing my wife to pay m.y debts ? " " Why, not exactly that ; but as, of course, you could not marry any woman but a woman with a large fortune, that would follow as a matter of consequence." " Tour lordship proposes the fortune not as the first object of my affection, but merely as a corollary. But, perhaps, it will be as well that you should finish your proposition, before I make any remarks on the subject." And Lord KilcuUen, sat down, with a well-feigned look of listless indifference. " "Well, KilcuUen, I have latterly been thinking much about you, and so has your poor mother. Siie is very uneasy that you should still — still be unmarried; and Jervis has written to me very strongly. Tou see it is quite necessary that something should be done — or we shall both be ruined. JN'ow, if I did raise this sum — and 1 really could not do it — I don't think I could manage it, just at present ; but, even if I did, it would only be encouraging you to go on just in the same way agaiu. Now, if you were to marry, your whole course of life would be altered, and you would become, at the same time, more respectable and morf happv." " That would depend a good deal upon circumstances, I should think." " Oh ! I am sure you would. Tou are just the same sort of fellow I was when at your age, and I was much happier after I was married, so I know it. Now, you see, your cousin has a hundred thousand pounds; in fact something more than that." ' "Wiiat ? — Fanny ! Poor Ballindine ! So that 's the way with him is it ! "When I was contradicting the rumour of his marriage with Fanny, I little thought that I was to be his rival ! At any rate, I shall have to shoot him first." " You might, at any rate, confine yourself to sense. Lord KilcuUen, when I am taking so much pains to talk sensibly to you, on a subject which, I presume, cannot but interest you." " Indeed, my lord, I 'm all attention ; and I do intend to talk sensibly when I say that I think you are proposing to trea,t Balh'ndine very ill. The world will think well of your turning him adrift ou the score of the match being an imprudent oue ; but it won't speak so leniently of you if you expel him, as soon aa your ward becomes an iieiress, to make way for your own son." " Tou know that I 'm not thinking of doing so. I 've long FATHEA AND SON. 125 seen that Lord Ballindine would not make a fitting husband for Faniiv — loug before liarr)' died." " And you thinlt that I shall ? " " Indeed I do. 1 think she will be lucky to get you." "I'm flattered into silence ; pray go on." " You will be an earl — a peer — and a man of property. What would she become if she married Lord Ballindine ? " " Oh, you are quite right ! Go on. i wonder it never occurred to her before to set her cap at me." " Now do be serious. I wonder how you can joke on such a subject, with all your debts. I 'ra sure I feel them heavy enough, if you don't. Tou see Lord Bidlindine was relused — 1 may say he was refused — before we heard about that poir boy's unfortu- nate death. It was the very morning we heard of it, thi-ee or four hours before the messeuger came, that Fanny had expressed her resolution to declare it oif, and commissioned me to tell him BO. And, therefore, of course, the two things can't have the remotest refereuce to each other." " I see. There are, or have been, two Fanny Wyndhams — separate persons, though both wards of your lordsliip. Lord Ballindine was engaged to the girl who had a brotlier ; but he cau have no possible concern with Fanny Wyndhaiu, the heiress, who has no brother." " How- can you be so unfeeling ? — but you may pay your debts in your own way. You won't ever listen to what I have to say! I should have thouijht that, as your father, I raigbt have con- sidered myself entitled to more respect from you." " Indeed, my lord, I 'm all respect and attention, and I won't say one more word till you 've finished." " Well — you must see, there can be no objection on the score of Lord Ballindine ? " "Oh, none at all." "And then, where could Fanny wish for a better match than yourself? It would be a great thing for her, and the mnlcli would be, in all things, so — so respectable, and just what it ought to be ; and your mother would be so delighted, and bo should I, and—" " Her fortune would so nicely pay all my debts." " Exactly. Of course, I should take care to have your present jijgome — five thousand a year — settled on her, in the shape oi jointure; and I'm sure that would be treating her handauiuely. The interest of her fortune would not be more than that." " And what should we live on ? " " Why, of course, I should continue your present allowance." 126 THE KELLTS AM) THE o'kELLYS. " And you think that that which I have found so insufficieni for myself^ would be enough for both of us ? " " You mufit make it enough, Kilcullen — in order that there may be something left to enable you to keep up your title when I am gone." By this time, Lord Kilcullen appeared to be as serious, and nearly as solemn, as his father, and he sat, for a considerable time, musing, till his father Baid, " Well, Kilcullen, will you take my advice f " "It's impracticable, my lord. In the first place, the money must be paid immediately, and considerable delay must occur before I could even offer to Miss Wyndham ; and, in the nest place, were I to do so, I am sure she would refuse me." " Why ; there must be some delay, of course. But I suppose, if I passed my word, through Jervis, for so much of the debts as are immediate, that a settlement might be made whereby they might stand over for twelve months, with interest, of course. As to refusing you, it 's not at aU likely : where would she look for a better offer ? " " I don't know much of my cousin ; but I don't think she 's exactlv the girl to take a man because he 's a good match for her." ' " Perhaps not. But then, you know, you understand women 80 well, and would have such opportunities ; you would be sure to make yourself agreeable to her, with very little effort on your y&Tt." " Tes, poor thing — she would be delivered over, ready bound, inio the lion's den." And then the young man sat silent again, for some time, turning the matter over in his mind. At last, he said, — " Well, my lord ; I am a considerate and a dutiful son, and I will agree to your proposition : but I must saddle it with con- ditions. I have no doubt that the sum which I suggested should be paid through your agent, could be arranged to be paid in a year, or eighteen months, by your making yourself responsible for it, and I would undertake to indemnify you. But the thirty thoti-^and pounds I must have at once. I must return to London, with the power of raising it there, without delay. This, also, 1 would repay you out of E«nny'a fortune. I would then undertake to use :tiv best endenvours to effect a union with your ward. But I most positively will not agree to this — nor have any hand in the matter, unless 1 am put in immediate possession of the sum I have named, and unless you will agree to double my income 3d Boon as I am married." THE COUNTESS. 1^7 To botk these propositions the earl, at first, refused to accede ; \)ut his son was firm. Then, Lord Caahel agreed to put him in immediate possession of the sum of money he required, but would not hear of increasiog his income. They argued, discussed, and quarrelled over the matter, for a long time ; till, at last, the anxious father, in his passion, told his son that he might go hia own way, and that he would take no further trouble to help so unconscionable a child. Lord KilcuUen rejoined by threatening immediately to throw the whole of the property, which was entailed on himself, into the hands of the Jews. Long they argued and bargained, till each was surprised at the obstinacy of the other. They ended, however, by splitting the difference, and it was agreed, that Lord Cashel was at once to hand over tliirty thousand pounds, and to take his son's bond for the amount ; that the other debts were to stand over till Fanny's money was forthcoming ; and that the income of the newly married pair was to be seven thousand five hundred a-year. "At least," thought Lord Kilculleu to himself, as he good- humouredly shook hands with his father, at the termination of the interview — " I have not done so badly, for those infernal doga will be silenced, and I shall get the money. 1 could not have gone back without that. I can go on with the marriage, or not, as I may choose, hereafter. It won't be a bad speculation, however." To do Lord Cashel justice, he did not intend cheating hia son, nor did he suspect his son of an intention to cheat him. But the generation was deteriorating. CHAPTER XIV. THK COUNTESS. It was delightful to see on what good terms the earl and his eon met that evening at dinner. The latter even went so far a» to be decently civil to his mother, and was quite attentive ta Janny. She, however, did not seem to appreciate the compli- ment. It was now a fortniglit since she had heard of her brother's death, and during the whole of that time she had been silent, unhappy, and fretful. Not a word more had been said to he? about Lord Ballindine, nor had she, as yet, spoken about him ta any one ; but she had been thinking about little else, and had 128 THE KELIiYS AND THE O'KELLTS. ascertained, — at least, so she thought, — that she could never be happy, unless she were reconciled to him. The more she brooded over the subject, the more she felt convinced that such was the case ; she could not think how she had ever been induced to sanction, by her name, such an un- warrantable proceeding as the unceremonious dismissal of a man to whom her troth had been plighted, merely because he had not called to see her. As for his not writing, she was aware that Lord Cashel had recommended that, till she was of age, they should not correspond. As she thought the matter over in her own room, long hour after hour, she became angry with herself for having been talked into a feeling of anger for him. What right had she to be angry because he kept horses ? She could not expect him to put himself into Lord Cashel's leading-strings. Indeed, she thought she would have liked him less if he had done 80. And now, to reject him just when circumstances put it in her power to enable her to free him from his embarrassments, and live in a manner becoming his station! What must Frank think of her ? — For he could not but suppose that her rejection had been caused by her unexpected inheritance. In the course of the fortnight, she made up her mind that all Lord Cashel had said to Lord Ballindine should be unsaid ; — but who was to do it ? It would be a most unpleasant task to perform ; and one which, she' was aware, her guardian would be most unwilling to undertake. She fully resolved that she would do it herself, if she cuuld find no fitting ambassador to undertake the task, though that would be a step to which she would fain not be driven. At one time, she absolutely thought of asking her cousin, KilcuUen, about it: — tliis was just before his leaving Grey Abbey ; he seemed so much more civil and kind than usual. But then, she knew so little of him, and so little liked what she did know: that scheme, therefore, was given up. Lady Selina was so cold, and prudent — would talk to her so much about propriety, self-respect, and self-control, that she could not make a confidante of her. No one could talk to Selina on any subject more immediately interesting than a Roman Emperor, or a pattern for worsted- work. Fanny felt that she would not be equal, herself, to going boldly to Lord Cashel, and desiring him to inform Lord Ballindine that he had been mistaken in the view he had taken of his ward's wishes : no — that was impossible ; such a proceeding would probably bring on a fit of apoplexy. There was no one else to whom she could apply, but her aunt- Lad}' Cashel was a very good-natured old woman, who slept th» greatest portion of her time, and knitted through the rest of hei THE COUNTESS. 189 existence. She did not take a prominent part in any of i:he pnportant doings of Grey Abbey : and, though Lord Cashel constantly referred to her, for he thouglit it respectable to do so, no one regarded her much. Panny felt, however, that she would neither scold her, ridicule her, nor refuse to listen: to Lady Cashel, therefore, at last, she went for assistance. Her ladyship aKvays passed the morning, after breakfast, in a room adjoining her own bed-room, in which she daily held deep debate with GrifRths, her factotum, respecting household affairs, knitting-needles, and her own little ailments and cossetings. Griffiths, luckily, was a woman of much the same tastes as her ladyship, only somewhat of a more active temperament ; and they were most stedfast friends. It was such a comfort to Lady Cashel to have some one to whom she could twaddle ! The morning after Lord Kilcullen's departure Fanny knocked at her door, and was asked to come in. The countess, as usual, was in her easy chair, with the knitting-apparatus in her lap, and Griffiths was seated at the table, pulling about threads, and keeping her ladyship awake by small talk. "I'm afraid I'm disturbing you, aunt," said Fanny, "but I wanted to speak to you for a minute or two. Good moruing, Mrs. Griffiths." " Oh, no ! you won't disturb me, Fanny. I was a little busy this morning, for I wanted to finish this side of the — You see what a deal I 've done," — and the countess lugi;ed up a whole heap of miscellaneous worsted from a basket just under her arm — "and I must finish it by lady-day, or I sha'n't get the other done, I don't know when. But stiU, I 've plenty of time to attend to you." "Then I '11 go down, my lady, and see about getting tlie syrup boiled," said Griffiths. " Good morning. Miss Wyndhaui." " Do ; but mind you come up again immediately — I '11 ring the bell when Miss Wyndham is going ; and pray don't leave me alone, now." " No, my lady — not a moment," and Griffiths escaped to the eyrup. I Fanny's heart beat quick and hard, as she sat down on the Bofa, opposite to her aunt. It was impossible for any one to be afraid of Lady Cashel, there was so very little about her that could inspire awe; but then, what she had to say was so verir disaoreeable to say ! If she had had to tell her tale out loud, merely to the empty easy chair, it would liuve been a dreadful undertaking. " Well, Fanny, what can I do for you ? I 'm sure you look 30 THE KELLYS AND THE O'kELLTS. fery nice in j'our bombazine; and it 's Tcry nicely made up. Wlio was it made it for _vou ? " " I <;ot it down from Dublin, aunt; from Foley's." " Oh, I remember ; so you told me. Griffiths has a niece makes those things up very well; but then she lives at ]S'aiii[)t- \vich, and one couldn't send to England for it. I had such a quantity of mourning by me, I didn't get any made up new; else, I think I must have sent for her." " Mv dear aunt, I am very unhappy about something, and I waut you to help me. I 'm afraid, though, it will give you a great deal of trouble." " Good gracious, Fanny ! — what is it ? Is it about poor Harry? I 'm sure I grieved about him more than I can tell." " JN'o, aunt: he 's gone now, and time is the only cure for that grief. 1 know I must bear that without complaining. But, aunt, I feel — I think, that is, that I 've used Lord Bullindine very ill." " Good gracious me, my love ! I thought Lord Cashel had managed all that — I thought that was all settled. You know, he would keep those horrid horses, and all that kind of tiling; and what more could you do than just let Lord Cashel settle it ? " " Yes, but aunt — you see, I had engaged myself to Lord Ballindine, and I don't think — in fact — oh, aunt! I did not wish to break my word to Lord Ballindine, and I am very very sorry for what has been done," and Fanny was again in tears. " But, my dear Fanny," said the countess, so far excited as to commence risiiig from her seat —the attempt, howevei-, was aban- boned, when she felt the ill eflFects of the labour to which she was exposing herself — " but, my dear Fanny — what would you have ? It 's done, now, you know ; and, really, it 's for the best." " Oh, but, dear aunt, I must get somebody to see him. I 've been thinking about it ever since he was here with my uncle. I wouldn't let him think that I broke it all off, merely because — because of poor Harry's money," and Fanny sobbed away dread, fully. " But you don't want to marry him ! " said the naive countess. Now, Fanny did want to marry him, though she hardly lilied saj'ing so, even to Lady Cashel. "You know, I promised him I would," said she; " and what will he think of me P — what must he think of me, to throw him off so cruelly, so harshly, after all that 's past ? — Oh, auut ! 1 must see him again." " I know something of human nature,'' replied the aunt, " and if you do, I tell you, it will end in your being engaged to hita again. You know it 'a off now. Come, my dear ; don't thiuk s« THE C0UNTB8B. 13a much about it : I 'm Bure Lord Cashel wouldn't do anything cruel or harsh." " Oh, I must see him again, whatever cornea of it; " and then «he paused for a considerable time, during wliich the bewildered old lad}' was thinldng what she could do to relieve her sensitive niece. "Dear, dear aunt, I don't want to deceive you!" and Fanny, springing up, knelt at her aunt's feet, and looked up into her face. " I do love him — I always loved him, and I cannot, cannot quarrel with him." And then she burst out crying vehemently, hiding her face in the countess's lap. Lady Cashel was quite overwhelmed. Fanny was usually so much more collected than herself, that her present prostration, both of feeling and body, was dreadful to see. Suppose she was to go into hysterics — there they would he alone, and Lady Cashel felt that she had not strength to ring the bell. "But, my dear Fanny ! oh dear, oh dear, this is very dreadful! — but, Fanny — he 's gone away now. Lift up your face, Fanny, for you frighten me. Well, I 'm sure I '11 do anything for you. Perhaps he woulni^'t mind co„.ing back aL„in, — he always was very good-natur- '.. I 'm sur: I always li'-ed Lord Balliudine very much, — onh iie would ha\ "j aU those h'jrses. But I 'm sure, if you wish it, I .' wuld be vei_, ,^lad to see hini marry you; onlv, you know, you must wait some time, because of poor Harry ; and I 'm sure 1 don't know how you '11 manage with Lord Cashel." " Dear aunt — I want you to speak to Lord Cashel. When I was angry because I thought Frauk didn't come here as he might have done, 1 consented that my uncle should break off the match : besides, then, you know, we should have had so little between us. But I didn't know then how well I loved him. Indeed, indeed, aunt, I cannot bring my heart to quarrel with him ; and I am quite, quite sure he would never wish to quarrel with me. Will you go to my uncle — tell him that I 've changed my mind ; tell him that I was a foolish girl, and did not know my mind. But tell him I must be friends with Frank again." " Well, of course I '11 do what you wish me, — indeed, I would do anything for you, Fanny, aa if you were one of my own ; but reallv, I don't know — Grood gracious ! ^V'hat am I to say to him ? Wouldn't it be better, Fanny, if you were to go to him yourself?" "Oh no, aunt; pray do you tell him first. I couldn't go to Lim ; besides, he would do anything for you, you know. I want you to go to him — do, now, dear aunt — and tell him — not i'rom me, but from yourself — how very, very much I — that is, how very vei-y — but you will know what to say ; oul^ Frauk must, muti c^me t>acl> agaiq." 132 THE KELLYS AND THE KELLYS. " Well, Fanny, dear, I '11 go to Lord Cashel ; or, perhaps, lie wouldn't mind coining here. Eing the bell for me, dear. Bii*: I'm sure he'll be very angry. I'd just write a line and aei Lord Ballindine to come and dine here, and let him settle it aU himself, only I don't think Lord Cashel would like it." Griffiths answered tlie summons, and was despiitcbed to the book-room to tell his lordship that her ladyship would be greatly obliged if he would step up-stairs to her for a minute or two ; and, as soon as Griffiths was gone on her errand, Fanny fled to her own apartment, leaving hsr aunt in a very bewildered aud pitiable state of mind : and there she waited, with palpitating heart and weeping eyes, the effects of the interview. She was dreadfully nervous, for she felt certain that she would be summoned before her uncle. Hitherto, she alone, in all the house, had held him in no kind of u^e ; indcd, her respect for her uncle had not been of the most exalted kind ; but now she felt she was afraid of him. She remained in her room much longer than she thought it would have taken her aunt to explain what she had to say. At last, however, she heard footsteps in the corridor, and Griffiths knocked at the door. Her aunt would be obliged by her stepping into her room. She tried not to look disconcerted, and asked if Lord Cashel were still there. She was told that he was ; and she felt that she had to muster up all her courage 'm encounter him. "When she went into the room. Lady Cashel was still in her easy-chair, but the chair seemed to lend none of its easiness to its owner. She was sitting upright, with her hands on her two knees, and she looked perplexed, distressed, and unhappy. Lord Cashel was standing with his back to the fire-p'ace, and Fannv had never seen his face look so black. He really seemed, for the time, to have given over acting, to havs thrown aside his dignity. and to be natural and in earnest. Lady Cashel began the conversation. "Oh, Fanny," she said, "you must really overcome all this eensitiveness ; you really must. I 've spoken to your uncle, and it 's quite impossible, and very unwise ; and, indeed, it can't bo done at all. In fact. Lord Ballindine isn't, by any means, the Bort of person I supposed." Fanny knit her brows a little at this, and felt somewhat less humble than she did before. She knew she should get iudii^naui; if her uncle abused her lover, and that, if she did, her courage would rise in proportion. Her aunt continued — ''Tour uncle 'e very kind about it, and says he can, of cfures, forgive your feeUng a iittlc out of sorts just at present ; and, I 'iq THE COUNTESS. 1S3 Bure, 30 can I, and I'm sure I'd do anything to make you happy; Vut as for making it all up with Lord Balliadine again, indeed it eannot be thought of, Fanny ; and so your uncle will tell you." And then Lord Oashel opened l^is oracular mouth, for the pur- poae of doing so. " Really, Fanny, this is the most unaccountable thing I ever aeard of. But you 'd better sit down, while I apeak to you," and Fanny sat down on the sofa. " I think I understood you rightl}', when you desired me, leas than a month ago, to inform Lord Ballindine that circumstances — that is, his own conduct— obliged vou to decline the honour of his alliance. Did you not do so spontaneously, and of your own accord ? " " Certainly, uucle, I agreed to take your advice ; though I did so most unwillingly." " Had I not your authority for desiring hira— I won't say to dis- continue his visits, for that he had long done — but to give up his pretensions to your hand ? Did you not authorise me to do so ?" " I believe I did. But, uncle— " " And I have done as you desired me ; and now, Fanny, that I have done so — now that I have fully explained to him what you taught me to believe were your wishes on the subject, will you tell me — for I really think your aunt must have misunderstood you — what it is that you wish me to do ? " " Why, uncle, you pointed out — and it was very true then, that my fortune was not sufficient to enable Lord Ballindine to keep up his rank. It is different now, and I am very, very aorry that it is SO; but it is different now, and I feel that I ought not to reject Lord Ballindine, because I am so much richer than 1 was when he — when he proposed to me." " Then it 's merely a matter of feeling with you, and not of aflection ? If I understand you, you are afraid that you should be thought to have treated Lord Ballindine badly ? " " It 's not only that — " And then she paused for a few moments, and added, " I thought I could have parted with liim, when you made me believe that I ought to do so but I find I cannot." "Ton mean that you love him?" and the earl looked very black at his niece. He intended to frighten her out of her reso- lution, but she quietly answered, " Yes, uncle, I do." "And you want me to tell him so, after having banished him from my house ? " Fanny's eyes again shot fire at the word " banished," but she answered, very quietly, and even with a smile, 134 THE KELLTS AND THE O KELLYS. " No, uncle ; but I want you to ask him here again. I inigbi tell him the rest myself." "But, Fanny, dear," said the countess, " your uncle couldn't do it : you know, he told him to go away before. Besides, ] really don't think he 'd come; he's so taken up with those horrid horses, and that Mr. Blake, who is worse than any of 'em. Eeally, Fanny, Kilcullen says that he and Mr. Blake are quite notorious." " I think, aunt. Lord Kilcullen might be satisfied with looking after himself. If it depended on him, he never had a kind word to say for Lord Ballindine." " But you know, Fanny," continued the aunt, " he knows every- body ; and if he says Lord Ballindine is that sort of person, why, it must be so, though I 'm sure I 'm very sorry to hear it." Lord Cashel saw that he coukj not trust any more to his wife : that last hit about Kilcullen had been very unfortunate ; so he determined to put an end to all Fanny's yearnings after her lover with a strong hand, and said, "If you mean, Fanny, after what has passed, that I should go to Lord Ballindine, and give him to understand that he is again welcome to Grey Abbey, I must at once tell you that it is abso- lutely — absolutely impossible. If I had no personal objection to the young man on any prudential score, the very fact of my having already, at your request, desired his absence from my house, would be sufficient to render it impossible. I owe too much to my own dignity, and am too anxious for your reputation, to think of doing such a thing. But when I also remember that Lord Ballindine is a reckless, dissipated gambler — I much fear, with no fixed principle, I should consider any step towards re- newing the acquaintance between you a most wicked and unpar- donable proceeding," When Fanny heard her lover designated as a reckless gambler, she lost all remaining feelings of fear at her uncle's anger, and, standing up, looked him full in the face through her tears. "It's not so, my lord! " she said, when he had finished. "He is not what you have said. I know him too well to believe such things of him, and I will not submit to hear him abused." " Oh, Fanny, my dear!" said the frightened countess; " don't speak in that way. Surely, your uncle means to act for your own happiness ; and don't you know Lord Ballindine has those horrid horses ? " " If I don't mind his horses, aunt, no one else need ; but he 'a DO gambler, and he 'a not dissipated — I'm sure not half so much 80 a? Lord Kilcullen." ** in that, Fanny, you 'ra miatakep," said the earl ; " but I tHE COUNl'ESe. 136 don't •wnsh to discuss the matter with you. Tou must, however, fully uiiiJerst;rad this : Lord Ballindine cannot be received under this roof. If you regret him, you must remember that his rejection was your own act. I think you then acted most pru- dently, and I trust it will not be long before you are of the same opinion yourself," and Lord Cashel moved to the door as though he had accomplished his part in the interviesr. " Stop one moment, uncle," said Fanny, striving hard to be calm, and hardly succeeding. " I did not ask my auut to speak to you on this subject, till I had turned it over and over in my mind, and resolved that I would not make myself and another miserable for ever, because I had been foolish enough not to know my mind. Tou best know whether you can ask Lord Baliindina to Grey Abbey or not ; but I am determined, if I cannot see liim here, that I will see him somewhere else," and she turned towards the door, and then, thinking of her aunt, she turned back and kissed her, and immediately left the room. The countess looked up at her husband, quite dumbfounded, and he seemed rather distressed himself. However, he muttered something about her being a hot-headed simpleton and soon thinking better about it, and then betook himself to his private retreat, to hold sweet converse with his own thoughts — having first rang the bell for Griffiths, to pick up the scattered threads of her mistress's knitting. Lord Cashel certainly did not like the look of things. There was a determination in Fanny's eye, as she made her parting speech, which upset him rather, and which threw considerable difEculties in the way of Lord Kilcullen's wooing. To be sure, time would do a great deal: but then, there wasn't so much time to spare. He had already taken steps to burrow the thirty thousand pounds, and had, indeed, empowered his son to receive it: he had also pledged himself for the otiier fifty; and then, after all, that perverse fool of a girl would insist on being in love with that scapegrace. Lord Ballindine! This, however, might wear away, and he would take very good care that she should hear of his misdoings. It would be very odd if, after all, his plans were to be destroyed, and his arrangements disconcerted by his own \Card, and niece — especially when he designed so great a match for her ! He could not, however, make himself quite comfortable, thougll he had great confidence in his own diplomatic resoui-ces. 136 THE KELLYS AND THE 0'KELLT& CHAPTEE XV. HANDICAP LODQE. LoED BitLlNDiNE left Grrej Abbe}^ and roie homewarrts, towards Handicap Lodge, in a melancholy and speculative mood. His first thoughts were all of Harry Wyndham. Prank, as the accepted suitor of his sister, had known him well and intimately, and had liked him much ; and the poor young fellow had been much attached to him. He was greatly shocked to hear of hia death. It was not yet a month since he had seen him shining iu »11 the new-blown splendour of his cavalry regimentals, and Lord Ballindine was unfeignedly grieved to think how short a time the lad had lived to enjoy them. His thoughts, then, naturally turned to his own position, and the declaration which Lord Cashel had made to him respecting himself. Could it be absolutely true that Panny had determined to give him up altogether ? — After all her willing vows, and assurances of unalterable affection, could she be BO cold as to content herself with sending him a formal mt'ssage, by her uncle, that she did not wish to see him again ? Prank argued with himself that it was impossible; he was sure he knew her too well. But still, Lord Cashel would hardly tell him a downright lie, and he had distinctly stated that the rejection came from Miss Wyndham herself. Then, he began to feel indignant, and spurred hia horse, and rode a little faster, and made a i'ew resolutious as to upholding his Dwn digi\ity. He would run after neither Lord Cashel nor hia niece ; he would not even ask her to change her mind, since she had been able to bring herself to such a determination as that 3xpressed to him. But he would insist on seeing her; she could not refuse that to him, after what had passed between theni, and ie would then tell her what he thought of her, and leave her for iver. But no ; he would do nothing to vex her, as long as she (fas grieving for her brother. Poor Harry ! — she loved him so dearly ! Perhaps, after all, his sudden rejection was, in some naanner, occasioned by this sad event, and would be revoked as her 3orrow grew less with time. And then, for the first time, the idea shot across Iiis mind, of the wealth Fanny must inherit by her brother's death. It certainly bad a considerable efi'ect on him, for he breathed (low awhile, and was some little time betore he could entirely realise the conception that Panny was now the undoubted owner HANDICAP LODGE. 187 of a large fortune. 'That is it,' thought he to himself, at last; ' that sordid earl conBiders that he can now be sure of a higher match for his niece, and Fann}- has allowed herself to be persuaded out of her engagement : she has allowed herself to be talked into the belief that it was her duty to give up a poor man like me.' And then, he felt very angry again. ' Heavens ! ' said he to him- self — ' is it possible she should be so servile and so mean ? Fanny "Wyudham, who cared so little for the prosy admonitions of her uncle, a few month since, can she have altered her disposition so completely ? Can the possession of her brother's money have made so vile a change in her character ? Could she be the same Fanny who had so entirely belonged to him, who had certainly loved him truly once ? Perish her money ! he had sought her from affection alone; he had truly and fondly loved her; he had determined to cling to her, in spite of the advice of his friends ! And then, lie found himself deserted and betrayed by her, because circumstances had given her the probable power of making a better match ! ' Such were Lord Ballindine's thoughts; and he flattered himself with the reflection that he was a most cruelly used, affectionate, and disinterested lover. He did not, at the moment, remember that it was Fanny's twenty thousand pounds which had first attracted ' his notice; and that he had for a considerable time wavered, before he made up his mind to part with himself at so low a price. It was not to be expected that he should remember that, just at present ; and he rode on, considerably out of humour with all the world except himself As he got near to Handicap Lodge, however, the genius of the master-spirit of that classic spot came upon him, and he began to bethink himself that it would be somewhat foolish of him to give up ■■jhe game just at present. He reflected that a hundred thousand pounds would work a wondrous change and improvement at Kelly's Court — and that, if he was before prepared to marry Fanny Wyndham in opposition to the wishes of her guardian, he should now be doubly determined to do so, even though all Grey Abbey had resolved to the contrary. The last idea in his mind, ai he got off his horse at his friend's door was, as to what Dot Blake would think, and say, of the tidings he brought home with him? It was dark when he reached Handicap Lodge, and, having first aski-d whether Mr. Blake was in, and heard that he was dressing for dinner, he went to perform the same operation himself. "When he came down, full of his budget, and quite ready, as usual, to apply to Dot for advice, he was surprised, and annoyed, to find two other gentlemen in the room, together with Blake. What a bore ! to 138 THE KELLTS ANS) TUB O'KELLTS. have to mnke one of a dinner-pf-t^y of four, and the long pro- tracted rdbber of shorts which would follow it, when his miud waa 80 full of other concerns! However, it was not to be avoided. The gui'sN were, the fat, good-humoured, ready-witted Mat Tierney, and a little Connauglit member of Parliament, named Morris, who wore a .rig, played a '"ory good r">':3r of whist, and kirew a good deal abrut selling h""ters. He w-. not very bright, but he told one or two good stories of his own adventures in the world, which he repeated oftener than was approved of by his intimate friends; and he drank his wine plentifully and discreetly — for, if he didn't get a game of cards after consuming a certain quiintum, he invariably went to sleep. There was something in the manner in which the three greeted him, on entering the room, which showed him that they had been speaking of him and his affairs. Dot was the first to address him. " Well, Frank, 1 hope 1 am to wish you joy. I hope you've made a good morning's work of it ?" Frank looked rather distressed: before he could answer, how- ever, Mat Tierney said, " Well, Ballindine, upon my soul I congratulate you sincerely, though, of course, you've seen nothing at Grey Abbey but tears and cambric handkerchiefs. I 'm very glad, now, that what Kilcullen told me wasn't true. He left Dublin for London yesterday, and I suppose he won't hear of his cousin's death before he gets there." " Upon my honour, Lord Ballindine," said the horse-dealing member, " you are a lucky fellow. I believe old "Wyndham was a regular golden nabob, and I suppose, now, you '11 touch the whole of his gatherings." Dot and his guests had heard of Harry Wyndham's death, and Fanny's accession of fortune ; but they had not heard that she had rejected her lover, and that he had been all but turned out of her guardian's house. Nor did he mean to tell them ; but he did not find himself pleasantly situated jn having to hear their con- gratulations and listen to their jokes, while he himself felt that the rumour which he had so emphatically denied to Mat Tierney, only two days since, had turned out to be true. Not one of the party made the slightest reference to the poor brother from whom F'anny's new fortune had come, except as the lucky means of conveying it to her. There was no regret even pretended for his early death, no sympathy expressed with Fanny's sorrow. And there was, moreover, an evident conviction, in the minds of all the three, that Frank, of course, looked on the accident as a piece of unalloyed good fortune — a splendid windfall HANDIfiAP LODGE. i8V m hie way, unattended with a.r*j disagreeable concomitauts. Tiiis grated against his feelings, and made him conscious tli.it lie wan not yet heartless enough to be quite lit for the socieiy in which he found himself. The party soon went into the dining-room ; and Frank at first got a little ease, for Fanny Wyndham seemed to be forgotten in the willing devotion which was paid to Blake's soup ; the interest of the fish, also, seemed to be absorbing ; and though conversation became more general towards the latter courses, still it was on general subjects, as long as the servants were in the room. But, much to his annoyance, his mistress again came on the tapis, together with the claret. " You and Kilcullen don't hit it off together — eh, Ballindine ? " said Mat. " We never quarrelled," answered Frank ; " we never, however, were very intimate." " I wonder at that, for you 're both fond of the turf. There 'a a large string of his at Murphy's now, isn't there, Dot ? " " Too many, I believe," said Blake. " If you 've a mind to be a purchaser, you '11 find him a very pleasant fellow— especially if you don't object to his own prices." " Faith I '11 not trouble him," said Mat ; " I 've two of them already, and a couple on the turf and a couple for the saddle are quite enough to suit me. But what the deuce made him say, so publicly, that your match was off, Ballindine ? He couldn't have heard of Wyndham's death at the time, or I should think he was after the money himself." " I cannot tell ; he certainly bad not my authority," said Frank. "Nor the lady's either, I hope." " Tou had better ask herself, Tierney ; and, if she rejects me, maybe she '11 take you." " There 's a speculation for you," said Blake ; "jon don't think yourself too old yet, I hope, to make your fortune by marriage ? — and, if you don't, I'm sure Miss Wyndham can't." " I tell you what. Dot, I admire Miss Wyndham much, and 1 admire a hundred thousand pounds more. I don't know anything I admire more than a hundred thousand pounds, except two ; but, upon my word, I wouldn 't take the money and the lady togetlier." "Well, that's kind of him, isn't it, Frank? So, you've a chance left, yet." " Ah I but you forget Morris," said Tierney ; " and there 's yoar- eelf, too. If Ballindine is not to be the lucky man, I don't bo6 why either of you should despair." " Oh ! as for me, I 'm the devil. I 've a tail, only I don't wear K 140 THE KELLYS AND THE KELLYS. it, except on state occasions ; and I 've horns and hoofs, only people can't see them. Bat I don't see why Morris should not succeed: he's the only one of the four that doesa 't own a racehorse, and that 's much in his favour. AVbat do you say, Morris?" "I'd have no objection," said the member; "except that I wouldn't like to stand in Lord Ballindine's way." "Oh! he's the soul of good-nature. Tou wouldn't take it ill of him, would you, Frank ? " "Not the least," said Frank, sulkily; for he didn't like the conversation, and he didn't koow how to put a stop to it. " Perhaps you wouldn't mind giving him a line of introduction to Lord Cashel," said Mat. " But, Morris," said Blake, " I 'm afraid your politics would go against you. A Eepealer would never go down at Grey Abbey." " Morris '11 never let his politics harm him," said Tieruey. " Eepeal's a very good thing the other side of the Shannon ; or one might carry it as far as Conciliation Hall, if one was hard pressed, and near an election. Were you ever in Conciliation Hall yet, Morris ? " " No, Mat; but I'm going next Thursday. Will you go with me?" " Faith, I will not : but I think you should go ; you ought to do something for your country, for you're a patriot. I never was a public man." " Well, when 1 can do any good for my country, I '11 go there. Talking of that, I saw O'Connell in town yesterday, and I never saw him looking so well. The verdict hasn't disturbed him much. I wonder what steps the Government will take now ? They must be fairly bothered. I don't think they dare imprison him:" " Not dare ! " said Blake — " and why not ? When they had coui'age to indict him, you need not fear but what they '11 dare to go on with a strung hand, now they have a verdict." " I '11 tell you what. Dot ; if they imprison the whole set," said Mat, " and keep them in prison for twelve months, every Catholic Ui Ireland will be a Repealer by the end of that time." " And why shouldn't they all be liejjealers ? " said Morris. "It seems to me that it 's just as natural for us to be Kepealers, as it is for you to bo the contrary." " I won't say they don't dare to put them in prison," con- tinued Mat ; " but I will say they '11 be great fools to do it. The Government have so good an excuse for not doing so : they have such an easy path out of the hobble. There veas just enough HANDICAP LODGE. 141 difference of opinion among the judges — just enougli irregularity in the trial, such as the omissions of the names from the loug panel — to enable them to pardon the whole set with a good grace." " If they did," said Blake, "the whole high Tory party in this country — peers and parsons — would be furious. They 'd lose one set or supporters, and wouldn't gain another. My opinion is, they 'li lock the whole party up in the stone jug — for some time, at least." " Whj'," said Tierney, "their own party could not quarrel with them for not taking an advantage of a verdict, as to the legality of which there is so much difi'erence of opinion even among the judges. I don't know much about these things, myself ; but, as far as T can understand, they would have all been found guilty of high treason a few years back, and probably have been hung or beheaded ; and if they could do that now, the country would be all the quieter. But they can't : the people will have their own way ; and if they want the people to go easy, they shouldn't put O'Connell into prison. Eob them all of the glories of martyr- dom, and you 'd find you '11 cut their combs and stop their crowing." " It 's not so easy to do that now, Mat," said Morris. " You'll find that the country will stick to O'Connell, whether he's in prison or out of it ; — but Peel will never dare to put him there. They talk of the Penitentiary ; but I '11 tell you what, if they put him there, the people of Dublin won't leave one stone upon another; they 'd have it all down in a night." " You forget, Morris, how near Kichmond barracks are to the Penitentiary." " No, I don't. Not that I think there '11 be any row of the kind, for I '11 bet a hundred guineas they 're never put in prison at all." " Done," said Dot, and his little book was out — " put tliat down, Morris, and I '11 initial it : a hundred guineas, even, that O'Connell is not in prison within twelve months of this time." " Very well : that is, that he's not put there and kept there for six months, in consequence of the verdict just given at the State trials." " No, my boy ; that 's not it. I said nothing about being kept there sis months. They 're going to try for a writ of error, or w/iat the devil they call it, before the peers. But I '11 bet you a cool hundred he is put in prison before twelve mouths are over, in consequence of the verdict. If he 's locked up theye for one night, I vvjn. "Will jou take that ? " 143 THE KELLTS AND THE o'KELLTS. " Well, I will," said Morris ; aud they both went to work at their little books. " I was in London," said Mat, " during the greater portion of the trial — and it 's astonishing what unanimity of opinion there was at the club that the whole set would be acquitted. I heard Howard make a bet, at the Eeform Club, that the only man put in prison would be the Attorney- General." " He ought to have included the Chief- Justice," said Morris. " By the bye. Mat, is that Howard the brother of the Honorable and Eiverind Augustus ? " " Upon my soul, I don't know whose brother he is. Who is the Eiverind Augustus ? " " Morris wants to tell a story, Mat," said Blake ; " don't spoil him, now." " Indeed I don't," said the member : " I never told it to any one till I mentioned it to you the other day. It only happened the other day, but it u worth telling." " Out with it, Morris," said Mat, " it isn't very long, is it ? — because, if it is, we '11 get Dot to give us a little whiskey and hot water first. I 'm sick of the claret." " Just as you like, Mat," and Blake rang the beU, and the hot water was brought. " Ton know Savarius O'Leary," said Morris, anxious to tell his story, " eh, Tierney ? " " What, Savy, with the whiskers ? " said Tierney, " to bo sure I do. Who doesn't know Savy ? " " Tou know him, don't you. Lord Ballindine ? " Morris was determined everybody should listen to him. " Oh yes, I know him ; he comes from County Mayo — his pro- perty's close to mine ; that is, the patch of rocks and cabins — ■ which he has managed to mortgage three times over, and each time for more than its value — which he still calls the O'Leary estate." " Well ; some time ago — that is, since London began to fill, O'Leary was seen walking down Eegent Street, with a parson. How the deuce he 'd ever got hold of the parson, or the parson of him, was never explained ; but Phil Mahon saw him, and asked him who his friend in the white choker was. ' Is it my friend in black, you mane ? ' says Savy, ' thin, my frind was the Honorable aud the Eiverind Augustus Howard, the Dane.' ' Howard the Dane,' said Mahon, ' how the duce did any of the Howards become Danes ? ' ' Ah, bother ! ' said Savy, ' it 's not of thim Danes he is ; it 's not the Danes of Shwaden I mane, at all, man j but a rural Dane of the Church of England.' " HANDICAP LODdE. 14S Mat Tiernoy laughed heartily at this, and even Prank forgot that his dignity h:id been hurt, and that he meant to be sulky; and he laughed also: the little member was delighted with hia Buccess, and felt himself encouraged to persevere. " Ah, Savy's a queer fellow, if you knew him," he continued, turning to Lord Ballindine, "and, upon my soul, he 's no fool. Oh, if you knew him as well — " " Didn't you hear Ballindine say he was his next door neigh- bour in Mayo ? " said Blake, "or, rather, next barrack neighbour; for they dispense with doors in Mayo — eh, Frank? and their houses are all cabins or barracks." " Why, we certainly don't pretend to all the Apuleian luxuries of Handicap Lodge ; but we are ignoraut enough to think our- selves comfortable, and swinish enough to enjoy our pitiable state." " I beg ten thousand pardons, my dear fellow. I din't mean to oiFend your nationality. Castlebar, we must allow, is a fine pro- vincial city —though Killala's the Mayo city, I believe ; and Clare- morris, which is your own town I think, is, as all admit, a gem of Paradise : only it 's a pity so many of the houses have been un- roofed lately. It adds perhaps to the picturesque effect, but it must, I should think, take away from the comfort." " JSot a house in Claremorris belongs to me," said Lord Ballin- dine, again rather sulky, " or ever did to any of my family. I would as soon own Claremorris, though, as I would Castle- blakeney. Your own town is quite as shattered-looking a place." " That 's quite true — but I have some hopes that Castle- blakeney will be blotted out of the face of creation before I come into possession." " But I was saying about Savy O'Leary," again interposed Morris, " did you ever hear what he did ? " But Blake would not allow his guest the privilege of another story. " If you encourage Morris," said he, " we shall never get our whist," and with that he rose from the table and walked away into the next room. They played high. Morris always played high if he could, for he made money by whist. Tierney was not a gambler by profes- sion ; but the men he lived among all played, and he, therefore, got into the way of it, and played the game well, for he was obliged to do so in his own defence. Blake was an adept at every thing of the kind ; and though the card-table was not the place R-here his light shone brightest, still he was quite at home at it. As might be supposed, Lord Ballindine did not fare well among 144 THE KELIYS AND THE 0*KELLlr9. the three. He played with each of them, one after the otlier, and lost with them all. Blake, to do him justice, did not wish to see his friend's money go into the little member's pocket, and, once or twice, proposed giving up ; but Frank did not second the proposal, and Morris was invetenvte. The consequence was that, before the table was broken up. Lord Ballindine had lost a sum of money which he could very ill spare, and went to bed in a very unenvi- able state of mind, in spite of the brilliant prospects on which hii friends congratulated him. CHAPTER XVI, BHIEN BOBU. The nest morning, at breakfast, when Frank was alone with Blake, he explained to him how matters reall3'" stood at Grej Abbey. He told him how impossible he had found it to insist on seeing Miss Wyndham so soon after her brother's death, and how disgustingly disagreeable, stiff and repulsive the earl had been ; and, by degrees, they got to talk of other things, and among them, Frank's present pecuniary miseries. '• There can be no doubt, I suppose," said Dot, when Frank had consoled himself by anathematising the earl for ten minutes," as to the fact of Miss Wyndham's inheriting her brother's fortune ? " " Faith, I don't know ; I never thought about her fortune if you '11 believe me. I never even remembered that her brother's death would in any way affect her in the way of monev, until after I left Grey Abbey." " Oh, I can believe you capable of anything in the way of im' prudence." " Ah, but. Dot, to think of that pompous fool — who sits and caws in tliat dingy book -room of his, with as much wise self-con- fidence as an antiquated raven— to think of him insinuating that I had come there looking for Harry Wyndham's money ; when, as you know, I was as ignorant of the poor fellow's death as Lord Cashel was himself a week ago. Insolent blackguard ! 1 would never, willingly, speak another word to him, or put my foot inside that infernal door of his, if it were to get ten times all Harry Wyndham's fortune." " Then, if I understand you, you now meaa to relinquish yoat claims to Miss Wyndham's band." BHIEN BORU. 145 " No ; I don't believe she ever sent the message her uncle gave me. I don't see why I 'm to give her up, just because she 'a got this money." " Nor I, Frank, to tell the truth ; especially considering how badly you want it yourself. But I don't think quarrelling with the uncle is the surest way to get the niece." " But, man, he quarrelled with me." " It takes two people to quarrel. If he quarrelled with you, do you be the less willing to come tx) loggerheads with him." " Wouldn't it be the best plan, Dot, to carry her off? " " She wouldn't go, my boy : rope ladders and post-chaises are out of fashion." " But if she 's really fond of me — and, upon my honour, I don't believe I 'm flattering myself in thinking that she is — why the deuce shouldn't she marry me, malgre Lord Cashel ? She must be her own mistress in a week or two. By heavens, I cannot stomach that fellow's arrogant assumption of superiority." " It will be much more convenient for her to marry you hon gre Lord Cashel, whom you may pitch to the devil, in any way you like best, as soon as you have Fanny Wyndham at Kelly's Court. But, till that happy time, take my advice, and submit to the cawing. Kooks and ravens are respectable birds, just because they do look so wise. It 's a great thing to look wise ; the doing so does an acknowledged fool, like Lord Cashel, very great credit." " But what ought I do ? I can't go to the man's house when he told me expressly not to do so." " Oh, yes, you can : not immediately, but by and by — in a mouth or six weeks. I '11 tell you what I should do, in your place ; and remember, Frank, 1 'm quite in earnest now, for it 's a very different thing playing a game for twenty thousand pounds, which, to you, joined to a wife, would have been a positive irreparable lose, and starting for five or six times that sum, which would give you an income on which you might manage to live." " Well, thou sapient counsellor — but, I tell you beforehand, the chances are ten to one I sha'n't follow your plan." " Do as you like about that : you sha'n't, at any rate, have me to blame. I would in the first place, assure myself that Fanny inherited her brother's money." "There 's no doubt about that. Lord Cashel said as much." " Make sure of it however. A lawyer '11 do that for you, with rery little trouble. Then, take your name oft' the turf at once ; it 's worth your while to do it now. Ton may either do it by a bond fide sale of the horses, or by running them in some other lie THE KELLYS AND THE o'KELLYS. person's name. Then, watch your opportunity, call at Grey Abbey, -nhen the earl is not at home, and manage to see some ot the ladies. If vou can't do that, if you can't effect an entree, write to Miss Wyndham ; don't be too lachrymose, or supplica- tory, in your style, but ask her to give you a plain answer person- ally, or in her own handwriting." " And if she declines the honour ? " " If, as you say and as I believe, she loves, or has loved you, I don't think she '11 do so. She '11 submit to a little parleying, and then she '11 capitulate. But it will be much better that you should Bee her, if possible, without writing at all." " I don't like the idea of calling at Grey Abbey. I wonder whether they'll go to London this season? " " If they do, you can go after them. The truth is simply this, Ballindine ; Miss Wyndham will follow her own fancy in the matter, in spite of her guardian ; but, if you make no further advances to her, of course she can make none to you. But I think the game is in your own hand. Ton haven't the head to play it, or I should consider the stakes as good as won." " But then, about these horses, Dot. I wish I could sell them, out and out, at once." " You '11 find it very difficult to get anything like the value for a horse that's well up for the Derby. Tou see, a purchaser must make up his mind to so much outlay : there 's the purchase-money, and expense of English training, with so remote a chance of any speedy return." " But you said you 'd advise me to sell them." " That 's if you can get a purchaser : — or else run them in another name. You may run them in my name, if you like it ; but Scott must understand that I 've nothing whatever to do with the expense." " Would you not buy them yourself, Blake ? " " No. I would not." "Why not?" " If I gave you anything like t'ne value for them, the bargain would not suit me ; and if I got them for what they 'd be worth to me, you 'd think, and other people would say, that I 'd robbed you." Then followed a lengthened and most intricate discourse, .n the affairs of the stable. Frank much wanted his friend to take his stud entirely off his hands, but this Dot resolutely refused to do. In the course of conversation, Frank owned that the present state of his funds rendered it almost impracticable for him to incur the expense of sending his favourite, Brien Boru, to win laurels in BEIEN BOETI, l4( England. He had lost nearly three hundred MunJs the previous evening, which his account at his banker's did not enable him to pay ; his Dublin agent had declined advancing him more money at present, and his tradesmen were very importunate. In fact, he was in a scrape, and Dot must advise him how to extricate himself from it. " I '11 tell you the truth, Ballindine," said he ; " as far as I 'm concerned myself, I never wUl lend money, except where I see, as a matter of business, that it is a good speculation to do so. I wouldn't do it for my father." " Who asked you ? " said Frank, turning very red, and looking very angry, " Tou did not, certainly ; but I thought you might, and you would have been annoyed when I refused you; now, you have the power of being indignant, instead. However, having said so much, I '11 tell you what I think you should do, and what I will do to relieve you, as far as the horses are concerned. Do you go down to Kelly's Court, and remain there quiet for a time. Tou '11 be able to borrow what money you absolutely want down there, if the Dublin fellows actually refuse ; but do with as little as you can. The horses shall run in my name for twelve months. If they win, I will divide with you at the end of the year the amount won, after deducting their expenses. If they lose, I will charge you with half the amount lost, including the expenses. Should you not feel inclined, at the end of the year, to repay me this sum, I will then keep the horses, instead, or sell them at Dycer's, if you like it better,, and hand you the balance if there be any. "What do you say to this ? Tou will be released from all trouble, annoyance, and expense, and the cattle will, I trust, be in good hands." " That it is to say, that, for one year, you are to possess on« half of whatever value the horses may be f " '• Exactly: we shall be partners for one year." " To make that fair," said Frank, "you ought to put into the concern three horses, as good and as valuable as my three.' ' " Tes ; and you ought to bring into the concern half the capital to be expended in their training ; and knowledge, experience, and skill in making use of them, equal to mine. No, Frank ; you 're mistaken if you think that I can afford to give up my time, merely for ilie purpose of making an arrangement to save you from trouble." "Upon my word. Dot," answered the other, "you're about the coolest hand I ever met! Did I ask you for your precious time, or anything else ? Tou 're always afraid that yo;i 're going 148 THE KELL'it, ^NB THE O'KELLYS. to be done. Now, you might make a distinction between me and some of your other friends, and remember that I am not in the habit of doing anybody." " Why, I own I don't think it very likely that I, or indeed any one else, should suffer much from you in that way, for your sin ia not too much sharpness." " Then why do you talk about what you can afford to do ? " " Because it 's necessary. I made a proposal which you thought an unfair one. Tou mayn't believe me, but it is a most positive fact, that my only object in making that proposal was, to benefit you. You will find it diiBcult to get rid of your horses on any terms; and yet, with the very great stake before you in Miss "Wyndham's fortune, it would be foolish in you to think of keeping them ; and, on this account, 1 thought in what manner I could take them from you. If they belong to my stables I shall consider myself bound to run them to the best advantage, and — " " Well, well — for heaven's sake don't speechify about it." " Stop a moment, Frank, and listen, for I must make you under- stand. I must make you see that I am not taking advantage of your position, and trying to rob mj' own friend in ray own house. 1 don't care what most people say of me, for in my career I must expect people to lie of me. I must, also, take care of myself. But I do wish you to know, that though I could not disarrange my schemes for you, I would not take you in." " Why, Dot— how can you go on so ? I only thought I was taking a leaf out of your book, by being careful to make the best bargain I could." " Well, as I was saying — I would run the horses to the best advantage — especially Brien, for the Derby: by doing so, my whole book would be upset : I should have to bet all round afaiii — and, very likely, not be able to get the bets I want. I could not do this without a very strong interest in the horse. Besides, you remember that I should have to go over with him to England myself, and that I should be obliged to be in England a great deal at a time when my own business would require me here." " My dear fellow," said Frank, " you 're going on as though it were necessary to defend yourself. I never accused you of any- thing." " Never mind whether you did or no. Tou understand me now : if it will suit you, you can take my offer, but I should be glad to know at once." While this conversation was going on, the two younsf men had left the house, and sauntered out into Blake's stud-yard. Here Were his stables, where he kept such horses as were not actually BRtEN BOBO. 149 in the trainer's hands — and a large assortment of aged hunters, celebrated timber-jumpers, brood mares, thorough bred fillies, co('lv-tailed colts, and promising foals. Tliey were immediately joined by Blake's stud groom, who came on business intent, to request a few words with his master; which meant that Lord Ballindine was to retreat, as it was full time for his friend to proceed to his regular day's work. Blake's groom was a very different person in appearance, from the sort of servant in the possession of which the fashionable owner of two or three horses usually rejoices. He had no diminutive top boots; no loose brown breeches, buttoned low beneath the knee; no elongated waistcoat with capacious pockets ; no dandy coat, with remarkably short tail. He was a very ugly man of about fifty, named John Bottom, dressed somewhat like a seedy gentleman ; but he under- stood his business well, and did it ; and was sufficiently wise to know that he served his own pocket best, in the long run, by being true to his master, and by resisting the numerous tempting offers which were made to him by denizens of the turf to play foul with his master's horses. He was, therefore, a treasure to Blake ; and he knew it, and valued himself accordingly. " Well, John," said his master, "I suppose I must desert Lord Ballindine again, and obey your summons. Your few words will last nearly till dinner, I suppose ? " " Why, there is a few things, to be sure, '11 be the better for being talked over a bit, as his lordship knows well enough. I wish ■we 'd as crack a nag in our stables, as his lordship." " Maybe we may, some day ; one down and another come on, you know ; as the butcher-boy said." " At any rate, your horses don't want bottom," said Frank. He — he — he ! laughed John, or rather tried to do so. He had laughed at that joke a thousand times ; and, in the best of humours, he wasn't a merry man. "Well, Frank;" said Blake, "the cock has crowed; I must away. I suppose you '11 ride down to Igoe's, and see Brien : but think of what I 've said, and," he added, whispering — "remember that I will do the best I can for the animals, if you put them into my stables. They shall be made second to nothing, and shall only and alwavs run to win." 8o, Blake and John Bottom walked off to the box stables, and home paddocks. Frank ordered his horse, and complied with his friend's sugges- tion, by riding down to Igoe's. He was not in hapiiy spirits as he weut ; he felt afraid that his hopes, with regard to Fanny, would be blighted ; and that, if he persevered in his suit, he would only 150 THE KELLYS AND THE o'KELLtS. be harassed, annoyed, and disappointed. He did not see wbat Bteps he could take, or how he could manage to see her. It would be 'inpossible for him to go to Grey Abbey, after having been, as he felt, turned out by Lord Cashel. Other things troubled him also. What should he now do with himself? It was true that he could go down to his own house; but everyone at Kelly's Court expected him to bring with him a bride and a fortune ; and, instead of that, he would have to own that he had been jilted, and would be reduced to the disagreeable necessity of borrowing money from his own tenants. And then, that awful subject, money — took possession of him. What the deuce was he to do ? What a fool he had been, to be seduced on to the turf by such a man as Blake ! And then, he expressed a wish to himself that Blake had been — a long way off before he ever saw him. There he was, steward of the Curragh, the owner of the best horse in Ireland, and absolutely without money to enable him to carry on the game till he could properly retreat from it ! Then he was a little unfair upoQ his friend : he accused him of knowing his position, and wishing to take advantage of it ; and, by the time he had got to Igoe's, his mind was certainly not in a very charitable mood towards poor Dot. He had, nevertheless, determined to accept his offer, and to take a last look at the three Milesians. The people about the stables always made a great fuss with Lord Balliudine, partly because he was one of the stewards, and partly because he was going to run a crack horse for the Derby in England ; and though, generally speaking, he did not care much for personal complimentary respect, he usually got chattered and flattered into good humour at Igoe's. " Well, my lord," said a sort of foreman, or partner, or managing man, who usually presided over the yard, " I think we '11 be apt to get justice to Ireland on the downs this year. That is, they '11 give us nothing but what we takes from 'em by hard fighting, or running, as the case may be." " How 's Brien looking this morning, Grady ? " " As fresh as a primrose, my lord, and as clear as crystal: he 'a ready, this moment, to run through any set of three years old as could be put on the Curragh, any way." " I 'm afraid you 're putting him on too forward." "Too forrard, is it, my lord? not a bit. He's a boss as naturally don't pick up flesh ; though he feeds free, too. He 's this moment all wind and bottom, though, as one may say, he 'a got no training. He's niver been sthretched ye*^ Faith it'g thrue I 'm telling you, my lord." BEIEN BOEXJ. 161 " I know Scott doesn't like getting horses, early in the season, that are too ane — too much drawn up ; he thinks they lose powef by it, and so liiey do ; — it 'n the distance kills them, at the Derby It 's so hard to get a youni; liorse to stay the distance." " Tii.-it 's thrue, shure enough, my lord ; and there isn't a gentle- kjan this side the wnther, anyway, uudherstands thim things Ijetther tcan your lordship." "Well, Grady, let's have a look at the young chieftain : he's fell right iihout the lungs, anyway." " And teet too, my lord ; niver saw a set of claner feet with plates on : and legs too ! If you were to canter him down tlie Toad, I don't think he'd feel it; not that I'd like to thry, though." " Why, he's not yet had much to try them." " Faix, he has, my lord : didn't he win the Autumn produce stakes ? " " The only thing he ever ran for." " Ah, but I tell you, as your lordship knows very well — no one betther — that it's a ticklish thing to bring a two year old to the post, in anything like condition — with any running iji him at all, and not hurt his legs." " But I think he 's all right— eh, Grady ? " "Riijht? — your lordship knows lie's ri^ht. I wish be maybe made righter at John Scott's, that 's all. But that 's unpossible." " Of course, Grady, you think he might be trained here, as well as at the other side of the water ? " "No, I don't mv lord: quite different. I've none of thim ideas at all, and never had, thank God. I knows what we can do, and I knows what they can do : — breed a boss in Ireland, train him in the North of England, and run him in the South ; and he '11 do your work for you, and win your money, steady and ehure." " And why not run in the North, too? " " They 're too 'cute, my lord : they like to pick up the crumbs themselves — small blame to thim in that matther. No ; a bright Irish nag, with lots of heart, like Brien Boru, is the boss to stand on for the Derby ; where all run fair and fair alike, the best wins ; — but I won't say but he'll be the betther for a little polishing at Johnny Scott's." " Besides, Grady, no horse could run immediately after a sea royage. Do you remember what a show we made of Peter Simple at Kilrue." " To be shure I does, my lord : besides, they 've proper gallops there, which we haven't — and they've betther manes of measuring 153 THE KELLYS AND THE O KELLYS. horses : — why, they can measure a horse to half a pound, and tell his rale pace on a two-mile course, to a couple of seconds. — Take the sheefs off, Larry, and let his lordship run his hand over him. He 's as bright as a star, isn't he f " " I think yon 're getting him too fine. I 'm sure Scott '11 say so." " Don't mind him, my lord. He 's not like one of those English cats, with jist a dash of speed about 'era, and nothing more — brutes that they put in training half a dozen times in as many months. Thim animals pick up a lot of loose, fiabby flesh in rLO time, and loses it in less ; and, in course, av' tbey gets a sweat too much, there's nothin left in 'em; not a haporth. Brien's a different guess sort of animal from that." " Were you going to have him out, Grady ? " " Why, we was not — that is, only just for walking exercise, with his sheets on : but a canter down the half mile slope, and up again by the bushes won't go agin him." " Well, saddle him then, and let Pat get up." " Tes, my lord ; " and Brien was saddled by the two men together, with much care and ceremony, and Pat was put up — " and now, Pat," continued Grady, " keep him well in hand down the slope — don't let him out at all at all, till you come to tho turn : when you 're fairly round the corner, just shake your reins, the laste in life, and when you 're half way up the rise, when the lad begins to snort a bit, let him just see the end of the switch — just raise it till it catches his eye ; and av' he don't show that he 'a cisposed for running, I 'm mistaken. We '11 step across to the bushes, my lord, and see him come round." Lord Ballindine and the managing man walked across to the bushes, accordingly, and Pat did exactly as he was desired. It was a pretty thing to see the beautiful young animal, with his sleek brown coat shining like a lady's curls, arching his neck, and throwing down his head, in his impatience to start. He was the very picture of health and symmetry ; when he flung up his head you'd think the blood was running from his nose, his nostrils were so ruddy bright. He cantered off' in great impatience, and fretted and fumed because the little fellow on his back would be the master, and not let him have his play — down the slope, and round the corner by the trees. It was beautiful to watch himi his motions were so easy, so graceful. At the turn he answered to the boy's encouragement, and mended his pace, till again he felt the bridle, and then, as the jock barely moved his right arm, he bounded up the rising ground, past the spot where Lord Ballindine and the trainer were standing, and shot away till BRIEK BORU. 153 he was beyond the place where he knew his gallop ordinarily ended. As Grady said, he hadn't yet been stretcliud ; he liri'd never yet tried his own pace, and he had that look so beautiful in a horse when running, of working at his ease, and much within his power. " He 's a beautiful creature," said Lord Ballindine, as he mournfully reflected that he was about to give up to Dot Blake half the possession of his favourite, and the whole of the nominal title. It was such a pity he should be so hampered; the mere eclat of possessing such a horse was so great a pleasure ; " He is a fine creature," said he, "and, I am sure, will do well." " Your lordship may say that : he '11 go precious nigh to astonish the Saxons, I think. I suppose the pick-up at the Derby '11 be nigh four thousand this j'ear." " I suppose it will — something like that." "Well; I would like a nag out of our stables to do the trick on the downs, and av' we does it iver, it'll be now. Mr. lijoe'a standing a deal of cash on him. I wonder is Mr. Blake standiuc much on him, my lord ? " "You'd be precious deep, Grady, if you could find what he 'a doing in that way." " That 's thrue for you, my lord ; but av' he, or your lordship, wants to get more on, now 's the time. I'll lay twenty thousand pounds this moment, that afther he's been a fortnight at Johnny tscott's, tlie odds agin him won't be more than ten to one, from that day till the morning he comes out on the downs." " I dare say not." " I wondlier who your lordship '11 put up ?" " That must depend on Scott, and what sort of a string he has running. He 's nothing, as yet, high in the betting, except Hardieanute." " JN'otliing, my lord ; and, take my word for it, that horse is ownly jist run up for the sake of the betting; that's not liis nathural position. Well, Pat, you may take the saddle oft'. Will youi lordeUip see the mare out to-day ? " " No^ to-day, Grady. Let's see, what's the day she runs ? " " Ti:e fifteenth of May, my lord. I 'm afraid Mr. Watts' Puti-iot '11 be too much for her ; that 's av' he '11 run kind ; but he don't do that always. Well, good morning to your lordship." " Good morning, Grady ; " and Frank rode back towards Handicap Lodge. He had a great contest with himself on his road home. He had hated the horses two days since, when he was at Giey Abbey, and had hated himself, for having become their possessor ; p,nd now 184 THE KELLYS AND THE O'kELLTS. lie couldn't bear the thought of parting with them. To be steward of the Carragh — to own the best liorse of the year — and to win the Derby, uure very pleasant things in themselves; and for what was he going to give over all this glory, pleasure aud profit, to another? To please a girl who had rejected him, even jilted him, and to appease an old earl who had already turned him out of his house ! No, he wouldn't do it. By the time that he was half a mile from Igoe's stables he had determined that, as the girl ■was gone it would be a pity to throw the horses after her ; he would finish this year on the turf; and then, if Fanny Wyndham was still her own mistress after Christmas, he would again ask her her mind. " If she 's a girl of spirit," he said to himself — "and nobody knows better than I do that she is, she won't like me the worse for having shown that I 'm not to be led by the nose by a pompous old fool like Lord Cashel," and he rode on, fortifying himself in this resolution, for the second half mile. "But what the deuce should he do about money ? " There was only one more half mile before he was again at Handicap Lodge. — Guinness's people had his title-deeds, and he knew he had twelve hundred a year after paying the interest of the old incumbrances. They hadn't advanced him much since he came of age ; certainly not above five thousand pounds; and it surely was very hard he could not get five or six hundred pounds when he wanted it so much ; it was very hard that he shouldn't be able to do what he liked with his own, like the Duke of Newcastle. However, the money must be had : he must pay Blake and Tierney the balance of what they had won at whist, and the horse couldn't go over the water till the wind «as mised. If he was driven very hard he might get some- thing from Martin Kelly. These unpleasant cogitations brought him over the third half mile, and he rode through the gate of Handicap Lodge in a desperate state of indecision. " I '11 tell you what 1 '11 do, Dot," he said, when he met his friend couiing in from his morning's work; "and I'm deuced Borry to do it, for I shall be giving you the best horse of his year, and something tells me he '11 win the Derby." "I suppose 'something' means old Jack Igoe, or that black- guard, Grady," said Dot. " But as to his winning, that's as it may be. To'i know the chances are sixteen to one he won't." " Upon my honour I don't thiuk they are." " AVill you take twelve to one ? " " Ah ! you kuow, Dot, I 'm not now wanting to bet on the horse with you. I was only saying that I 've a kind of inward conviction that he will win." "My dear Frank," said the other, "if men selling horses BEIEN BORU. 155 tould also sell their inward convictions witli them, what a lot of articles of that description there ■would be in the market ! But what were you going to say you 'd do ? " " I 'U tell you what I '11 do : I '11 agree to your terms providing you '11 pay half the expenses of the horses since the last race each of them ran. Tou must see that would be only fair, supposing the horses belonged to you, equally with me, ever since that time." " It would be quite fair, no doubt, if I agreed to it : it would be quite fair also if I agreed to give you five hundred pounds ; but I will do neither one nor the other." " But look here, Dot — Brien ran for the Autumn Produce Stakes last October, and won them : since then he has done nothing to reimburse me for his expense, nor yet has anything been taken out of him by running. Surely, if you are to have half the profits, you should at any rate pay half the expenses ? " "That's very well put. Prank; and if you and I stood upon equal ground, with an arbiter between us by whose decision we were bound to abide, and to whom the settlement of tlie question was entrusted, your arguments would, no doubt, be successful, but— " " Well — that 'a the fair way of looking at it." " But, as 1 was going to say, that 's not the case. We are neitner of us bound to take any one 's decision ; and, therefore, any terms which either of us chooses to accept must be fair. Now I have told you my terms — the lowest price, if you like to call it BO, — at which I will give your horses the benefit of my experience, and save you from their immediate pecuniary pressure ; and I will neither take any other terms, nor will I press these on you." " Why, Blake, I 'd sooner deal with all the Jews of Israel — " "Stop, Prank: one word of abuse, and I '11 wash my hands of the matter altogether." " Wash away then, I '11 keep the horses, though I have to sell y hunters, and the plate at Kelly's Court into the bargain." " I was going to add — only your energy's far too great to allow a slow steady man like me iiuishmg his sentence — I was going say that, if you 're pressed for money as you say, and if it will be any accommodation, I will let you have two hundred and fifty pounds, at five per cent, on the security of the horses ; that is, that you will be charged with that amount, and the interest, in the final closing of the account at the end of the year, before tha horses are restored to you." Had an uninterested observer been standing by, he might have Been with half an eye, that Blake's coolness w-is put on, and that L 166 TWE KELLYS AND THE O KELLTS. his indifference to the bargain was assumed. This offer of the loan was a second bid, when he found the first was likely to be rejected : it was made, too, at the time that he was positively declaring that he would make none but the first oifer. Poor Frank! — he was utterly unable to cope with his friend at the weapons with which they were playing, and he was consequently most egregiously plundered. But it was in an afiair of horse-flesh, and the sporting world, when it learned the terms on which the horses were transferred from Lord Ballindine's name to that of Mr. Blake, had not a word of censure to utter against the latter. He was pronounced to be very wide awake, and decidedly at the top of his profession ; and Lord Ballindine was spoken of, for a week, with considerable pity and contempt. When Blake mentioned the loan Frank got up, and stood with his back to the Are ; then bit his lips, and walked twice up and down the room, with his hands in his pockets, and then he paused, looked out of the window, and attempted to whistle; then he *hrew himself into an arm-chair, poked out both his legs as far as he could, ran his fingers through his hair, and set to work hard to make up his mind. But it was no good; in about five minutes he found he could not do it ; so he took out his purse, and, extracting half-a-crown, threw it up to the ceiling, saying. " Well, Dot — head or harp ? If you 're right, you have them." "Harp," cried Dot. They both examined the coin. " They 're yours," said Frank, w'.th niucli solemnity ; " and now you 've got the best horse — yea, I believe the very best horse alive, for nothing." "Only half of him, Frank." " Well," said Frank ; " it 's done now, I suppose." " Oh, of course it is," said Dot : " I '11 draw out the agreement, and give you a check for the money to-night." And so he did ; and Frank wrote a letter to Igoe, authorising him to hand the horses over to Mr. Blake's groom, stating that he had sold them — for so ran his agreement with Dot — and desirin" that his bill for traininK, &c., might be forthwith forwarded to Kelly's Court. Poor Frank! he was ashamed to go to take a last look at his dear favourites, and tell his own trainer that he had sold his own horses. The next morning saw him, with his servant, on the Ballinasloe coach, travelling towards Kelly's Court ; and, also, saw Brien Boru, Granuaille, and Finn McCoul, led across the downs, from Igoe's stables to Handicap Lodge. The handsome sheet?, hoods, and rollers, in which they had bithertq appeared, and Qp which t^e initial Jj ^yaa alflne conspipjipys, MAETiN Kelly's courtship. l.vr were carefullv foldod up, and they were henceforth seen in plnincr, t,"jC as sei'\ iccMlile upp^irci, labelled W. B, ' Will vou eive t'ourteeii to one ajrainat Brien Horn':'" said Viscount Avoca to Lord Tathenham Coruer, about teu clays aller this, at Tattersall's. " I will," saiil Lord Tathenham. " In hundreds ? " said the sharp Irishman. " Very well," said Lord Tathenham ; and the bet was booked. "Ton didn't know, I suppose," said the successful viscc.'int- " that Dot Blake has bought Brien Boru ? " " And who the devil's Dot Blake ?" said Lord Tathenham. " Oh.1 you'll know before May 's over," said the viscoinio. CHAPTER XVII. MARTIN KELLY'S COURTSHIP. It will be remembered that the Tuam attorney, Daly, dined ■with Barry Lynch, at Dunmore House, on the same evening that Martin Kelly reached home after his Dublin excursion ; and that, on that occasion, a good deal of interesting conversation took place after dinner. Barry, however, was hardly amenable to reason at that social hour, and it was not till the following raornino- that he became thoroughly convinced that it would be perfectly impossible for hirn to make his sister out a lunatic to the satisfaction of tbe Chancellor. He then agreed to abandon the idea, and, in lieu of it, to indict, or at anv rate to threaten to indict, the widow Kelly and her son I'or a conspiracy, and an attempt to inveigle his sister Anty into a disijraceful marriage, with the object of swindling her out of her Dropert}'. "1 'if see Moflan, Mr. Lynch," said Daly; "and if I can talk him over, I think we might succeed in frighteninu; the v\ liole set of them, so far as to prevent tbe niarria>;e. Moylaii must know tliat if your sister was to marry 3'-uung Kelly, theiv 'd be an end to his agency ; but we must promise him something, Mr. Luich." " Yes ;'l suppose we must pay him, before we get anything out of him." " No, not before — but he must understand that he will get Bomething, if he makes himself useful. Tou must let me explain to him that if the marriage is prevented, you will make no 168 THE «ELLYS AND THE O'KELLTS. objection to his continuing to act as Miss Lynch'a agent ; and I might hint the possibility of his receiving the rents on the whole property." " Hint what you like, Daly, but don't tie me down to the infernal ruffian. I suppose we can throw him overboard after- wards, can't we ? " " \Vhy, not altogether, Mr. Lynch. If I make him a definite promise, I shall expect you to keep to it." " Confound him !— but tell me, Daly ; what is it he 's to do f — and what is it we 're to do ? " " Why, Mr. Lynch, it's more than probable, I think, that this plan of Martin Kelly's marrying your sisther, may have been talked over between the ould woman, Moylan, and the young man ; and if eo, that's something like a conspiracy. If I could worm that out of him, I think I 'd manage to frighten them." " And what the deuce had I better do ? Tou see, there was a bit of a row between us. That is, Anty got frightened when I spoke to her of this rascal, and then she left the house. Couldn't you make her understand that she 'd be all right, if she 'd come to the house again ? " While Barry Lunch had been sleeping off the effects of the punch, Daly had been inquiring into the circumstauces under which Anty had left the house, and he had pretty nearly learned the truth ; he knew, therefore, how much belief to give to his client's representation. "I don't think," said he, " that your sister will be likelv to come back at present; she will probably find iiersolf quieter 'and easier at the inn. You see, slie has been used to a quiet lile." " But, if slie remains there, she can marry that young ruffian any moment she takes it into her head to do so. There 's always some rogue of a priest ready to do a job of that sort." " Exactly so, Mr. Lynch. Of course your sister can marry whom she pleases, and when she pleases, and neither you nor any one else can prevent her; but still — " " Then what the devil 's the use of my paying you to come here and tell me that ? " " That 's your affair : I didn't come without being sent for. But I was going to tell you that, though we can't prevent her from marrying if she pleases, we may make her afraid to do so. Tou had better write her a kind, affectionate note, regrettino- wliat has taken place between you, and promising to give her no moles- tation of any kind, if she wiil return to her own house, — and keep li copy of this letter. Then I will see Moylan; and, if I can do anything 'vith him, it will be necessary that you should also se« M/KTIN KELLV'S COURTSHIP, l59 h'.m. Tou could come over to Tuam, and meet liiin in my office', a?id tlicn I "ill try an''' force an entrance into the widow's castle, and, if potssible, see ya ; sister, and humbug the ould woman into a belief that she has laid herself open to criminal indictment We might even go so far as to have notices served on thein ; but, if they snap their fingers at us, vce can do notliing further. ]\ly advice, in that case, would be, that you should make the best terms in yo\ir power with Martin Kelly." "And let the whole thing go! I'd sooner — Why, Dalj-, I believe you 're as bad as Blake ! Tou 're afraid of these huxtering thieves ! " " If you go on in that way, Mr. Lynch, you '11 get no pro- fessional gentleman to act with you. I give you my best advice ; if you don't like it, you needn't follow it; but you won't get a solicitor in Connaught to do better for you than wliat I'm proposing." " Confusion ! " muttered Barry, and he struck the hot turf in the grate a desperate blow with the tongs which he had in his hands, and sent the sparks and bits of fire flying about the hearth. "The truth is, you see, your sister's in her full senses; there's the divil a doubt of that ; the money 's her own, and she can marry whom she pleases. All that we can do is to try and make the Kellys think they have got into a scrape." " But this letter — What on earth am I to say to her? " " I '11 just put down what I would eay, were I you ; and if you Uke you can copy it." Daly then wrote the following letter — "My Dear Anty, " Before taking other steps, which could not fail of berng very disagreeable to you and to others, I wish to point out to you how injudiciously you are acting in leaving your own house ; and to try to induce you to do that which will be most beneficial to yourself, and most conducive to your happiness and respectability. If you will return to Dunmore House, I most solemnly promise to leave you unmolested. I much regret that my violence on Thursday should have annoyed you, but I can assure you it was attributable merely to my anxiety on your account. Nothing, however, shall induce me to repeat it. But you must be aware that a little inn is not a fit place for you to be stopping at; and I am obliged to tell you that 1 have conclusive evidence of a con- spiracy haviiig been formed, by the family with whom you are Bta\irig, to get possession of your money ; and that this conspiracy was entered into very shortly after the contents of my father's will had been made public. I must have this fact proved at the 150 THE KELIiYS AND THE O'KELLYS. Assizes, and tlie disreputable parties to it punished, unless you w'.U consent, at any riite for a time, to put yourself under tbe protection of j'our brother. " In the mean time pray believe me, dear Anty, in spite c^ appearances, "Your affectionate brother, " Baeex Ltnch." Tt was then agreed that this letter should be copied and signed by Jiarry, and delivered by Terry on the ibllcoiiig morning, which was Sunday. Daly then returned to i'uam, with no warm sdniiranion for his client. In xhe mean time, the excitement at the inn, arising from Anty's arrival and Martin's return, was gradually subsiding. These two important events, both happening on the same day, sadly upset the domestic economy of Mrs. Kelly's establishment. Sully had indulged in tea almost to stupefaction, and Kattie's elfiu locks became more than ordinarily disordered. On the following morning, however, thmgs seemed to fall a little more into their places : the widow was, as usual, behind her counter ; and if her girls did not give her as much assistance as she desired of them, and as much as was usual with them, they were perhaps excusable, for they could not well leave their new guest alone on the day after her coming to them. Martin went out early, to Toneroe ; doubtless the necessary labours of the incipient spring required him at the farm — but I believe, that if his motives were .analysed, that he hardly felt him- self up to a tete-a-tete with his mistress, before he had enjoyed a cool day's consideration of the extraordinary circumstances which had brought her into the inn as his mother's guest. He, more- over, wished to have a little undisturbed conversation with Meg, and to learn from her how Anty might be inclined towards him just at present. So Martin spent his morning among his lambs and his ploughs ; and was walking home, towards dusk, tired enough, when he met Barry Lynch, on horseback, that hero having come out, as usual, for his solitary ride, to indulge in useless dreams of the happy times he would have, were his sister only removed from her tribulations in this world. Though Martin had never been on friendly terms with his more ambitious neighbour, there had never, up to this time, been any quarrel between them, and he therefore just muttered " G-ood morning, Mr. Lynch," aa he passed him on the road. Barry said nothing, and did not appear to see him as he passed j Dut some idea struck him as soon as he had passed, and he pulled MAETtN Kelly's cotrnTSffl?. 161 mhio horse, and hallooed out " Kelly ! " — and, as Martin stopped, lie added, " Come here a moment — I want to speak to you." " Well, Mr. Barry, what is it ? " said the other, returning. Lynch paused, and evidently did not know whether to speak or let it alone. At last he said, " Kever mind — I 'II get somebody else to say what I was going to say. But you 'd better look sharp what you 're about, my lad, or you '11 find yourself in a scrape that you don't dream of." " And is that all you called me back for ? " said Martin. "That's all I meiin to say to you at present." " AVell then, Mr. Lynch, I must say you 're very good, and I'm shure I will look sharp enough. But, to my thinking, d' you know, you want looking afther yourself a precious dale more than I do," and then he turned to proceed homewards, but said, as he was going — " Have you any message for your aisther, Mr. Lynch?" " By — ! my young man, I '11 make you pay for what you 're doing," answered Barry. " I know yon '11 be glad to hear she 's pretty well : she 's coming round from the thratement she got the other night ; though, by all accounts, it's a wondher she's alive this moment to tell of it." Barry did not a*"t».'npt any further reply, but rode on, sorry &nough that he had commenced the conversation. Martin got home in time for a snug tea with Anty and his sisters, and succeeded in prevailing on the three to take each a glass of punch ; and, before Anty went to bed he began to find himself more at his ease with her, and able to call her by her Christian name without any dia- aoreeable emotion. He certainly had a most able coadjutor in Me<^. She made room on the sofa for him between herself and his mistress, and then contrived that the room should be barely sufiicient, so that Anty was rather closely hemmed up in on(. corner: moreover, she made Anty give her opinion as to Martin's looks after his metropolitan excursion, and tried hard to make Martin pay some compliments to Auty's appearance. But in this she failed, although she gave him numerous opportunities. However, they passed the eveuinc; very comfortably, — quite Bu£B.ciently so to make Anty feel that the kindly, humble friend- Bhip of the inn was infinitely preferable to the miserable grardeur of Dunmore House; and it is probable that all the lo^e-making in the world would not have operated so strongly in Martin's favour as this feeling. Meg, however, was not satisfied, for, aa soon as she had seen Jane and Anty into the bed-room, she returned to her brother, and lectured him as to his lukewarm Biftaileatations or" S^ffection. IHE kellYs and JSe O'EELLTS. " Martin," said she, returning into the little sitting-room, aud carefully shutting the door after her, " you 're the biggest boathoon of a gandher I ever see, to be losing your opportunities with Anty this way ! I b'lieve it 'a waiting you are for herself to come forward to you. Do you think a young woman don't expect something more from a lover than jist for you to sit by her, and go on all as one as though she was one of your own sisthers ? Av' once she gets out of this before the priest has made one of the two of you, mind, I tell you, it '11 be all up with you. I wondher, Martin, you haven't got more pluck in you ! " " Oh ! bother, Meg. Tou 're thinking of nothing but kissiut^ and slobbhering. — Anty's not the same as you and Jane, and doesn't be all agog for such nonsense ! " " I tell you, Martin, Anty 's a woman ; and, take my word for it, what another girl likes won't come amiss to her. Besides, why don't you spake to her ? " " Spake ? — why, what would you have me spake ? " " Well, Martin, you 're a fool. Have you, or have you not, made up your mind to marry Anty ? " " To be shure I will, av' she '11 have me." " And do you expect her to have you without asking ? " " Shure, you know, didn't I ask her often enough ? " " Ah, but you must do more than jist ask her that way. She 'll never make up her mind to go before the priest, unless you say something sthronger to her. Jist tell her, plump out, you 're ready and willing, and get the thing done before Lent. What 'a to hindher you? — shure, you know," she added, in a whisper, " you '11 not get sich a fortune as Anty's in your way every day. Spake out, man, and don't be afraid of her : take my word she won't like you a bit the worse for a few kisses." Marlin promised to comply 'with his sister's advice, and to sound Anty touching their marriage on the following morniuo after mass. On the Sunday morning, at breakfast, the widow proposed to Anty that she should go to mass with herself and her daughters ; but Anty trembled so violently at the idea of showing herself in public, after her escape from Dunmore House, that the widow did not press her to do so, although afterwards she expressed her disapprobation of Anty's conduct to her own girls. " I don't see what she has to be afeard of," said she. " in going to get mass from her own clergyman in her own chapel. She don't think, I suppose, that Barry Lynch 'd dare come in there to pull her out, before the blessed altar, glory be to God." " Ah but, mother, you know, she has been so frighted." siAETiN Kelly's coTJEfsirn' 163 * Frighted, indeed ! She'll get over tbepe tei^trums, X hope, Isfore Sunday neit, or 1 kur.w wliere 1 "a ^'Sl- l>er !:i;ain.'' So Aiity was iel'i at home, and the rest of tho fkuiily wenc tc' masa. When the wor.ien returiicd, Meg manoeuvred greatly, and^ in fine, successfully, that uo one should enter the little parlour, to interrupt the wooiug she intended should take place there. She had no difficulty with Jane, for she told her what her plans were ; and though her less energetic sister did not quite ajiree in tlio wisdom of her designs, and pronounced an opinion that it would he "better to let things settle down a bit," atiil she did not presume to run counter to Meg's views ; but Meg had sonie work to dispose of her mother. It would not havp niis'.vered at all, as I'-ttg hud very well learned herself, to caution her mother not to interrupt Martin in his love-making, for the widow had no charity for sucli follies. She certainly expected her daughters to get married, and wished them to be well and speedily settled ; but she watched anything like a flirtation on their part as closely as a cat does a mouse. If any young man were in the house, she'd listen to the fall of his footsteps with the utmost care ; and when she had reason to fear that there was anything like a lengthened tete-a-tete up stairs, she would steal on the pair, if possible, unawares, and interrupt, vi'ithout the least reaerve, any billing and cooing which might be going on, sending the delin- quent daughter to her work, and giving a glower at the swain, which she expected might be sufficient to deter him from similar offences for some little time. The girls, consequently, were taught to be on the alert — to steal about on tiptoe, to elude their mother's watchful ear, to have recourse to a thousand little methods of deceiving her, and to baffle her with her own weapons. The mother, if she suspected that any prohibited frolic was likely to be carried on, at a late hour, would tell her daughters that she was going to bed, and would shut herself up for a couple of hours in her be '•rooni^ and then steal out eaves-dropping, peeping through kiy-holes and listening at door-handles ; and the daughters, knowing their mother's practice, would not come forth till the listening and peeping had been completed, and till they had ascertained, by Bome infallible means, that the old woman was between the eheets. Each party knew the tricks of the other ; and yet, taking it all in all, the widow got on very well with her children, and every- body said what a good mother she had been : she was accustomed to use deceit, and was therefore not disgusted by it in others. Whether the Bystem of domestic manners whicli I liave described iM THE SjiLliYS ANj3 I'Hfi O'KELtTi. ),•? one litely to induoi to sound restraint and good morals, is a qiifstiou which I vill leave to be discussed by 'writerB on educa- cioiipl points. Hfiwever Meg managed it, bbe did contrive that her mother should not go near the little parlour this Sunday morning, and Anty was left alone, to receive her lover's visit. I regret to say that he was long in paying it. He loitered about the chapel pates before he came home ; and seemed more than usually willing to talk to any one, about anything. At last, however, just as Meg was getting furious, he entered the inn. " Why, Slartin, you born ideot — av' she ain't waiting for you this hour and more ! " " Thiin that 's long waited for, is always welcome when they do come," replied Martin. " "Well — afther all I 've done for you ! Are you going in now ? — cause, av' you don't, I '11 go and tell her not to be tasing her- self about you. I '11 neither be art or part in any such schaming." " Schaming, is it, Meg ? Paith, it 'd be a clever fellow 'd beat you at that," and, without waiting for his sister's sharp reply, he walked into the little room where Anty was sitting. " So, Anty, you wouldn't come to mass ? " he began. " May-be I '11 go next Sunday," said she. " It 's a long time since you missed mass before, I 'm thinking." " Not since the Sunday afther father's death." "It's little you were thinking then, how soon you'd be stopping down here with us at the inn." - " That 's thrue for you, Martin, God knows." At this point of the conversation Martin stuck fast : he did not know Rosalind's recipe for the difi&ciilty a man feels, when he finds himself gravelled for conversation with iiis mistretss ; so he merely scratched his head, and thought hard to find what he 'd say next. I doubt whether the conviction, which was then strong on his mind, that Meg was listening at the key-hole to every word that passed, at all assisted hira in the operation. At last, some Muse came to his aid, and he made out another sentence. " It was very odd my finding you down here, all ready before me, wasn't it ? " "'Deed it was: your mother was a very good woman to ms that morning, any how." " And tell me now, Anty, do you like the inn P ** " 'Deed I do — but it's quare, like." " How quare?" " Why, having Meg and Jane here : I wasn't ever used to anj oue to talk to, only just the servants." MART/N KELLY'S COUETSHIP. 166 " Ycu '11 liave plenty always to talk to now— eh, Anty ? " and Martin trit'd a sweut look at his lady love. "I'm shure I don't know. Av' I'm only left quiet, that's what 1 most care about." " But, Anty, tell me — j'ou don't want always to be what you call quiet ? " "Oh! but I do— why not?" " But you don't mane, Anty, that you wouldn't like to have BOme kind of work to do— some occupation, like ? " " Why, I wouldn't like to be idle; but a person needn't bo idle because they 're quiet." " And that's thrue, Anty." And Martin broke down again. " There 'd be a great crowd in chapel, I suppose f " said Anty. " There was a great crowd." " And what was father Geoghegan preaching about P "' " Well, then, I didn't mind. To tell tne truth, Anty, I carae out most as soon as the preaching began ; only I know he told the boys to pray that the liberathor might be got oat of hia throubles ; and so they should — not that there 's much to throuble him, as far as the verdict's concerned." " Isn't there then ? I thought they made him out guilty P " " So they did, the felse ruffians : but what harum '11 that do ? they daren't touch a hair of his head! " Politics, however, are not a favourable introduction to love- making: so Martin felt, and again gave up the subject, in the hopes that he might find something better. "What a fool the man is ! " thought Meg to herself, at the door — " if 1 had a lover went on like that, wouldn't I pull his ears ! " ^Martin got up — walked across the room — looked out of the little window — felt very much ashamed of himself, and, returning, sat himself down on the sofa. "Anty," he said, at last, blushing nearly brown as he spoke; "were you thinking of what I was spaking to you about before I went to Dublin ? " Anty blushed also, now. " About what?" she said. " Why, just about you and me making a match of it. Come, Anty, dear, what's the good of losing time ? 1 've been thinking of little else ; and, afther what 's been between us, you must have thought the matther over too, though you do let on to be so innocent. Come, Anty, now that you and mother's so thick, there can be nothing against it." " But indeed there is, Martin, a great dale against it — thomrti I 'm sure it 's good of you to be thinking of me. There 's ao 168 THE KELLTS AND THE KELLYB. much against it, I think we had betther be of one mind, and give it over at once." "And what's to hindher us marrying, Anty, av' yourself is plazed ? Av' you and I, and mother are plazed, sorrow a one that I know of has a Word to say in the matther." " But Barry don't like it ! " " And, afther all, are you going to wait for what Barry likes ? Tou didn't wait for what was plazing to Barry Lynch when you came down here ; nor yet did mother when she went up and fetched you down at five in the morning, dreading he 'd murdher you outright. And it was thrue for her, for he would, av' he was let, the brute. And are you going to wait for what he likes ? " " Whatever he 's done, he 's my brothw; and there 's only the two of us." "But it's not that, Anty — don't you know it's not that? Isn't it because you 're afraid of him f because he threatened and frightened you? And what on 'arth could he do to harum you av' you was the wife of — of a man who 'd, anyway, not let Barry Lynch, or any one else, come between you and your comfort and aise?" " But you don't know how wretched I 've been since he spoke to me about — about getting myself married : you don't know what I 've suffered ; and I 've a feeling that good would never come of it." "And, afther all, are you going to tell me now, that I may jisl go my own way p Is that to be your answer, and all I 'm to get from you ? " " Don't be angry with me, Martin. I 'm maning to do every- thing for the best." " Maning P — what 's the good of maning ? Anyways, Anty, let me have an answer, for I '11 not be making a fool of myself any longer. Somehcw, all the boys here, every sowl in Dunmore, has it that you and I is to be married — and now, afther promising .me as you did — " ) " Oh, I never promised, Martin." "It was all one as a promise — and now I'm to be thrown over- board. And why P — because Barry Lynch got dhrunk, and frightened you. Av' I 'd seen the ruffian striking you, I think I 'd 've been near putting it beyond him to strike another woma» iver again." " Glory be to God that you wasn't near him that night," said Anty, crossing herself. " It was bad enough, but av' the two ol' you should ever be set fighting along of me, it would kill rae^ out* right." MARTIN KELLY fl COURTSHIP. 167 "But who's talking of fighting, Anty, dear?" and Martin drew a little nearer to her — " who 's talking of fighting f I never ■wish to spake anotlier word to liarry the longest da'v that ever comes. Av' he '11 get out of my way, I '11 go bail he'll not find rae in his." " But he wouldn't get out of your way, nor get out of mine, av' you and I got married : he 'd be in our way, and we 'd be iu his, and nothing could iver come of it but sorrow and misery, and may-be, bloodshed." " Tliem 's all a woman's fears. Av' you an I were once spliced by the priest, God bless him, Barry wouldn't trouble Dimmore long afther." " That 's another rason, too. Y/hy should I be dhriving him out of his own house? you know he's a rij^ht to the house, ua well as I." " Who 's talking of dhriving him out ? Faith, he 'd be welcome to stay there long enough for me ! He 'd go, fast enough, without dhriving, though ; you can't say the counthry wouldn't have a good riddhance of him. But never mind that, Anty: it wasn't about Barry, one way or the other, I was thinjciug, when I first asked you to have me; nor it wasn't about myself altogether, as I could let you know ; though, in course, I 'm not saying but that myself 's as dear to myself as another, an' why not ? But to tell the blessed truth, I was thinking av' you too ; and that you'd be happier and asier, let alone betther an' more respectbable, as an honest man's wife, as I 'd make you, than being niewed up there in dread of your life, never daring to open your mouth to a Christian, for fear of your own brother, who niver did, nor uiver will lilt a hand to sarve you, though he wasn't backward to lift it to stlirike you, woman and sisther though you were. Come, Ajity, darlin," he added, after a pause, during which he managed to get his arm behind her back, though he couldn't be said to have it fairly round her waist^" Get quit of all these quandaries, and say at once, like an honest girl, you'll do what I 'm asking — and what no living man can bindher you from or say against it. — Or else jist fairly say you won't, and I '11 have done wid it." Anty sat silent, for she didn't like to say she wouldn't; and she thought of her brother's threats, and was afraid to say she would. Martin advanced a little in his proceedings, however, and now succeeded in getting his arm round her waist — and, having done so, lie wasn't slow in letting her feel its pressure. She made in attempt, with her hand, to disengage herself, — certainly not a Bucc-e:;sl'ul, and, probably, not a very energetic attempt; when the widow's step was heard on the stairs. Martin retreated from his 168 THE KELLYS AND THE o'kELLTS. position on the sofa, and Meg from liers outside the donr, and Mrs. Kelly entered tlie room, with Barrv's letter in lier hand, Meg following, to ascertain the cause of the unfortunate inter- ruptiou. CHAPTER XVIII. AST ATTOKNET's office IN CONNAUGHT. "Antt, here's a letter for ye," hegan the widow. "Terry's brought it down from the house, and says it 's from Miather Barry^ 1 b'lieve he was in the riglit not to bring it hisself." " A letther for me, Mrs. Kelly ? — what can he be writing about ? I don't just know whether I ought to open it or no;" aud Anty trembled, as she turned the epistle over and over again in her hands. " What for would you not open it ? The letther can't hurt you, girl, whatever the writher might do." Thus encouraged, Anty broke the seal, and made herself acquainted with tlie contents of the letter which Daly had dictated ; but she then found that her difficulties had only just commenced. Was she to send an answer, and if so, what answer? And if she sent none, what notice ought she to take of it? The matter was one evidently too weighty to be settled by her own judgment, so she handed the letter to be read, first by the widow, and then by ^Martin, and lastly by the two girls, who, by this time, were both in the room. " Well, the dethermined impudence of that blackguard ! " exclaimed Mrs. Kelly. " Conspiracy ! — av' that don't bang' Banagher! What does the man mane by 'conspiracy,' eh, Martin?" " Faith, you must ask himself that, mother ; and then it 's ten to one he can't tell you." "I suppose," said Meg, "he wants to say that we're all Bchaming to rob Anty of her money— only he daren't, for the life of him, spake it out straight forrard." " Or, maybe," suggested Jane, " he wants to bring something agen us like this affair of O'Connell's — only he'll find, down here, that he an't got Dublin soft goods to deal wid." Then followed a consultation, as to the proper steps to be taken in the matter. Thp widow ftdvised that father Geoghegan should be sent for to AN attorney's office IN CONNAUGHT. 169 indite such a reply as a Christian ill-used woman should send to BO base a letter. Meg, who was very hot on the subject, and whc had read of some such proceeding in a novel, was for putting up in a blank envelope the letter itself, and returning it to Harry by the hands of Jack, the ostler ; at the same time, she declared that "No surrender" should be her motto. Jane was of opinion that " Miss Anastasia Lynch's compliments to Mr. Barry liynch, and she didn't find herself strong enough to move to Dunmora House at. present," would answer all purposes, and be, on tht whole, the safest course. While Martin pronounced that "if Anty would be led by him, she 'd just pitch the letter behind tht fire, an' take no notice of it, good, bad, or indifferent." None of these plans pleased Anty, for, as she remarked, " After all, Barry was her brother, and blood was thickher than wather." So, after much consultation, pen, ink, and paper were procured, and the following letter was concocted between them, all the soft bits having been great stumbling-blocks, in which, however, Anty's quiet perseverance carried the point, in opposition to the wishes of all the Kellys. The words put in brackets were those peculiarly objected to. " Dunmoro Inn. February, liH. "Dear Baeet, " I (am very sorry I) can't come back to the house, at any rate just at present. I am not very sthrong in health, and there are kind female friends about me here, which you know there couldn't be up at the house." — Anty herself, in the original draught inserted ' ladies,' but the widow's good sense repudiated the term, and insisted on the word 'females:' Jane suggested that 'females' did not sound quite respectful alone, and Martin thought that Anty miglit call them 'female friends,' which was consequently done. — " Besides, there are reasons why I 'm quieter here, till things are a little more settled. I v\ill forgive (and forget) all that happened up at the house between us" — ' Whv, you can't forget it,' said Meg. ' Oh, I could, av' he was kind to me. I'd forget it all in a week av' he was kind to me,' answen d Anty — "(and I will do nothing particular without flvat leiiing you know.)" They were all loud against this paragraph, but they could not carry their point. " I must tell you, dear Barry, tiiat you are very much mistaken about the people of this house : they are dear, kind friends to me, and, wherever I am, I must low them to the last day of my life — but indeed I am, and hope you believe so, "Your affectionate sister, ''Anastasia Ltjtch." 170 THE KELLTS AND THE KELLYS. "VVTien the last paragraph was read oyer Anty's shoulder, 'Meg declared she was a dear, dear creature : Jane gave her a big kiss, aud began crying ; even the widow put the corner of her apron to her eye, and Martin, trying to look manly and uncoucorned, declared that he was " quite shure they all loved her, and they 'd be brutes and bastes av' they didn't ! " The letter, as given above, was finally decided on; written, sealed, aud despatched by Jack, who was desired to be very par- ticular to deliver it at the front door, with Miss Lynch's love, which was accordingly done. All the care, however, which had been bestowed on it did not make it palatable to Barry, who was alone when he received it, and merely muttered, as he read it, " Confound her, low-minded slut ! friends, indeed ! what business has she with friends, except such as I please ? — if I 'd the choosing of her friends, they 'd be a strait waistcoat, and the mad-house doctor. Good Heaven ! that half my property — no, but two-thirds of it, — should belong to her! — the stupid, stiff-necked robber! " These last pleasant epithets had reference to his respected progenitor. On the same evening, after tea, Mai-tin endeavoured to make a little further advance with Anty, for he felt that he had been interrupted just as she was coming round; but her nerves were again disordered, and he soon found that if he pressed her now, he should only get a decided negative, which he migl\t find it very difiicult to induce her to revoke. Anty's letter was sent ofi" early on the Monday morning — at least, as early as Barry now ever managed to do anything — to the attorney at Tuam, with strong injunctions that no time was to be lost in taking further steps, and with a request that Daly would again come out to Dunmore. This, however, he did not at present think it expedient to do. So he wrote to Barry, begging him to come into Tuam on the Wednesday, to meet Mojlan, whom he, Daly, would, if possible, contrive to see on the intervening day. "Obstinate puppy'," said Barry to himself — "if he'd had the least pluck in lifo he 'd have broken the will, or at least made the girl out a lunatic. But a Connaught lawyer hasn't half the wit ■ar courage now that he used to have." However, he wrote a note to Daly, agreeing to his proposal, and promising to be iu Tuam at two o'clock on the Wednesday. On the following day Daly saw Moylan, and had a long con- versation with him. The old man held out for a long time, ex- pressing much indignation at being supposed capable of joining in any underhand agreement for transferring Miss Lyncli'a property to his relatives the Kellys, and declar ug that he would AN ATTORNEY'S OFFICE IN CO«NAtJGlIl'. 171 make public to every one in Dunmore and Tuam tlie baae manner in which Barry Lynch was treating his sister. Indeerl, Moylan kept to his story so Ion"; and so firmly that the young attorney was oearly giving him up ; but at last he found his weak side. " Well, Mr. Moylan," he said, " then I can only say y »ur own conduct is very disinterested ; — and I might even go so far as to say that you appear to me foolishly indifferent to your own con- CPrns. Here 's the agency of the whole property going a-begging ; the rents, I believe, are about a thousand a-year : you might bo recaving them all by jist a word of your mouth, and that only telling the blessed truth ; and here, you 're going to put the whole thing into the hands of young Kelly ; throwing up even the half of the business you have got ! " " Who says I 'm afther doing any sich thing, Mr. Daly ? " " AVhy, Martin Kelly says so. Didn't as many as four or five persona hear him say, down at Dunmore, that divil a one of the tenants 'd iver pay a haporth of the November rents to any one only jist to himself ? There was father Geoghegan heard him, and Doctor Ned Blake." " Maybe he '11 find his mistake, Mr. Daly." "Maybe he will, Mr. Moylan. Maybe we'll put the whole affair into tlie courts, and have a regular reeaver over the property, under the Chancellor. People, though they 're ever so respectnble in their way, — and 1 don't mane to say a word against the Kellys, Mr. Moylan, for they were always friends of mine — but people can't be allowed to make a dead set at a property like this, and have it all their own way, like the bull in the china-shop. I know there has been an agreement made, and that, in the eye of the law, is a conspiracy. I positively kuow that an agreement has been made to induce Miss Lynch to become Martin Kelly's wife ; and I know the parties to it, too ; >nd I also know that an active young fellow like him wouldn't be paying an agent to get in his rents ; and I thought, if Mr. Lynch was willing to appoint you his agent, as well as his sister's, it might be worth your while to lend us a hand to settle this affair, wittiout forcing ua to stick people into a witness-box, whom neither I nor Mr. Lynch — " " But what the d — -1 can I—" " Jist hear me out, Mr. Moylan ; you see, if they once knew— > the Kellys I mane — that you wouldn't lend a hand to this piece of iniquity — " "Which piece of iniquity, Mr. DalyP — for I'm entirely bothered." "Ah, now, Mr. Moylan, none of your fun: this piece of M 172 THE KELLYS AND THE 0*KELLYS. 'ninuity of theirs, I say ; for I can call it no less. If they onca knew that you wouldn't help 'em, they 'd be obliged to drop it all ; the matter 'd never have to go into court at all, and you 'd jist step into the agency fair and aisy ; and, into the bai'gain, you 'd do nothing but an honest man's work." Tlie old man broke down, and consented to " go agin the Kellys," as he somewhat ambiguously styled his apostasy, pro- vided the agency was absolutely promised to him ; and he went away with the understanding that he was to come on the following day and meet Mr. Lynch. At two o'clock, punctual to the time of his appointment, Moylan was there, and was kept waiting an hour in Daly's little parlour. At the end of this time Barry came in, having invigorated his courage and spirits with a couple of glasses of brandy. Daly had been tor some time on the look out for him, for he wished to say a few words to him in private, and give him his cue before he took him into the room where Moylan was sitting. This could not well be done in the office, for it was crowded. It would, I think, astonish a London attorney in respectable practice, to see the manner in which his brethren towards the west of Ireland get through their work. Daly's office was open to all the world ; the front door of the house, of which he rented the ground floor, was never closed, except at night; nor was the door of the office, which opened immediately into the hall. During the hour that Moylan was waiting in the parlour, Daly- was sitting, with his hat on, upon a high stool, with his feet resting on a small counter which ran across the room, smoking a pipe : a boy, about seventeen years of age, Daly's clerk, was filling up numbers of those abominable formulas of legal persecu- tion in which attorneys deal, and was plying his trade as steadily as though no February blasts were blowing in on him through the open door, no sounds of Idud and boisterous conversation were rattling in his ears. The dashing manager of one of the branch banks in the town was sitting close to the little stove, and raking out the turf ashes with the office rule, while describing a drinking-bout that had taken place on the previous Sunday at Blake's of Blakemount ; he had a cigar in his mouth, and was searching for a piece of well-kindled turf, wherewith to light it. A little fat oily shop-keeper in the town, who called himself a woollen-merchant, was standing with the raised leaf of the counter in his hand, roaring with laughter at the manager's story. Two frieze-coated fanners, outside the counter, were stretchinsr across it, and whispering very audibly to Daly some details of litigation which dia not appear very much to interest him; and a couple of AN attorney's OFf'ICE IN CONNAUGHT. 173 idle blackguards were leaning against the wall, ready to obey any behest of the attorney's which might enable them to earn a six- pence without labour, aud listening with all their ears to the different interesting topics of conversation which miglit be broached in the inner office. " Here 's the very man I 'm waiting for, at last," said Daly, when, from his position on the stool, he savy, through the two open doors, the bloated red face' of Barry Lynch approaching ; and, giving an impulse to his body by a shove against the wall behind him, he raised himself on to the counter, and, assisting liiiiiselfby a pull at the collar of the frieze coat of the farmer who uas in the middle of Ids story, jumped to the ground, and met his client at the front door. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Lynch," said he as soon aa he had shaken hands wit-h him, " but will you just step up to my room a minute, for I want to spake to you ; " and he toolv him up into his bed-room, for lie hadn't a second sitting-room. ''You'll excuse my bringing you up here, for the office was full, you see, and Moyhin 's in the parlour." " The d — 1 he is ! He came round then, did he, eh, Daly ? " " Oh, 1 've had a terrible hard game to play with him. I 'd no idea he 'd be so tough a customer, or make such a good tight ; but I think I 've managed him." " There was a regular plan then, eh, Daly ? Just as I said. It was a regular planned scheme among them ? " " Wait a moment, and you '11 know all about it, at least aa much as I know myself ; and, to tell the truth, that 's devilish little. But, if we manage to break off the match, and get your sister clane out of the inn tlf.-re, you must give Moylan your agenc_y, at any rate for two or three years." " You haven't promised that ? " " But I have, though. We cau do nothing without it : it was only when I hinted that, that the old sinner came round." " Rut what the deuce is it he 's to do for us, after all ? " "JI e's to allow us to put him forward as a bugbear, to frighten the Kollyswith: that's all, and, if we can manage that, that 's enough. But come down now. I only wanted to warn you that, if you think the agency is too high a price to pay for the man's eervices, whatever they may be, you must make up your miud to dispense with them." " Well," answered Barry, as he followed the attorney down stairs,"! can't understand what you're about; but 1 suppose you must be j-it;ht ; " and they went into the little parlour whenj MoylaE 174 THE KELLYS AND THE O KELLYS. Moylan and Barry Lynch had only met once, since the forn.er had been entrusted to receive Anty's rents, on which oceaaion Moylan had been grossly insulted by her brother. Barry, remembering the meeting, felt very awkward at the idea of entering into amicable conversation with him, and crept in at the door like a whipped dog. Moylan was too old to feel any such compunctions, and consequently made what he intended to be taken as a very complaisant bow to bis future patron. He was an ill-made, ugly, stumpy man, about ilfty; with a blotched face, straggling sandy hair, and grey shaggy whiskers, He wore a long brown great coat, buttoned up to his chin, and this was the only article of wearing apparel visible upon him : in his hands he twirled a shining new four-and-fourpenny hat. As soon as their mutual salutations were 07er, Daly commenced his business. " There is no doubt in the world, Mr. Lyncl'." said he, address- ing Barry, " that a most unfair attempt has been made by this family to get possession of your sister's property — a most shame- ful attempt, which the law will no doubt recognise as a mis- demeanour. But I think we shall be able to stop their game without any law at all, which will save us the annoyinc" jf putting Mr. Moylan here, and other respectable witnesses, on the table. Mr. Moylan says that very soon afther your father'n will was made known — " " Now, ]Mr. Daly — shure I niver said a word in life at all about the will," said Moylan, interrupting him. "No, you did not: I mane, very soon afther you got the agency — " " Divil a word I said about the agency, either." " Well, well ; some time ago — he says that, some time ago, he and jMartin Kelly were talking over your sister's afiairs ; I believe the widow was there, too." " Ah, now, Mr. Daly — why 'd you be putting them words into my mouth ? sorrow a word of the kind I iver utthered at all." " What the deuce was it you did say, then ? " " Pais, I don't know that I said much, at all." " Didn't you say, Mr. Moylan, that Martin Kelly was talking to you about marrying Anty, some six weeks ago? " "Maybe I did; he was spaking about it." " And, if you were in the chair now, before a Jury, wouldn't vou swear that there was a schame among them to get Anty Lynch married to Martin Kelly ? Come, Mr. Moylan, that 'a aU we want to know : if you can't say as much as that for ws now, just that we may let the Kelly s know what sort of evidence we AN attorney's office IN CONNAUGHT, 175 could bring against them, if they push ua, we must only have you and others summoned, and see what you '11 have to say then." " Oh, I 'd say the thruth, Mr. Daly— divil a less— and I 'd do as much as that now ; but I thought Mr. Lynch was wanting to say something about the property P " " Not a word then I 've to say about it," said Barry, " except that I won't let that robber, young Kelly, walk off with it, aa ^ong as there 's law in the land." " Mr. INIoylan probably meant about the agency," observed Daly. Barry looked considerably puzzled, and turned to the attorney for assistance. " He manes," continued Daly, "that he and the Sellys are good friends, and it wouldn't be any convenience to )iim just to say anything that wouldn't be pleasing to them, unless we could make him independent of them : — isn't that about the long and the short of it, Mr. Moylan ? " " Indepindent of the Kellys, is it, Mr. Daly ? — Faix, thin, I 'm teetotally indepindent of them this minute, and mane to continue so, glory be to God. Oh, I'm not afeard to tell the thruth agin ere a Kelly in Galway or Eoscommon — and, av' that was all, I don't see why I need have come here this day. When I 'm called upon in the rigular way, and has a rigular question put me before the Jury, either at Sessions or 'Sizes, you'll find I'll not be bothered for an answer, and, av' that 's all, I b'lieve I may be going," — and he made a movement towards the door. " Just as you please, Mr, Moylan," said Daly ; " and you may be sure that you '11 not be long without an opportunity of showing how free you are with your answers. But, as a i'riend, I tell you you '11 be wrong to lave this room till you 've had a little more talk with Mr. Lynch and myself. I believe I mentioned to you, Mr. Lynch was looking out for some one to act as agent over his portion of the Dunmore property? " Barry looked as black as thunder, but he said nothing. " Tou war, Mr. Daly. Av' I could accommodate Mr. Lynch, I 'm shure I 'd be happy to undhertake the business." " I believe, Mr. Lynch," said Daly, turning to the other, " I may go so far as to promise Mr. Moylan the agency of the whole property, provided Miss Lynch is induced to quit the house of the Kellys ? Of course, Mr. Moylan, you can see that as long as Miss Lynch is in a position of unfortunate hostility to her brother, the same agent could not act for both ; but I think my client ia bclined to put his property under your management, providing his sister returns to her own home. I believe I 'm stating youj pishes, Mr. Lynch." " Manage it your owp way," said Barry, " for I don't ese VlBsi 176 THE KELLYS AND THE O KELLYS. you're doing. If this man can do anything for me, why, I suppose I must pay him for it; and if so, your plan 'a aa good a way of paying him as another." The attorney raised his hat with his hand, and scratched his head : he was "afraid that Moylan would have again gone off in a pet at Lynch's brutality, but the old man sat quite quiet. He wouldn't have much minded what was said to him, as long as ho secured the agency. " You see, Mr. Moylan," continued Daly, " you can have the agency. Five per cent, upon the rents is what my olient — " " No, i)aly — Five per cent.! — I'm shot if I do!" exclaimed Barry. "I'm gething twenty-five pounds per annum from Miss Anty, . for her half, and I wouldn't thiukiug of collecting the other for less," declared Moylan. And then a long battle followed on this point, which it required all Daly's tact and perseverance to adjust. The old man was pertinacious, and many whispers had to be made into Barry's ear before the matter could be settled. It was, however, at last agreed that notice was to be served on the Kellys, of Barry Lyncli's determination to indict them for a conspiracy ; that Daly was to see tlie widow, Martin, and, if possible, Auty, and tell them all that Moylan was prepared to prove that such a conspiracy had been formed ; — care was also to be taken that copies of the notices so served should be placed in Auty's hands. Moylan, in the meantime, agreed to keep out of the way, and undertook, should he be unfortunate enough to encounter any of the family of the Kellys, to brave the matter out by declaring that '' av' he war brought before the Judge and Jury he couldn't do more than tell the blessed thruth, and why not ? " In reward for this, he was to be appointed agent over the entire property, the moment that Miss Lynch left the inn, at which time he was to receive a document, signed by Barry, undertaking to retain him in the .igency for four years certain, or else to pay him a hundred pounds when it was taken from him. These terms having been mutually agreed to, and Barry having, with many oaths, declared that he was a most shamefully iU-used man, the three separated. Moylan skulked off to one of hia haunts in the town ; Bnrrj' went to the bank, to endeavour to get a bill discounted ; and Daly returned to his office, to prepare the aotices tor the unfortunate widow and her sou. UB. DALT VISITS THE DUNMOEE INK. It7 CHAPTER XrX. MR. DALY VISITS THE DUNMORE IH5, Dalt let no grass grow under his feet, for early on the following morning he hired a car, and proceeded to Dunmore, with the notices in his pocket. His feelings were not very comfortable on his journey, for he knew that he was going on a bad errand, and he was not naturally either a heartless or an unscrupulous man, considering that he was a provincial attorney ; but he was young in business, and poor, and he could not afford to give up a client. He endeavoured to persuade himself that ic certainly was a wrong thing for Martin Kelly to marry such a woman as Anty Lynch, and that Barry had some show of justice on his side; but he could not succeed. He knew that Martin was a frank, honourable fellow, and that a marriage with him would be the very thuig most likely to make Anty happy; and he was certain, moreover, that, however anxious Martin might naturally be to secure the fortune, he would take no illegal or even unfair steps to do so. He felt that his client was a ruffian of the deepest die : that his sole object was to rob his sister, and that he had no case which it would be possible even to bring before a jury. His intention now was, merely to work upon the timidity and ignorance of Anty and the other females, and to frighten them with a bugbear in the shape of a criminal indictment ; aud Daly felt that the work he was about was very, very dirty work. Two or three times on the road, he had all but made up his mind to tear the letters he had in his pocket, and to drive at once to Dunmore House, and tell Barry Lynch that he would do nothing further in the case. And he would have done so, had he not reflected that he had gone so far with Moylan, that he could not recede, without leaving it in the old rogue's power to make the whole matter public. As he drove down the street of Dunmore, he endeavoured to quiet his conscience, by reflecting that he might still do much to guard Anty from the ill eflTects of her brother's rapacity ; and that at any rate he would not see her property taken from her, though ghe might be frightened out of her matrimonial speculation. He wanted to see the widow, Martin, and Anty, and, if possible to see them, at fii'st, sepai-ately ; and fortune so far favoured him that, as he got off the car, he saw our hero standing at the inn door. "Ah! iMr. Daly," said he, coming up to the car and shaking hands with the attorney, for Daly put out his hand to him — " how 178 THE KEIiLTS AND THE KELLTS. are you again ? — I suppose you 're going up to the house P They Bay you 're Barry's right hand man now. Were you coming into the inn ? " " "Why, I will step in just this minute ; but I 've a word I want to spake to you first." "To me!" said Martin. " Yes, to you, Martin Kelly : isn't that quare ? " and then he gave directions to the driver to put up the horse, and bring the car round again in an hour's time. " D' you remember my telling you, the day we came into Dunmore on the car together, that I was going up to the house ? " " Faith I do, well ; it 's not so long since." " And do you mind my telling you, I didn't know from Adam what it was for, that Barry Lynch was sending for me ? " "And I remember that, too." " And that I tould you, that when I did know I shouldn't tell Pit J " Begad you did, Mr. Daly ; thim very words." " Why then, Martin, I tould you what wasn't thrue, for I 'm C'-".'.e all the way from Tuam, this minute, to tell you all about it." Mcrtin turned very red, for he rightly conceived thr.t v>'hen an attorney came all the way from Tuam to talk to him, the tidings were not likely to be agreeable. " And is it about Barry Lynch's business ? " "It is." " Then it 's schames — there 's divil a doubt of that." " It is schames, as you say, Martin," said Daly, shipping him on the shoulder — " fine schames — no less than a wife with four hundred a-year ! Wouldn't that be a fine schame ? " " 'Deed it would, Mr. Daly, av' the wife and the fortune were honestly come by." " And isn't it a hundred pities that I must come and upset such a pretty schame as that ? But, for all that, it 's tbrue. I'm sorry for you, Martin, but you must give up Anty Lynch." " Give her up, is it ? Faith I haven't got her to eive ud worse luck." fat' " Nor never will, Martin ; and that 's worse luck again." " Well, Mr. Daly, av' that 's all you 've come to say, you mitrht have saved yourself car-hire. Miss Lynch is nothinsr to me, miiTd ; how should she be? But av' she war, neither Barry Lynch— who's as big a rogue as :,here is from this to hiseelf arid back again— nor you, who, I take it, aia't rogue enough to do Barry'? work, wouldn't put me off it," MB. DALT VISITS THE DUNMOEE INN. 179 " "Well, Martin ; thank 'ee for tbe compliment. But now, you know what I Ve come about, and there 'a no joke in it. Of course I don't want you to tell me anything of your plans ; but, as Mr. Lyuch's lawyer, I must tell you so much as this of his : — that, if his sister doesn't lave the inn, and honestly assure him that she '11 give up her intention of marrying you, he 's determined to take proceedings." He then fumbled in his pocket, and, bring- ing out the twe notices, handed to Martin the one addressed to him. " E.ead that, and it '11 give you an idea what we 're afther. And when I tell you that Moylan owns, and will swear to it too, that he was present when all the plans were made, you '11 see that we 're not going to sea without wind in our saOs." " Well — I 'm shot av' I know the laist in the world what at tliis is about ! " said Martin, as he stood in the street, reading over the legally-worded letter — " ' conspiracy ! ' — well that '11 do, Mr. Daly ; go on — ' enticing away from her home ! ' — that 's good, when the blackguard nearly knocked the life out of her, and mother brought her down here, from downright charity, and to prevent murdher — 'wake intellects ! '—well, Bir. Daly, I didn't expect this kind of thing from you : begorra, I thought you were above this ! — wake intellects ! faith, they 're a dale too stbrong, and too good — and too wide awake too, for Barry to get the betther of her that way. Not that I 'm the laist in life surprised at anything he 'd do ; but I thought that you, Mr. Daly, wouldn't put your hands to such work as that." Daly felt the rebuke, and felt it strongly, too ; but now that he was embarked in the business, he must put the best face he could upon it. Still he was a moment or two before he could answer the young farmer. "Why," he said — "why did you put your hands to such a dirty job as this, Martin ? — you were doing well, and not in want . — and how could you let any one persuade you to go and sell yourself to an ugly ould maid, for a few hundred pounds ? Don't you know, that if you were married to her this minute, you'd have a law-suit that 'd go near to ruin you before you could get possession of the property ? " " Av' I 'm in want of legal advice, Mr. Daly, which, thank God, 1 'm not, nor likely to be — but av' I war, it 's not from Barry Lyuch's attorney 1 'd be looking for it." " I 'd be sorry to see you in want of it, Martin ; but, if you mane to keep out of the worst kind of law, you 'd better have done with Anty Lynch. I 'd a dale sooner be drawing up a marriaga settlement between you and some pretty girl with five or six hundred pound fortune, than I 'd be exposing to the couothry 180 THE KELLYS AND THE O RELLTS. such a mane trick as this you're now aftber, of seducing a poor half-witted ould maid, like Anty Lynch, into a disgraceful niarriiige." " Luok here, Mr. Daly," said the other; "you've hired your- self out to Barry Lynch, and you must do his work, I suppose, wliether it 's dirthy or clane ; and you know yourself, as well as I can tell you, which it's likely to be — " " That 's my concern ; lave that to me ; you 've quite enough to do to mind yourself." " But av' he 'a nothing betther for you to do, than to send you hen- bally-ragging and calling folks out of their name, lie must have a sight more money to spare than I give hira credit for ; and you must be a dale worse off than your neighbours thought you, to do it for him." " That '11 do," said Mr. Daly, knocking at the door of the inn ; " only, remeaiber, Mr. Kelly, you 've now received notice of the steps which my client feels himself called upon to take." Martin turned to go away, but then, reflecting that it would be as well not to leave the women by themselves in the power of the enem}', he also waited at the door till it was opened by Katty. " Is Miss Lynch within ? " asked Daly. "Go round to the shop, Katty," said Martin, "and tell mother to come to the door. There's a gentleman wanting her." " It was Miss Lynch I asked for," said Daly, still looking to the race and loss, was a trial to which he could hardly bring himself to submit, crushed and tamed as he was. He still sat on the edge of the parlour table, and there he reniained mute, balancing the pros and cons of Daly's plan. Daiy waited a minute or two for his answer, and, finding that ho said notWng, left him alone for a time, to make up his mind, telling him that he would return in about a quarter of aa hous. VERY LIBERAL. 197 Barry never moved from his position; it was an importan'c question he had to settle, and so he felt it, for he gave up to the Eubject his undivided attention. Since his ho3-hood he had looked forward to a life of ease, pleasure, and licence, and had longed for his father's death that he might enjoy it. It seemed now within his reach ; for his means, though reduced, would still be sufficient for sensual gratification. But, idle, unprincipled, brutal, cast- away wretch as Barry was, he still felt the degradation of inaction, when he had such stimulating motives to energy as unsatisfied rapacity and hatred for his sister . ignorant as ho waa of the meaning of the word right, he tried to persuade himself that it would be wrong in him to yield. Could he only pluck up sufficient courage to speak his mind to Daly, and frighten him into compliance with his wishes, he still felt that he might be successful — that he might, by some legal tactics, at any rate obtain for himself the management of his sister's property. But this he could not do : ho felt that Daly was his master ; and though he still thought that he might have triumphed had he come sufficiently prepared, that is, with a con- siderable quantum of spirits inside him, he knew himself well enough to be aware that he could do nothing without this assist- ance ; and, alas, he could not obtain it there. He had great reliance in the efficacy of whiskey ; he would trust much to a large dose of port wine ; but with brandy he considered himself invincible. He sat biting his lip, trying to think, trying to make up his mind, trying to gain sufficient sell-composure to finish his interview with Daly with some appearance of resolution and self-confidence, but it was in vain ; when the attorney returned, his face still plainly showed that he was utterly unresolved, utterly unable to resolve on aiiything. " Well, J'lr. Lynch," said Daly, " will you let me spake to Kelly about this, or v.'ould you rather sleep on the matther ? " Barry gave a long sigh — " Wouldn't he give six hundred, Daly ? he 'd still have two hundred clear, and think what that 'd be for a fellow like him ! " " You must ask him for it yourself then ; I '11 not propose to him any such thing. Upon my soul, he '11 be a great fool to give the five hundred, because he 's no occasion to meddle with you in the matther at all, at all. But still I think he may give it; but as for asking for more — at any rate .1 won't do it ; you can do what vou like, yourself" " And am I to sell the furniture, and everything — horses, cattle, Rnd everything about the place, for three hundred pounds ? " J98 THE KELLYS AND THE O KELLYS. " Not unless you like it, you ain't, Mr. Lynch ; but I '11 tell you this — if you can do so, and do do so, it '11 be the best bargain you ever made : — mind, one-half of it all belongs to your sisther." Barry muttered an oath through his ground teeth ; he would have liked to scratch the ashes of his father from their resting- place, and wreak his vengeance on them, vehenever this degrading fact was named to him. " But I want the money, Daly," said he : "I couldn't get afloat unless I had more than that : I couldn't pay your bill, you know, unless I got a higher figure down than that. Come, Daly, you must do something for me; you must do something, you know, to earn the fees," and he tried to look facetious, by giving a wretched ghastly grin. " My bill won't be a long one, Mr. Lynch, and you maybe shure I 'm trying to make it as short as I can. And as for earning it, whatever you may think, I can assure you I shall never have got money harder. I 've now given you my best advice ; if your mind 's not yet made up, perhaps you '11 have the goodness to let me hear from you when it is ? " and Daly walked from the lire towards the door, and placed his hand upon the handle of it. This was a hint which Barry couldn't misunderstand. " Well, I '11 write to you," he said, and passed through the door. He felt, however, that it was useless to attempt to trust himself to his own judgment, and he turned back, as Daly passed into his oifice — " Daly," he said, " step out one minute : I won't keep you a second." The attorney unwillingly lifted up the counter, and came out to him. "Manage it your own way," said he; "do whatever you think best ; but you must see that I've been badly used — infernally cruelly treated, and you ought to do the best you can for me. Here am I, giving away, as I may say, my own property to a young shopkeeper, and upon my soul you ought to make him pay something for it ; upon my soul you ought, for it 's only fair ! " " I 've tould you, Mr. Lynch, what I '11 propose to Martin Kelly ; if you don't think the terms fair, you can propose any others yourself ; or you 're at liberty to employ any other agent you please." Barry sighed again, but he yielded. He felt broken-hearted, and unhappy, and he longed to quit a country so distasteful to him, and relatives and neighbours so ungrateful ; he longed in his heart for the sweet, easy haunts of Boulogne, which he had never known, but of which he had heard many a glowing description from congenial spirits whom he knew. He had heard enougli of the ways and means of many a leading star in that Elysium, to bo Very liberAI. Id^ a\vare that, with five hundred a-year, unembarrassed and punci tuallj paid, he might shine aa a prince indeed. He would go at once to that happy foreign shore, where the memory of no father would follow him, where the presence of no sister would degrade and irritate him, where billiard-tables were rife, and brandy cheap; wliere virtue was easy, and restraint unnecessary ; where no duties would harass him, no tenants upbraid him, no duus per- secute him. There, carefully guarding himself against the schemes of those less fortunate followers of pleasure among whom he would be thrown in his social hours, he would convert ever}^ shilling of liis income to some purpose of self-enjoyment, and live a life of luxurious abandonment. And he need not be altogether idle, he reflected within himself afterwards, as he was riding home : he felt that he was possessed of sufiScient energy and talent to make himself perfectly master of a pack of cards, to be a proficient over a billiard-table, and even to get the upper hand of a bos of dice. With such pursuits left to him, he might yet live to be talked of, feared, and wealthy ; and Barry's utmost ambition would have carried him no further. As I said before, he yielded to the attorney, and commissioned him fully to treat with Martin Kelly in the manner proposed by himself. IMartin was to give him five hundred a-year for his share of the property, and three hundred pounds for the furniture, &c. ; and Barry was to give his sister his written and unconditional assent to her marriage ; was to sign any document which might bo necessary as to her settlement, and was then to leave Dunmore for ever. Daly made him write an authority for making such a proposal, by which he bound himself to the terms, should they be acceded to by the other party. " But you must bear in mind," added Daly, as his client for the second time turned from the door, " that I don't guarantee that Jlartin Kelly will accept these terms : it 's very likelj'' he may be s'.iarp enough to know that he can manage as well without you aa lie can with you. You'll remember that, Mr. Lynch." " I will — I will, Daly ; but look here — if he bites freely — and I liiink ho will, and if you find you could get as much as a thousand out of him, or even eight hundred, you shall have one hundred clear for yourself." This was Barry's last piece of diplomacy for that day. Daly vouchsafed him no answer, but returned into his oflice, and Barry mounted his horse, and returned home not altogether ill-pleased with his prospects, but still regretting that he should have gone about so serious a piece of business, so utterly unprepared. These regrets rose stronger, when his after-dinner couraga 266 THE KELLYS AJfD THE o'iCELtYg. returned to him as he sate solitary over his fire. " I should hava had him here," said he to himself, " and not gone to that con- founded cold hole of his. After all, there 's no place for a cock to fight on like his own dunghill; and there's nothing able to carry a fellow well through a tough bit of jobation with a lawyer like a stiff tumbler of brandy punch. It 'd have been worth a couple of hundred to me, to have had him out here — impertinent puppy ! Well, devil a halfpenny I '11 pay him ! " This thought was consolatory, and he began again to think of Boulogae, CHAPTEE XXI. lOED BALLINDINE AT HOME. Two days after the last Tecorded interview between Lord Bal- lindine and his friend. Dot Blake, the former found himself once more sitting down to dinner with his mother and sisters, the Honourable Mrs. O'Kelly, and the Honourable Misses O'Kelly ; at least such were the titular dignities conferred on them in County Mayo, though I believe, strictly speaking, the young ladies had no claim to the appellation. Mrs. O'Kelly was a very small woman, with no particularly developed character, and perhaps of no very general utility. She was fond of her daughters, and more than fond of her sou, partly because he was so tall and so handsome, and partly because he was the lord, the head of the family, and the owner of the house. She was, on the whole, a good-natured person, though perhaps her temper was a little soured by her husband having, very unfairly, died before he had given her a right to call herself Lady Ballindine. She was naturally shy and reserved, and the seclusion of O'Kelly's Court did not tend to make her less so ; but she felt that the position and tank of her son required her to be dignified ; and consequently, when in society, she somewhat ridiculously aggra- vated her natural timidity with an assumed rigidity of demeanour. She was, however, a good woman, striving, with small means, to do the best for her family ; prudent and self-denying, and very diligent in looking after the house servants. Her two daughters had been, at the instance of their gr.and- father, the courtier, christened Augusta and Sophia, after the two- Princesses of that name, and were now called Gruss and Sophy: they were both pretty, good-natured girls— one with dark brown LOED fiAlLINDliJE AT HOME. 20l and tlie ofcliet liglit brown hair: they both pkyed the harp badly, Sung tolerably, danced well, and were very fond of nice young /nen. They both thought Kelly's Court rather dull; but then they had known nothing better since they had grown iip, and there were some tolerably nice people not very far off, whom they occasionally saw: there were the Dillons, of Ballyliaunis, who had three thousand a-year, and spent six ; they were really a delightful family, — three daughters and four sons, all unmarried, and up to anything: the sons all hunted, shot, danced, aiid did everything that they ought to do — at least in the eyes of young ladies ; though some of their more coldly prudent acquaintances expressed an opinion that it would be as well if the three younger would think of doing something for themselves ; but they looked 80 manly and handsome when they breakfasted at Kelly's Court on a hunt morning, with their bright tops, red coats, and hunting- caps, that Guss and Sophy, and a great many others, thought it would be a shame to interrupt them in their career. And then, Ballyhaunis was only eight miles from Kelly's Court ; though they were Irish miles, it is true, and the road was not patronised by the Grand Jury ; but the distance was only eight miles, and there were always beds for them when they went to dinner at Peter Dillon's. Then there were the Blakes of Castletown. To be sure they could give no parties, for they were both unmarried ; but they were none the worse for that, and they had plenty of horses, and went out everywhere. And the Blakes of Morris- town ; they also wero very nice people ; only unfortunately, old Blake was alwaj^s on his keeping, and couldn't show himself out of doors except on Sundays, for fear of the bailiffs. And the Browns of Mount Dillon, and the Browns of Castle Brown ; and General Bourke of Creamstown. All these families lived within fifteen or sixteen miles of Kelly's Court, and prevented the O'Kellys from feeling themselves quite isolated from the social world. Their nearest neighbours, however, were the Armstrongs, and of them they saw a great deal. The Eeverend Joseph Armstrong was rector of Ballindine, and Mrs. O'Kelly was his parishioner, and the only Protestant one he had ; and, as Mr. Armstrong did not like to see his church quito deserted, and as Mrs. O'Kelly was, as she flattered herself, a very fervent Protestant, they were all in all to each other. Ballindine was not a good living, and Mr. Armstrong had a very large family; he was, therefore, a poor man. His children were helpless, -uneducated, and improvident ; his wife was nearly worn out with the labours of bringing them forth and afterwards catering for them ; and a great portion of hia own life was taken 202 THE KELLYS AND THE o'liELLVg. up in a hard battle with tradesmen and tithe-payers, creditors, and debtors. Tet, in spite of the insufficiency of his two hundred a-year to meet all or half his wants, Mr. Armstrong was not an un- hapjjy man. At any moment of social enjoyment he forgot all hia cares and poverty, and was always the first to laugh, and the last to cease to do so. He never refused an invitation to dinner, and if he did not entertain many in his own house, it was his fortune, and not his heart, that prevented him from doing so. He could hardly be called a good clergyman, and yet his remissness was not so much his own fault as that of circumstances. How could a Protestant rector be a good parish clergyman, with but one old lady and her daughters, for the exercise of his clerical energies and talents ? He constantly lauded the zeal of St. Paul for prose- lytism ; but, as he himself once observed, even St. Paul had never had to deal with the obstinacy of an Irish Eoraan Catholic. He often regretted the want of work, and grieved that his profession, as far as he saw and had been instructed, required nothing of him but a short service on every Sunday morning, and the celebration of the Eucharist four times a-year ; but such were the facts ; and the idleness which this want of work engendered, and the habits which his poverty induced, had given him a character as a clergy- man, very different from that which the high feelings and strict principles which animated him at his ordination would have seemed to ensure. He was, in fact, a loose, slovenly man, somewhat too fond of his tumbler of punch ; a little lax, perhaps as to clerical discipline, but very staunch as to doctrine. He possessed no industry or energy of any kind ; but he was good-natured and charitable, lived on friendly terms with all his neighbours, and was intimate with every one that dwelt within ten miles of him, priest and parson, lord and commoner. Such was the neighbourhood of Kelly's Court, and among such Lord Ballindine had now made up his mind to remain a while, till circumstances should decide what further steps he should take with regard to Fanny Wyndham. There were a few hunting days left in the season, which he intended to enjoy ; and then he must manage to make shift to lull the time with shooting, fishing, farming, and nursing his horses and dogs. His mother and sisters had heard nothing of the rumour of tlie quarrel between Prank and Fanny, which Mat Tierney had so openly alluded to at Handicap Lodge ; and he was rather put out by their eager questions on the subject. Nothing was said about it till the servant withdrew, after dinner, but the three ladies were too anxious for information to delay their curiosity any longer. " Well, Prank," said the elder sister, who was sitting oyer tha liOED BALLINDINE AT HOME. 203 fire, close to his left elbow — (he had a bottle of claret at his right) — " well, Frank, do tell us something about Fanny Wyndham ; we are so longing to hear ; and you never will write, you know." " Everybody says it 's a brilliant match," said the mother. '■ They say here she 's forty thousand pounds : I 'm sure I hope she has, Frank." "But when is it to be P " said Sophy. "She 'a of age now, isn't she ? and I thouglit you were only waiting for that. I 'in sure we shall lil'.e her ; come, Frank, do tell us — when are we to see Lady Ballindine ? " Frank looked rather serious and embarrassed, but did not immediately make any reply. " You haven't quarrelled, have you, Frank ? " said the mother " The match isn't oif — is it ? " said Guss. " Miss Wyndham has just lost lier only brother," said he; "ha died quite suddenly in London about ten days since ; she was very much attached to him." " Good gracious, how shocking ! " said Sophy. " I 'm so sorry," said Guss. " Why, Frank," said their mother, now excited into absolute animation ; " his fortune was more than double hers, wasn't it ? — who '11 have it now P " " It was, mother ; five times as much as hers, I believe." " Gracious powers ! and who has it now ? Why don't you tell me, Frank ? " " His sister Fanny." "Heavens and earth! — I hope you're not going to let her quarrel with you, are you ? Has there been anything betweea you ? Have there been any words between you and Lord Cashel ? Why don't you tell me, Frank, when you know how anxious lam?" " If you must know all about it, I have not had any words, as you call them, with Fanny Wyndham; but I have with her guardian. He thinks a hundred and twenty thousand pounds much too great a fortune for a Connaught viscount. However, I don't think so. It will be for time to show what Fanny thinks Meanwhile, the less said about it the better; remember that, girls, will you ? " " Oh, we will — we won't say a word about it ; but she '11 n-ever change her mind because of her money, will she ? " " That 's what would make me love a man twice the more," said Guss ; " or at any rate show it twice the stronger." " Frank," said the anxious mother, " for heaven's sake don't let THE KELLYS AND THE 0KELLT3. any tting stand between you and Lord Casbel ; think what a thing it is you 'd lose ! Why ; it 'd pay all the debts, and leave the property worth twice what it ever was before. If Lord Cashel thinks you ought to give up the hounds, do it at once, Prank ; anything rather than quarrel with him. You could get them again, you know, when all 's settled." " I 've given up quite as much as I intend for Lord Cashel." " Now, Frank, don't be a fool, or you '11 repent it all your life : what does it signify how much you give ■ up to such a man aa Lord Cashel ? You don't think, do you, that he objects to our being at Kelly's Court ? Because I 'm sure v.'e wouldn't stay a moment if we thought that." " Mother, I wouldn't part with a cur dog out of the place to please Lord Cashel. But if I were to do everything on earth at his beck and will, it would make no difference : he will never let me marry Fanny "Wyndham if he can help it; but, thank God, 1 don't believe he can." " I hope not — I hope not. You '11 never see half such a lortune again." " "Well, mother, say nothing about it one way or the other, to anybody. Aad as you now know how the matter stands, it 's no good any of us talking more about it till I've settled what I mean to do myself." " I shall hate her," said Sophy, " if her getting all her brother's money changes her; but I'm sure it won't." And so the con- versation ended. Lord Ballindine had not rested in his paternal halls the second night, before he had commenced making arrangements for a hunt breakfast, by way of letting all his friends know that he was again among them. And so missives, in Guss and Sophy's hand-writing, were sent round by a bare-legged little boy, to all the IMounts, Towns, and Castles, belonging to the Dillons, Elakes, Bourkes, and Browns of the neighbourhood, to tell them that the dogs would draw the Kelly's Court covers at eleven o'clock on the following Tuesday morning, and that the preparatory breakfast would be on the table at ten. This was welcome news to the whole neighbour- hood. It was only on the Sunday evening that the sportsmen got the intimation, and very busy most of them were on the following Monday to see that their nags and ^breeches were all right — fit to work and fit to be seen. The four DQlons, of Ballyhaunis, gave out to their grooms a large assortment of pipe-clay and putty-powder. Bingham Blake, of Castletown, ordered a new set of girths to his hunting-saddle ; and his brother Jerry, who waa in no slight degree proud of his legs, but whose nether trapping* lOED BALLrNDINE AT HOME. 205 wore rather tte worse from the constant work of a heavy season, went so far as to go forth very early on the Monday morning to excite the Ballinrobe tailor to undertake the almost impossible task of completing him a pair of doeskin by the Tuesday morning. The work was done, and the breeches home at Castletown by eight — though the doeskin had to be purchased in Tuam, and an assistant artist taken away from his mother's wake, to sit up all night over the seams. But then the tailor owed a small trifle of arrear of rent for his potato-garden, and his landlord was Jerry Blake's cousin-german. There 's nothing carries one further than a good connexion, thought both Jerry and the tailor when the job was finished. Among the other invitations sent was one to Martin Xelly, — not exactly worded like the others, for though Lord Ballindino was perhaps more anxious to see him than any one else, Martin had not yet got quite so high in the ladder of life as to be asked to breakfast at Kelly's Court. But the fact that Prank for a moment thought of asking him, showed that he was looking upwards in the world's estimation. Prank wrote him a note him- self, saying that the hounds would throw off at Kelly's Court, at eleven ; that, if he would ride over, he would be sure to see a good hunt, and that he. Lord Baliindine, had a few words to say to him on business, just while the doga were being put into the cover. Martin, as usual, had a good horse which he was disposed to sell, if, as he said, he got its value ; and wrote to say he would wait on Lord Baliindine at eleven. The truth was, Prank wanted to borrow money from him. Another note was sent to the Glebe, requesting the Rector to come to breakfast, and to look at the hounds being thrown off. The modest style of the invitation was considered as due to Mr. Armstrong's clerical position, but was hardly rendered necessary by his habits ; for though the parson attended such meetings in an old suit of rusty black, and rode an equally rusty-looking pony, he was always to be seen, at the end of the day, among those who were left around the dogs. On the Tuesday morning there was a good deal of bustle at Kelly's Court. All the boys about the place were collected in front of the house, to walk the gentlemen's horses about while the riders were at breakfast, and earn a sixpence or a fourpenny bit ; and among them, sitting idly on the big stepping-stone placed near the door, was Jack the fool, who, for the day, seemed to have deserted the service of Barry Lynch. And now the red-coats flocked up to the door, and it waa laughable to gge the knowledge of character displayed by the 206 THE KBLLTS AND THE O KELtTS. gossoons in the selection of their customers. One or two, who were known to be ' bad pays,' were allowed to dismount without molestation of any kind, and could not even part with their steeds till they had come to an absolute bargain as to the amount of gratuity to be given. Lambert Brown was one of these unfortu- nate characters — a younger brother who had a little, and but a very little money, and who was determined to keep that. He was a miserable hanger-on at his brother's house, without profession or prospects ; greedy, stingy, and disagreeable ; endowed with a squint, and long lank light-coloured hair: he was a bad horseman, always craning and shirking in the field, boasting and lyiug after dinner ; nevertheless, he was invited and endured — because he was one of the Browns of Mount Dillon, cousin to the Browns of Castle Brown, nephew to Mrs. Dillon the member's wife, and third cousin of Lord Ballaghaderrin. He dismounted in the gravel circle before the door, and looked round for some one to take his horse ; but none of the urchins would come to him. At last he caught hold of a little ragged boy whom he knew, from his own side of the country, and who had come all the way there, eight long Irish miles, on the chance of earning sixpence and seeing a hunt. "Here, Patsy, come here, you born little divil," and he laid hold of the arm of the brat, who was trying to escape from him — " come and hold my horse for me — and I '11 not forget you." " Shure, yer honer, Mr. Lambert, I can't thin, for I 'm afther engaging myself this blessed minute to ]\Ir. Larry Dillon, only he 's jist trotted round to the stablea to spake a word to Mick Keogh." " Don't be lying, you little blackguard ; hould the horse, and flon't stir out of that." " Shure how can I, Mr. Lambert, when I 've been and guv my Vord to Mr. Larry? " and the little fellow put his hands behind him, that he might not be forced to take hold of the reins. " Don't talk to me, you young imp, but take the horse. I '11 not forget you when I come out. What 's the matter with you, you fool ; d'ye think I 'd tell you a lie about it ? " Patsy evidently thought he would ; for though he took the horse almost upon compulsion, he whimpered as he did ao, and eaid, " Shure, Mr. Lambert, would you go and rob a poor boy of hia chances? — I come'd all the way from BaUyglass this blessed morning to 'arn a tizzy, and av' I doesn't get it from you this turn, I '11 — " But Lambert Brown had gone into the house, and on hia return after breakfast he fully justified the lad's roRt) BALLINDIHE AT HOME. 207 suapicion, for he ngain promised liiin tbat he wouldn't forget him, and that he 'd see bim some day at Mr. Dillon's. " Well, Latubert Brown," said the boy, as that worthy gentle- man rode off, " it 's you 're the raal blackguard — and it 's well all the countliry knows you: sorrow be your bed this night; it's little the poor '11 grieve for you, when you're stretched, or the rich either, for the matther of that." Very different was the reception Bingham Blake got, as he drove up with his tandem and tax-cart: half-a-dozen had kept themselves idle, each in the hope of being the lucky individual to come in for Bingham's shilling. " Och, Mr. Bingham, shure I 'm first," roared one fellow. But the first, as he styled himself, was soon knocked down under the wheels of the cart, by the others. " Mr. Blake, thin^Mr. Blake, darlint — doesn't ye remimber the promise you guv me ? " " BIr. Jerry, Mr. Jerry, avick," — this was addressed to the brother — " spake a word for me ; do, yer honour ; shure it was I come all the way from Teddy Mahony's with the breeches this morning, God bless 'em, and the fine legs as is in 'em." But they were all balked, for Blake had his servant there. " Get out, you blackguards ! " said he, raising his tandem whip, as if to strike them. " Get out, j^ou robbers ! Are you going to take the cart and horses clean away from me ? That mare '11 settle some of ye, if yon make so free with her! she's not a bit too chary of her hind feet. Get out of that, I tell you ; " and he lightly struck with the point of his whip the boy who had Lambert Brown's horse. " Ah, Mr. Bingham," said the boy, pretending to rub the part verj' hard, " you owe me one for that, any how, and it 's you are the good mark for it, God bless you." " Faix," said another, " one blow from your honour is worth two promises from Lambert Brown, any way." There was a great laugh at this among the ragged crew, for Lambert Brown was still standing on the door-steps: when he heard this sally, however, he walked in, and the different red- coats and top-boots were not long in crowding after him. Lord Ballindine received them in the same costume, and very glad they all seemed to see him again. When an Irish gentleman is popular in liis neighbourhood, nothing can exceed the real devo- tion paid to him ; and when that gentleman is a master of hounds, and does not require a subscription, he is more than ever so. " Welcome back, Ballindine — better late than never; but why did you stay away so long ? " said General Bourke, an old S08 THE KELLYS AKD THE o'kELLYS. gentleman with long, thin, flowing grey hairs, waving beneath hig broad-brimmed felt hunting-hat. " Ton 're not getting so fond of the turf, I hope, as to be giving up the field for it ? Give me the sport where I can ride my own horse myself; not where I must pay a young rascal for doing it for me, and robbing me into the bargain, most likely." " Quite right, General," said Frank ; " so you see I 're given up the Curragh, and come down to the dogs again." " Tes, but you 've waited too long, man ; the dogs have nearly done their work for this year. I 'm sorry for it ; the last day of the season is the worst day in the year to me. I 'm ill for a week after it." " Well, General, please the pigs, we '11 be m great tune next October. I 've as fine a set of puppies to enter as there is in Ireland, let alone Connaught. Tou must come down, and tell me what you think of them." " Next October 's aU very well for you young fellows, but I 'm seventy-eight. I always make up my mind that I 'U never turn out another season, and it '11 be true for me this year. I 'm hunting over sixty years, Ballindine, in these three counties. I ought to have had enough of it by this time, you '11 say." " I 'U bet you ten pounds," said Bingham Blake, " that you hunt after eighty." " Done with you, Bingham," said the General, and the bet was booked. General Bourke was an old soldier, who told the truth in saying that he had hunted over the same ground sixty years ago. But he had not been at it ever since, for he had in the mean time seen a great deal of hard active service, and obtained high military reputation. But he had again taken kindly to the national sport of his country, on returning to his own estate at the close of the Peninsular War; and had ever since attended the meets twice a week through every winter, with fewer exceptions than any other member of the hunt. He always wore top-boots — of the ancient cut, with deep painted tops and square toes, drawn tight up over the calf of his leg ; a pair of most capacious dark-coloured leather breeches, the origin of which was unknown to any other present member of the hunt, and a red frock coat, very much soiled by weather, water, and wear. The General was a rich man, and therefore always had a horse to suit him. On the present occa- Bion, he was riding a strong brown beast, called Parsimony, that would climb over anything, and creep down the gable end of a house if he were required to do so. He was got by (Economy ; those who know county Mayo know the bseed well. LOED BALLTNDINE AT HOME. 209 They were now all crowded into the large dining-room at Eelly'g Court; about five-and-twenty red-coata, and Mr. Armstrong's rusty black. In spite of his shabby appearance, however, and the fact that the greater number of those around him were Roman Catholics, he seemed to be very popular with the lot ; and his opinion on the important subject of its being a scenting morning was asked with as much confidence in bis judgment, as though the foxes of the country were peculiarly subject to episcopalian jurisdiction. " Well, then, Peter," said he, " the wind 's in the right quarter. Mick says there 's a strong dog-fox in the long bit of gorse behind the firs ; if he breaks from that he must run towards Ballintubber, and when you 're once over the meering into Eoscommon, there 'a not an acre of tilled land, unless a herd's garden, between that and — the deuce knows where all — further than most of you '11 like to ride, I take it." " How far '11 you go yourself, Armstrong ? Paith, I believe it's few of the crack nags '11 beat the old black pony at a long day." "Is it I?" said the Parson, innocently. "As soon aa I've heard the dogs give tongue, and seen them well on their game, I '11 go home. I 've land ploughing, and I must look after that. But, as I was saying, if the fox breaks well away from the gorse, you '11 have the best run you 've seen this season ; but if he dodges back into the plantation, you '11 have enough to do to make him break at all ; and when he does, he '11 go away towards Ballyhaunia, through as cross a country aa ever a horse put a shoe into." And having uttered this scientific prediction, which was listened to with the greatest deference by Peter Dillon, the Bev. Joseph Armstrong turned his attention to the ham and tea. The three ladies were all smiles to meet their guests ; Mrs. O'Kelly, dressed in a piece of satin turk, came forward to shake hauda with the General, but Sophy and Guss kept their positions, beneath the cofiee-pot and tearurn, at each end of the long table, being very properly of opinion that it was the duty of the younger part of the community to come forward, and make their overtures to them. Bingham Blake, the cynosure on whom the eyes ©f the beauty of county Mayo were most generally placed, soon found his seat beside Guss, rather to Sophy's mortification ; but Sophy was good-natured, and when Peter Dillon placed himself at her right hand, she was quite happy, though Peter's father was still alive, and TBingham's had been dead this many a year and Castle- down much in want of a mistress. "Now, Miss O'Kelly," said Bingham, "do let me manage the coffee-pot; the cream-jug and sugar-tongs will be quite enough for your energies." 210 THE KELLTS AND THE KELLYS. '•' Indeed and I won't, Mr. Blake ; you 're a great deal too awfe. ward, and a great deal too hungry. The last hunt-morning yoii breakfasted here, you threw the coffee-grouts into the sugar-basin, when I. let you help me." " To think of your remembering that ! — but I 'm improved since then. I 've been taking lessons with my old aunt at Castlebar." "You don't mean you've really been staying with Lady Sarah?" " Oh, but I have, though. I was there three days ; made tea every night ; washed the poodle every morning, and clear-starched her Sunday pelerine, with my own hands on Saturday evening." " Oh, what a useful animal! What a husband you'll make, ■when you 're a little more improved ! " "Shan't I? As you 're so fond of accomplishments, perhaps you '11 take me yourself by-and-by ? " " Why, as you 're so useful, may-be I may." " Well, Lambert,"said Lord Ballindine, across the table, to the Btingv gentleman with the squint, " are you going to ride hard to-day?" "I'll go bail I'm not much behind, my lord," said Lambert; « if the dogs go, I '11 follow." " I '11 bet you a crown, Lambert," said his cousin, young Brown of Mount Brown, "the dogs kill, and you don't see them do it." " Oh, that may be, and yet I mayn't be much behind." " I '11 bet you 're not in the next field to them." " May-be you '11 not be within ten fields yourself" " Come, Lambert, I '11 tell you what — we '11 ride together, and I '11 bet you a crown I pound you before you 're over three leaps." "Ah, now, take it easy with yourself," said Lambert; "there are others ride better than you." " But no one better than yourself; is that it, eh ? " " Well, Jerrv, how do the new articles fit ? " said Nicholas Dillon. "Pretty well, thank you: they'd be a deal more comfortable tliough, if you'd pay for them." " Did you hear, Miss O'Kelly, what Jerry Blake did yesterday p" said Nicholas Dillon aloud, across the table. "Indeed, I did not," said Guss— "but I hope, for the sake of the Blakes in general, he didn 't do anything much amiss ? " " I '11 tell you then," continued Nicholas. " A portion of hia ould hunting-dress — I'll not specify what, you know — but a portion, which he 'd been wearing since the last election, were too shabby to show : well, he couldn't catch a hedge tailor far or near, enly poor lame Andy Oulahan, who vna burying his wife, rest her lORD EAtLINDIKE AT HOME. 211 EOwl, the very moment Jerry got a howld of him. Well, Jerry was wild tliat the tailors were so scarce, so he laid his hands on Andy, dragged him away from the corpse and all the illigant enthertainment of the funeral, and never let him out of sight till he 'd put on the last button." " Oh, Mr. Blake ! " said Guss, " you did not take the man away from his dead wife ? " "Indeed I did not, Miss O'Eelly: Andy 'd no such good chance ; his wife 's to the fore this day, worse luck for him. It was only his mother he was burying." " But you didn 't take him away from his mother's funeral ? " " Oh, I did it according to law, you know. I got Bingham to give me a warrant first, before I let the policeman lay a hand on him." " Now, General, you 've really made no breakfast at all," said the hospitable hostess : " do let Guss give you a hot cup of coffee." " Not a drop more, Mrs. O'Kelly. I 've done more than well ; but, if you '11 allow me, I '11 just take a crust of bread in my pocket." " And what would you do that for ? — you '11 be coming back tc lunch, you know." " Is it lunch, Mrs. O'Kelly, pray don't think of troubling your- self to have lunch on the table. JIay-be we '11 be a deal nearer Creamstowu than Kelly's Court at lunch time. But it 's quite time we were off. As for Bingham Blake, from the look of him, he 's going to stay here with your daughter Augusta all the morning." " I believe then he 'd much sooner be with the dogs. General, than losing his time with her." " Are you going to move at all, Ballindine," said the impatient old sportsman. " Do you know what time it is ? — it '11 be twelve o'clock before you have the dogs in the cover." " Very good time, too, General : men must eat, you know, and the fox won't stir till we move him. But come, gentlemen, you Beem to be dropping your knives and forks. Suppose we get into our saddles ? " And again the red-coats sallied out. Bingham gave Guss a tender squeeze, which she all but returned, as she bade him take care and not go and kill himself. Peter DUlon stayed to have a few last words with Sophy, and to impress upon her his sister Nora's message, that she and her sister were to be sure to come over on Friday to Ballyhaunis, and spend the night there. "We will, 'if we're' let, tell Nora," said Sophy; "but no-ff Frank's at home, we must mind him, you know." ^12 THE KELLYS AND THE o'kELLYS. " SJake Lira bring you over : there '11 be a bed for liim ; the old house is big enough, heaven knows." " Indeed it is. Well, I '11 do my best ; but tell Nora to be sure and get the fiddler from HoUymount. It 's so stupid for her to be sittii a there at the piano, while we 're dancing." " I '11 manage that ; only do you bring Frank to dance with her," and another tender squeeze was given— and Peter hurried out to the horses. „ Aad now they were all gone but the Parson. Mrs. O Kelly, said he, "Mrs. Armstrong wants a favour from you. Poor Minny 's very bad with her throat ; she didn't get a wink of sleep lust night." " Dear me — poor thing. Can I send her anything ? " If you could let them have a little black currant jelly, Mrs. Armstrong would be so thankful. She has so much to think of, nnd is so weak herself, poor thing, she hasn 't time to make those things." '■ indeed I will, Mr. Armstrong. I'll send it down this morning ; and a little calf's foot jelly won't hurt her. It is in the house, and Mrs. Armstrong might n't be able to get the feet, you know. Give them my love, and if I can get out at all to-morrow, I '11 go and see them." And so the Parson, having completed his domestic embassy for the benefit of his sick little girl, followed the others, keen for the hunt ; and the three ladies were left alone, to see the plate and china put away. CHAPTEE XXn. THE HUNT. Though the majority of those who were in the habit of hunting ■with the Kelly's Court hounds, had been at the breakfast, there were still a considerable number of horsemen waiting on the lawn in front of the house, when Prank and his friends sallied forth. The dogs were collected round the huntsmen, behaving themselves, for the most part, with admirable propriety ; an occasional yelp from a young hound, would now and then prove that the whipper Lad hia eye on tliem, and would not allow rambling ; but the old dogs sat demurely on their haunches, waiting the well-known rigual for action. There they sat, as grave as so many senators, THE HUNT. 2i3 With their large heads raised, their heavy lips hanging from each side of their jaws, and their deep, strong chests expanded so as to show fully their bone, muscle, and breeding. Among the men who had arrived on the lawn during breakfast, were tn'o who certainly had not come together, and who had not spoken since they had been there. They were Martin Kelly and Barry Lj^nch. Martin was dressed just as usual, except that he had on a pair of spurs, but Barry was armed cap-a-pie. Some time before his father's death he had supplied himself with all the foshionable requisites for the field, — not because he was fond of hunting, for he was not, — but iu order to prove himself as much a gentleman as other people. He had been out twice this year, but had felt very miserable, for no one spoke to him, and he had gone home, on both occasions, early in the day : but he had now made up his mind that he would show himself to his old schoolfellow in his new character as an independent country gentleman ; and what was more, he was determined that Lord Ballindine should not cut him. He very soon had an opportunity for effecting his purpose, for the moment that Frabk got on his horse, he unintentionally rode close up to him. " How d 'ye do, my lord ? — I hope I see your lordship well ?" said Barry, with a clumsy attempt at ease and familiarity. "I'm glad to find your lordship in the field before the season's over." " Good morning, Mr. Lynch," said Frank, and was turning away from him, when, remembering that he must have come from Dunmore, he asked, " did you see Martin Kelly anywhere ?" " Can't say I did, my lord," said Barry, and he turned away completely silenced, and out of countenance. Martin had been talking to the huntsman, and criticising the hounds. He knew every dog's name, character, and capabilities, and also every horse in Lord Ballindine's stable, and was conse- quently held in great respect by Mick Keogh and his crew. And now the business began. "Mick," said the lord, "we'll take them down to the young plantation, and bring them back through the firs and so into the gorse. If the lad's lying there, we must hit him that way." " That 'b thrue for yer honer, my lord ;" and he started off with his obedient family. " Tou 're wrong, Balhndine," said the Parson ; " for you'll drive him up into the big plantation, and you '11 be all day before you mako him break ; and ten to one they '11 chop him in the cover." " Would you put them into the gorse at once then ?" " Take 'em gentl* through the firs ; may-be he's lying out — and §14 THE lOSLLYS AND THE O'KELLTS. down iuto the gorse, and tlien, if he's there, he must go away, and into a tip-top country too — miles upon miles of pasture — right sway to Eallintubber." " That's thrue, too, my lord : let his Eivireuce alone for under- Btandhing a fox," said Mick, with a wink. The Parson's behests -were obeyed. The hounds followed Mick into the plantation, and were followed by two or three of the more eager of the party, who did not object to receiving wet boughs in their faces, or who delighted in riding for half an hour with their beads bowed close down over their saddle-bows. The rest remained with the wbipper, outside. " Stay a moment here, Martin," said Lord Ballindine. " They can 't get away without our seeing them, and I want to speak a few words to you." " And I want particularly to spake to your lordship," said Martin ; " and there' s no fear of the fox ! 1 never knew a fox lie in those firs yet." " Nor I either, but you see the Parson would have his way. I suppose, if the priest were out, and he told you to run the dogs through the gooseberry-bushes, you'd do it ?" "I'm blessed if I would, my lord! Every man to his trade. Not but what Mr. Armstrong knows pretty well what he's about." " Well but, Martin, I'll tell you what I want of you. I want a little money, without bothering those fellows up in Dublin; and I believe you could let me have it ; at any rate you and your mother together. Those fellows at Guinness's are stiff about it, and I want three hundred pounds, without absolutely telling them that they must give it me. I'd give you my bill for thfi amount at twelve months, and allow you six per cent. ; but then I want it immediately. Can you lot me have it ? " " Why, my lord," said Martin, after pausing awhile and looking very contemplative during the time, "I certainly have the mone)- ; that is, I and mother together ; but — " " Oh, if you've any doubt about it — or if it puts you out, don't do it." "Divil a doubt on 'aith, my lord; but I '11 tell you — I was just going to ask your lordship's advice about laying out the same sum in another way, and I don't think I could raise twice that much." " Very well, Martin ; if you've anything better to do with your money, I'm sure I'd be sorry to take it from you." "That's jist it, my lord. I don't think I can do betther — but I vrant your advice about it." '• My advice whether you ought to lend me three hundred pounds THE HUNT. 2l^ or not! Wli^v, Martin, you're a fool. I woulJa't ask you to lend it me, if 1 thought you oughtn't to lend it." " Oh — I'm cort.ain sure of that, my lord ; but there's an ofTor made m-e, that I'd like to have your lordship's mind about. It's not much to my liking, though ; and I think it '11 be betther for nie to be giving you the money," and then Martin told liis landlord the offer which had been made to liim by Daly, on the part of Barry Lynch. "Ton see, my lord," he concluded by saying, " it 'd be a great thing to be shut of Barry entirely out of the counthry, and to have poor xA-uty's mind at ase about it, should she iver live to get bettlier ; but thin, I don't like to have dailiugs with the divil, or any one so much of his colour as Barry Lynch." " This is a very grave matter, Martin, and takes some little time to think about. To tell the truth, I forgot your matrimonial speculation when I asked for the money. Though I want the cash, I think you should keep it in your power to close with Barry : no, you'd better keep the money by you." "After all, the ould woman could let me have it on the security if the house, you know, av I did take up with the offer. So, any way, your lordship needn't be balked about the cash." " But is Miss Lynch so very ill, Martin ? " " 'Deed, and she is, Mr. Frank ; very bad intirely. Doctor Colligan was with her three times yestherday." " And does Barry take any notice of her now she's iU ?" " Why, not yet he didn 't ; but then, we kept it from him as much as" we could, till it got dangerous like. Mother manes to send Colligan to him to-day, av he thinks she's not betther." " If she were to die, Martin, there 'd be an end of it all, wouldn 'fc there?" " Oh, in course there would, my lord" — and then he added, with a sigh. " I'd be sorry she 'd die, for, somehow, I'm very fond of her, quare as it '11 seem to you. I'd be very sorry she should die." " Of course you would, Martin; and it doesn't seem queer at all." " Oh, I wasn't thinking about the money, then, my lord ; I was' only thinking of Anty herself: you don't know what a good young woman she is — it 's anything but herself she 's thinking of always." " Did she make any will ?" " 'Deed she didn't, my lord : nor won't, it 's my mind." " Ah ! but she should, after all that you and your mother Ve gone through. It 'd be a thousand pities that wretch Barry got all the property asa:n." " He 'a wilcowe to it fc* the Kellys, av Anty dies. But at 216 THE KELLYS AND THE O'KELLYS. slie lives he sliall niver rob a penny from lier. Oh, my lord 1 we wouldn't put sich a thing as a will into her head, and she so bad, for all the money the ould man their father iver had. But, hark ! my lord — that 's Gaylass, I know the note well, and she 's as true as gould : there 's the fox there, just inside the gorse, as the Parson said " — and away they both trotted, to the bottom of the plantation, from whence the cheering sound of the dog's voices came, sharp, sweet, and mellow. Yes ; the Parson was as right as if he had been let into the fox's confidence overnight, and had betrayed it in the morning. Gay- lass was hardly in the gorse before she discovered the doomed brute's vicinity, and told of it to the whole canine confraternity. Away from his hiding-place he went, towards the open country, but immediately returned into the covert, for he saw a lot of boya before him, who had assembled with the object of looking at the hunt, but with the very probable effect of spoiling it ; for, as much as a fox hates a dog, he fears the human race more, and will run from an urchin with a stick into the jaws of his much more fatal enemy. " As long as them blackguards is there, a hollowing, and a schreeching, divil a fox in all Ireland 'd go out of this," said Mick to his master. " Ah, boys," said Frank, riding up, " if you want to see a hunt, will you keep hack ! " " Begorra we will, yer honer," said one. " Paix — we wouldn't be afther spiling your honer's divarsion, my lord, on no account," said another. " We '11 be out o' this althogether, now this blessed minute," said a third, but still there they remained, each loudly endeavouring to banish the others. At last, however, the fox saw a fair course before him, and away ie went ; and with very little start, for the dogs followed him out of the covert almost with a view. And now the men settled themselves to the work, and bei-an to Btriye for the pride of place, at least the younger portion of them : for in every field there are two classes of men. Those who go out to get the greatest possible quantity of riding, and those whose object is to get the least. Those who go to work their na"-s, and those who go to spare them. The former think that the excellence of the hunt depends on the horses ; the latter, on the dogs. The former go to act, and the latter to see. And it is very generally the case that the least active part of the community know the most about the sport. They, t-.he less active part above alluded to. know every high- THE HUNT. 217 road and bye-road ; tliey consult the wind, and calculate tliat a for won't run with his nose against it ; they remember this stream and this bog, and avoid them ; they are often at the top of eminences, and only descend when they see which way the dogs are going ; they take short cuts, and laj^ themselves out for narrow lanes ; they dislike galloping, and eschew leaping ; and yet, when a hard-riding man is bringing up his two hundred guinea hunter, a minute or two late for the finish, covered with foam, trembliug with his exertion, not a breath left in him — he '11 probably find one of these steady fellows there before him, mounted on a broken-down screw, but as cool and as fresh as when he was brought out of the stable ; and what is, perhaps, still more amazing, at the end of the day, when the hunt is canvassed after dinner, our dashing friend, who is in great doubt whether his thorough- bred steeple-chaser wiU ever recover his day's work, and who has been personally administering warm mashes and bandages before he would venture to take his own boots ofi", finds he does not know half as much about the hunt, or can tell half as correctly where the game went, as our quiet-going friend, wliose hack will probably go out on the following morning under the car, with the mistress and children. Such a one was Parson Armstrong ; and when Lord Ballindine and most of the others went away after the hounds, he coolly turned round in a different direction, crept through a broken wall into a peasant's garden, and over a dung- hill, by the cabin door into a road, and then trotted along as demurely and leisurely as though he were going to bury an old woman in the next parish. i'rank was, generally speaking, as good-natured a man as is often met, but even he got excited and irritable when hunting his own pack. All masters of hounds do. Some one was always too forward, another too near the dogs, a third interfering with the servants, and a fourth making too much noise. " Confound it, Peter," he said, when they bad gone over a field or two, and the dogs missed the scent for a moment, " I thought at any rate you knew better than to cross the dogs that way." " Who crossed the dogs ? " said the other — " what nonsense you 're talking : why I wasn't out of the ])otato-field till they were nearly all at the next wall." " Well, it may be nonsense," continued Prank ; " but when I see a man riding right through the hounds, and they hunting, I call that crossing them." " Hoicks ! tally " — hollowed some one — " there 's Graceful has it agaia— -well done. Granger ! Paith, Prank, that 's a good dog ! if hn 'b not first, he 'b always second." 818 THE KELLYS AND THE KELLYS. " Now, gentlemen, steady, for heaven's sake. Do let the doga settle to their work before you 're a-top of them. Upon my soul, Nicliolas Brown, it's ridiculous to see you ! " " It 'd be a good thing if he were half as much in a hurry to get to heaven," said Bingham Blake. " Thank'ee," said Isicholas ; " go to heaven yourself. I 'm well enough where I am." And now they were off again. In the next field the whole pack caught a view of the fox just as he was stealing out ; and after him they went, with their noses well above the ground, their voices loud and clear, and in one bevy. Away they went : the game was strong ; the scent was good ; the ground was soft, but not too soft ; and a magnificent hunt they had ; but there were some misfortunes shortly after getting away. Barry Lynch, wishing, in his ignorance, to lead and show himself off, and not knowing how — skurrying along among the dogs, and bothered at every leap, had given great offence to Lord Balliudine. But, not wishing to speak severely to a man whom he would not under any circumstances address in a friendly way, he talked at him, and endeavoured to bring him to order by blowing up others in his hearing. But this was thrown away on Barry, and he continued his career in a most disgusting manner ; scrambling through gaps together with the dogs, crossing other men without the slightest reserve, annoying every one, and evidently pluming himself on his performance. Frank's brow was getting blacker and blacker. Jerry Blake and young Brown were greatly amusing themselves at the exhibition, and every now and then gave him a word or two of encouragement, praising his mare, telling how well he got over that last fence, and bidding him mind and keep well forwai'd. This was all new to Barry, and he really began to feel himself in his element ; if it hadn't been for those abominable walls, he would have enjoyed himself. But this was too good to last, and before very long he made a fauv pas, which brought down on him in a toiTcnt the bottled-up wrath of the viscount. They had been galloping across a large, unbroken sheep-walk, ■which exactly suited Barry's taste, and he had got well forward towards the hounds. Frank was behind, expostulating with Jerry Blake and the other for encouraging him, when the dogs came to a small stone wall about two feet and a half high. In this there ■was a broken gap, through which many of them crept. Barry also saw this happy escape from the grand difficulty of jumping, and, ignorant that if he rode the gap at all, he should let the hoimds go first made for it riirhl- among them, in spite of Frank's THE HUNT. 219 voice, now raised loudly to caution him. The horse the man rode knew his business better than him.self, and tried to spare the dogr whicli were under his feet ; but, iu gettiug out, lie made a slight spring, and came down on the haunches of a favourite young liound called " Goncaway ; " he broke the leg close to the socket, and the poor beast most loudly told his complaint. This was too much to be borne, and Frank rode up red with passion; and a lot of others, includiug the whippcr, soon followed. " lie has killed the dog! " said he. " Did you ever sec such a clumsy, ignorant fool ? Mr. Lynch, if you 'd do nie the honour to stay away another day, and amuse yourself in any other way, I should be much obliged." " It wasn't my fault then," said Barry. " Do you mean to give me the lie, sir ? " replied Prank. " The dog got under the horse's feet. How was I to help it ? " There was a universal titter at this, which made Barry wish himself at home again, with his brandy-bottle. " Ah ! sir," s-aid Frank ; " you 're as fit to ride a hunt as you are to do anything else which gentlemen usually do. May I trouble you to make yourself scarce ? Tour horse, I see, can't carry you much farther, and if you '11 take my advice, you '11 go liorae, before you're ridden over yourself. AVell, Martin, is the bone broken ? " Martin had got off his horse, and was kneeling down beside the poor hurt brute. "Indeed it is, my lord, in two places. Ton 'd better let Tony kill him ; he has au awful sprain iu tha back, as well ; he '11 niver put a foot to the ground again." " 13v heavens, that 's too bad ! isn't it Bingham ? lie was, out and out, the finest puppy we entered last year." •' What can you expect," said Bingham, "when such fellows as that come into a field r" He's as much business here as a cow in a drawing-room." " But what can we do ? — one can't turn him off the land; if he chooses to come, he must." " Why, yes," said Bingham, "if he will come he must. But then, if he insists on doing so, he may be horsewhipped ; he m.ay be ridden over; he may be kicked; and he may be told that he 'p a low, vulgar, paltry scoundrel; and, if he repeats his visits, that's the treatment he'll probably receive." Barry was close to both the speakers, and of course heard, and was intended to hear, every word that was said. He contented himself, however, witli muttering certain inaudible defiances, and was seen and heard of no more that day. The hunt was continued, and the fox waa killed ; but Frank and p 220 THE KELLYS AND THE KELLYS. tliosG witli him saw but little more of it. However, as soon fig directiona were given for the death of poor Goneaway, they went oij, and received a very satisfactory account of the proceeding? from those who had seen the finish. As usual, the Parson was among the number, and he gave them a most detailed history, not only of the fox's proceedings during the day, but also of all the reasons which actuated the animal, in every diiferent turii he took. " I declare, Armstrong," said Peter Dillon, " I think you were a fox yourself, once ! Do you remember anything about it ? " " What a run he would give ! " said Jerry ; " the best pack that was ever kennelled wouldn't Iiave a chance with him." " Who was that old chap," said Nicholas Dillon, showing off his classical learning, " who said that dead animals always became something else? — may-be it's only in the coarse of nature for a 4ead fox to become a live parson." "Exactly: you've hit it," said Armstrong; "and, in the same way, the moment the breath is out of a goose it becomes an idle squireen, and, generally speaking, a younger brother." " Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Kick," said Jerry ; " and Cake care how you meddle with the Church again." " Who saw anything of Lambert Brown ? " said another; "I left him bogged below there at Gurtna-screenagh, and all he could do, the old grey horse wouldn't move a leg to get out for him." "Oh, he's there still," said Nicholas. "He was trying to follow me, and I took him there on purpose. It 's not deep, and he '11 do no hurt : he '11 keep as well there, as any- where else." "Nonsense, Dillon!" said the General — "you'll make his brother really angry, if you go on that way. If the man's a fool, \eave him in his folly, but don't be playing tricks on him. You '11 only get yourself into a quarrel with the family." '■ And how shall we manage about the money, my lord ? " said IMartin, as he drev/ near tlie point at which he would separate from the rest, to ride towards Dunmore. "I've been thinking about it. and there 's no doubt about having it for you on Friday, av that '11 suit." "That brother-in-law of yours is a most unmitigated black- guard, isn't he, Martin ? " said Frank, who was thinking more about poor Goneaway than the money. " He isn't no brother-in-law of mine yet, and probably niver will be, for I 'm afeard poor Anty 'U go. But av he iver is, he 'il Boon take himself out of the counthry, and be no more throuble to your lordship or any of ua." DOCTOR COLLIGAN. 2.01 " But to think of liis riding right a-top of the poor brute, and then saying that the dog got under liis horse's feet ! Why, be 's a fool as well as a knave. Was he ever out before ? " " Well, then, I believe he was, twice this year ; though I didn't see him myself." " Then I hope this '11 be the last time : three times ia quita enough for such a fellow as that." " I don't thinlc he '11 be apt to show again afther what you and Mr. Bingham .said to him. Well, shure, Mr. Bingham was very hard on him ! " " Serve him right; nothing 's too bad for him." " Oh, that 's thrue for you, my lord : I don't pity him one bit. But about the money, and this job of my own. Av it wasn't aiiking too muchjit'd be a great thiug av your lordship 'd see Daly." It was then settled that Lord Balllndine should ride over to Dunmore on the following Piiday, and if circumstances seemed to render it advisable, that he and Martin should go on together f j the attorney at Tuam. CHAPTER XXIII. DOCTOR COLLIGAN. DocTOE Coi.T.TGAK, the Galen of Dunmore, though a practi- tioner of juost unprepossessing appearance and demeanour, was neither ignorant nor careless. Though for many years he had courted llie public in vaiu, his neiglibours liad at last learned to know and appreciate him ; and, at the time of Anty's illness, the inhabitants of three parishes trusted their corporeal ailments to his care, with comfort to themselves and profit to him. Never- theless, there were many things about Doctor CoUigan not calcu- lated to inspire either respect or confidence. He always seemed a little afraid of his patient, and very much afraid of his patient's fiiends : he was always dreading the appearance at Dunmore of one of those young rivals, who had lately establislied themselves st Tuam on one side, and Hollymount on the other ; and, to pre- vent so fatal a circumstance, was continually trying to be civil and obliging to hia customers. He would not put on a blister, or order a black dose, without consulting with the lady of the house, and asking permission of the patient, and consequently had always 222 THE KELLYS AND THE o'KELLYS. ail air of doubt and indecision. Then, lie was excessively dirty in bis person and practice : be carried a considerable territory bencatli his nails ; smelt equally strongly of the laboratory and the stable ; would wipe bis bands on the patient's sheets, and wherever he went left horrid marks of bis whereabouts : lie was very fond of good eating and much drinking, and would neglect the best customer that ever was sick, when tempted by the fascina- tion of a game of loo. He was certainly a bad family-man ; for thougb he worked hard for the support of bis wife and children, be was little among them, paid them no attention, and lelt no scruple in assuring Mrs. C. that he had been obliged to remain up all nigbt with that dreadful Mrs. Jones, whose children were always so tedious ; or that Mr. Blake was so bad after his accident that he could not leave bim for a moment ; when, to tell the truth, the Doctor bad passed the night with the cards in his hands, and a tumbler of punch beside him. He was a tall, thick-set, heavy man, with short black curly hair ; was a little bald at the top of bis head ; and looked always as though he had shaved himself the day before yesterday, and bad not waslied since. His face was good-natured, but heavy and un- intellectual. He was ignorant of everything but his profession, and the odds on the card-table or the race-course. But to give him bis due, on these subjects be was not ignorant ; and this was now so generally known that, in dangerous cases, Doctor Colligan bad been sent for, many, many miles. Tins was the man who attended poor Anty in her illness, and lie did as much for her as could be done ; but it was a bad case, and Doctor Colligan thought it would be fatal. She had inter- mittent fever, and was occasionally delirious ; but it was her great debility between the attacks which be considered so dangerous. " On the morning after the hunt, be told Martin that he greatly feared she would go off, from exhaustion, in a few days, aud tiiat it would be wise to let Barry know the state in which bis sister Tvas. There was a consultation on the subject between the two and Martin's mother, in which it was agreed that the Doctor should go up to Dunmore House, and tell Barry exactly the stato of afiairs. " And good news it '11 be for him," said Mrs. Kelly ; " the best he heard since the ould man died. Av he bad bis will of her she 'd niver rise from the bed where she 's stretched. But, glory be to God, there's a providence over all, and may-bo she'll live yet to give bim the go-by." " How you talk, mother," said Martin ; " and what 's the uso ? DOCTOR COLLIGAN. 223 Whatever ho \nshcs won't harum lier ; and may-be, now she 'a d3'i?ig, his heart '11 be softened to her. Any way, don't let liis, have to say she died here, without his hearing a word how kid she was." " Maj-be he 'd be afther saying we murdhcred her for her money," said the widow, with a shudder. " He can hardly complain of that, when he '11 be getting all the money himself. But, however, it 'a much betther, all ways, that Rocfor Colligan should see him." "Tou know, Mrs. Kelly," said the Doctor, "as a matter oJ course he '11 be asking to see his sister." ■' You wouldn't have him come in here to her, would you? — Faix, Doctor Colligan, it '11 be her death outright at once av he does." " It 'd not be nathural, to refuse to let him see her," said the Doctor ; " and I don't think it would do any harm : but I '11 be guided by you, Mrs. Kelly, in what I say to him." " Besides," said Martin, " I know Anty would wisli to see him : he is her brother ; and there 's only the two of 'em." " Between you be it," said the widow ; " I tell you I don't liku it. Tou neither of you know Barry Lynch, as well as I do ; he'd smother her av it come into his head." "Ah, mother, nonsense now; hould your tongue; you don't know what you 're saying." " Well ; didn't he try to do as bad before ? " " It wouldn't do, I tell you," continued Martin, " not to let him see her; that is, av Anty wishes it." It ended in the widow being sent into Anty's room, to ask her whether she had any message to send to her brother. The poor girl knew how ill she was, and expected her death ; and when the w^dow told her that Doctor Colligan was going to call on her brother, she said that she hoped she should see Barrj- once more before all was over. ■' Mother," said Martin, as soon as the Doctor's back was tm-ned, " you '11 get yourself in a scrape av you go on saying such things as that about folk before strangers." "Is it about B,arry?" " Yes ; about Barry. How do you know Colligan won't be repating all them things to him ? " " Let him, and wilcome. Shure wouldn't I say as much to Barrv Lynch himself .f' "What do I care for the blagguard ? — only this, I wish I 'd niver heard his name, or seen his foot over the Bill of the door. I 'm sorry I iver heard the name of the Lynches in Dunmore," 'A2i THE KELLIfS AND THE KELLTS. " Tou 're not regrettino; the throuble Anty is to yoa, mother ? " " Eegretting ? — I don't know what you mane by regrctthig. I don't know is it regretting to be slaving as much and more for her than I would for my own, and no chance of getting as much as thanks for it." " You '11 be rewarded hereafther, mother ; shure won't it all go for charity ? " " I 'm not BO shure of that," said the widow. " It was your Bchaming to get her money brought her here, and, like a poor wake woman, as I was, I fell into it ; and now we 've all the throuble and the expinse, and the time lost, and afther all, Barry '11 be getting everything when she 's gone. Tou '11 see, Martin ; we '11 have the wake, and the funeral, and the docthor and all, on us — mind my words else. Och musha, musha ! what '11 I do at all ? Faix, forty pounds won't clear what this turn is like to come to ; an' all from your dirthy undherhand schaming ways." In truth, the widow was perplexed in her inmost soul about An'sy ; torn and tortured by doubts and anxieties. Her real love of Anty and true charity was in state of Dattle with her parsi- mony ; and then, avarice was atrong with'u her ; and utter, un- controlled hatred of Barry still stronger. But, opposed to thoM was dread of some unforeseen evU — some tremendous law proceed- ings : she had a half-formed idea that she was doing what she had no right to do, and that she might some day be walked off to Galway assizes. Then again, she had an absurd pride about it, which often made her declare that she'd never be beat by such a 'scum of the 'arth' as Barry Lynch, and that she'd fight it out with him if it cost her a hundred pounds ; though no one under- stood what the battle was which she was to fight. Just before Anty's illness had become so serious, Daly called, and had succeeded in reconciling both Martin and the widow to himself; but he had not quite made them agree to his proposal. The widow, indeed, was much averse to it. She wouldn't deal with such a Greek as Barry, even in the acceptance of a boon. "When she found him willing to compromise, she became more than ever averse to any friendly terms ; but now the whole ground was slipping from under her feet. Anty was dying : she would have had her trouble for nothing ; and that hated Barry would gain his point, and the whole of his sister's property, in triumph. Twenty times the idea of a will had come into her mind, and how comfortable it would be if Anty would leave her property, or at any rate a portion of it, to Martin. But though the thoughts of such a delightful arrangement kept her in a continual whirlwind DOCTOR COLLIGAN. Hitb i>r anxiety, slie never hinted at the subject to Anty. As sliic said to herself, " a Kelly wouldn't demane herself to aak a brass penny from a Lynch." She didn't even speak to her daughters about it, though the continual twitter she was in made them aware that there was some unusual burthen on her mind. It was not only to the Kellys that the idea occurred that Anty in her illness might make a will. The thoughts of audi a cata- strophe had robbed Barry of half the pleasure which the rumours cf his sister's dangerous position had given him. He had not received any direct intimation of Anty's state, but had heard through the servants that she was ill — very ill — dangerously — " not expected," as the country people call it ; and each fresh rumour gave him new hopes, and new life. He now spurned all idea of connexion with Martin ; he would trample on the Kelly's for thinking of such a thing : he would show Daly, when in the plenitude of his wealth and power, how he despised the luke- warmness and timidity of his councils. These and other delight- ful visions were floating through his imagination ; when, all of a luddcn, like a blow, like a thunderbolt, the idea of a will fell as it were upon him with a ton weight. His heart sunk low within him ; he became white, and his jaw dropped. After all, there were victory and triumph, plunder and wealth, Jds wealth, in the very hands of his enemies ! Of course the Eellys would force her to make a will, if she didn't do it of her own accord ; if not, they 'd forge one. There was some comfort in that thought : he could at any rate contest the will, and swear that it was a forgery. He swallowed a dram, and went off, almost weeping to Daly. " Oh, Mr. Daly, poor Anty's dying : did you hear, Mr. Daly — she's all but gone?" Yes; Daly had been sorry to hear that Miss Lynch was very ill. "What shall I do," continued Barry, " if they say that she 's left a will ? " " Go and hear it read. Or, if you don't like to do that yor.r- self, stay away, and let me hear it." " But they'll forge one ! They'll make out what they pJeas?, and when she's dying, they '11 make her put Lcr n.ijue to it; oj' they '11 only just put the pen in her hand, when she 'e not knoN^-iug what she 's doing. They 'd do anything now, Drij, to get the. money they 've Ijeen fighting for so hard." "It's my belief," answered the attorney, "that the Kelly? not only won't do anything dishonest, but that they Trc^if t; even take any unfair advantage of you. But at any rate you can do nothing. Tou must wait patiently ; you, at any rate, can take nu steps till she 's dead." g36 THK KF.LLTS AND THE 0*KELLTS. " Bat coulda'fc slie make a will in my fo\o\ir ? I know she 'd do it if I asked her— if I asked her now— novr she 's going off, you know. I 'in sure she 'd do it. Don't you think she would ? ' "You're safer, I think, to let it alone," said Daly, who could hardly control the ineffable disgust he felt. " I don't know that," continued Barry. " She 's weak, and '11 do what she 's asked : lesides. th.eij 'II make her do it. Pancy if, when she 'a gone, 1 find I Lave' to share everything with those people ! " And he struck his forehead and pushed the hair off his perspiring face, as he literally shook with despair. " I must see her, Daly. I 'm quite sure she '11 make a will if I beg her ; they can't hinder me seeing my own, only, dying sister; can they, Daly ? And when I 'm once there, I '11 sit with her, and watch till it 's all over. I'm sure, now she's ill, I'd do anything for her." Daly said nothing, though Barry paused for him to reply. " Only about the form," continued he, " I wouldn't know what to put. By heavens, Daly! you must come with me. Tou can be up at the house, and I can have you down at a minute's warning." Daly utterly declined, but Barry continued to press him. " But you must, Daly ; I tell you I know I 'm right. I know her so well — she '11 do it at once for the sake — for the sake of — Tou know she is my own sister, and all that — and she thinks so much of that kind of thing. I '11 tell you what, Daly ; upon my honour and soul," and he repeated the words in a most solemn tone, "if you '11 draw the will, and she signs it, so that I come in for the whole thing — and I know she ^^ ill — I '11 make over fifty — ay, seventy poundu a year to you for ever and ever. I will, as 1 live." Tbe interview ended by the attorney turning Barry Lynch into the street, and assuring him that if he ever came into his office again, on anv business whatsoever, he would unscrupulously kick him out. So ended, also, the connection between the two ; for Daly never got a farchiug for his labour. Indeed, after all that had taken place, he thought it as well not to trouble his ci-devant client with a bill. Barry went keme, and of course got drunk. When Doctor Colligan called on Lynch, he found that he was not at home. He was at that very moment at Tuam, with the attorney. The doctor repeated his visit later in the afternoon, but Barry had still not returned, and he therefore left word that he would call early after breakfast the following morning. He did so ; and, after waiting half an hour in the dining-room, Barry, only half awake and half dressed, and still half drunk, came down to him. The doctor, with a long face, delivered his message, and ex- DOCTOR COLLIGAN. 227 plaiuea to him the state in which his sister waa lying; assared nini that everything iu the power of medicine had been and should be done ; that, nevertheless, lie feared the chance of recovery wae remote ; and ended by informing him that Miss Lynch was aware of her danger, and had expressed a wish to see him before it might be too late. Could he make it convenient to come over just now — in half an hour — or say an hour ? — said the doctor, looking at the red face and unfinished toilet of the distressed brother. Barry at first scarcely knew what reply to give. On his return from Tuam, he had determined that he would at any rate make his way into his sister's room, and, aa he thought to himself, see what would come of it. In his after-dinner courage he had further determined, that he would treat the widow and her family with a very high hand, if they dared to make objection to his seeing his sister ; but now, when the friendly overture came from Anty herself, and was brought by one of the Kelly faction, ho felt himself a little confounded, as though he rather dreaded the inter- view, and would wish to put it oflf for a day or two. " Oh, yes — certainly. Doctor CoUigan ; to be sure — that ia— tell me, doctor, is she really so bad ? " " Indeed, Mr. Lynch, she is very weak." " But, doctor, you don't think there is any chance — I mean, there isn't any danger, ia there, that she 'd go off at once ? " " Why, no, I don't think there is ; indeed, I iiave no doubt she will hold out a fortnight yet." " Then, perhaps, doctor, I 'd better put it off till to-morrow ; I '11 tell you why : there 's a person I wish — " "Why, Mr. Lynch, to-day would be better. Tbe fever's periodical, you see, and will be on -her again to-morrow — " "I beg your pardon, Doctor Coliigan," said Barry, of a sudden remembering to be civil, — " but you '11 take a glass of wine ? " " Not a drop, thank ye, of anything." " Oh, but you will ; " and Barry rang the bell and had the wine brought. "And you expect she'll have another attack to-morrow ? " " That 's a matter of course, Mr. Lynch ; the fever '11 come on Ler a^ain to-morrow. Every attack leaves her weaker and weaker, and we fear she '11 go ofl", before it leaves her altogether." " Poor thing ! " said Barry, contemplatively. " AVe had her head shaved," said the doctor. " Did you, indeed ! " answered Barry. " She was my favourite sister, Doctor Coliigan — that is, I had no other." " I believe not," said Doctor Coliigan, looking sympathetic. " Take another glass of wine, doctor ? — now do," and he poured out another bumper. gjig fllE KELLYS AND THli O'kELLYS. " Thank'ee, Mr. Lynch, thank'ee ; not a drop more. And yOAs'il be over iu au hour then ? I 'd better go and tell her, that ehe may be prepared, you know," and the doctor returned to tbe sick room of liis patient. Barry remained standing in the parlour, looking at the glasses and the decanter, as though he -n'ere speculating on the manner in which they had been fabricated. " She may recover, after all," thought he to himself. " She 's as strong as a horse — I know her better than they do. I know she '11 recover, and then wliat shall I do? Stand to the offer Daly made to Kelly, I suppose ! " And then he sat down close to the table, with his elbow on it, and his chiu restiijg on his hand ; and there he remained, full of thought. To tell the truth, Barry Lynch bad never thought more intensely than he did during those ten minutes. At last he jumped up suddenly, as though surprised at what had been passing withiu himself; he looked hastily at the door and at the window, as though to see that he had not been watched, and then went up- stairs to dress himself, preparatory to bis visit to the inn. CHAPTER XXIV. ANTT LTNCH's bed-side. — SCENE THE rlEST. Aniv had borne her illness with that patience and endurance which were so particularly inherent in her nature. She had never complained ; and bad received .the untiring attentions and care of her two j'oung friends, with a warmth of affection and gratitude which astonished them, accustomed as they had been in every "iitt.le illness to give and receive that tender care with which sick- ..foj \p. irefjitd in affectionate families. When ill, they felt they iiad a right to be petulant, and to complain; to exact, and to be ;.'.::«id;,-d t^); tlicY had been used to it from each other, and ilioiight, it :«'! iiii-idental part of the business. But Anty had liii-herto had no one to nurse her, and she looked on Meg and .1 P-ije as kind ministering angels, emulous as they were to relieve her wants and ease her sufferings. Her thin faoe bad become thinner, and was very pale ; her bead Lad been .-hiived close, and there was nothing between the broad white border of her night-cap and her clammy brow and wan cueeii:. But illness was more becoming to Anty than health; it- gave hex- a melancholy and beautiful expression of resigaatioa,. ANl'Y tTNCH'S BED-SIDE. — SCENE THE FIRST. 229 which, under ordinary circamstaucea, was wanting to her features, though not to her character. Her eyes were brighter than tltey usually were, and her complexion was clear, colourless, and trans- parent. I do not mean to say that Anty in her illness was beautiful, but she was no longer plain; and even to the young Kellys, whose feelings and sympathies cannot be supposed to have been of the highest order, she became an object of the most intense interest, and the warmest affection. " Well, doctor," she said, as Doctor Colligan crept into hsr room, after the termination of his embassy to Barry ; " will he come ? " " Oh, of course he will ; why wouldn't he, and you wishing it ? He'll be here in an hour, Miss Lynch. He wasn't just ready to come over with me." " I 'ra glad of that," said Anty, who felt that she had to collect her thoughts before she saw him ; and then, after a moment, she added, " Can't I take my medicine now, doctor ? " " Just before he comes you 'd better have it, I think. One of the girls will step up and give it you when he 's below. He 'U want to speak a word or so to Mrs. Kelly before he comes up." " Spake to me, docthor! " said the widow, alarmed. " What '11 he be spaking to me about ? Fail, I had spaking enough with him last time he was here." " I'ou'd better just see him, Mrs. Kelly," whispered the doctor. "You'll find him quiet enough, now ; just take him fair and asy ; keep him down-stairs a moment, while Jane gives her the medicine, She 'd better take it just before he goes to her, and don't let him stav long, whatever 3'ou do. I '11 be back before the evening 'a over ; not that I think that she '11 want me to see her, but I '11 just drop in." " Are you going, doctor ? " said Anty, as he stepped up to the bed. He told her he was. " Tou 've told Mrs. Kelly, haven't you, that I 'm to see Barry alone ? " " Why, I didn't say so," said the doctor, looking at the widow " but I suppose there 'II be no harm — eh, Mrs. Kelly ? " " Tou must let me see him alone, dear Mrs. Kelly ! " " If Doctor Colligan thinks you ought, Anty dear, I wouldn't etay in the room myself for worlds." "But you won't keep him here long. Miss Lynch — eh? And you won't excite yourself? — indeed, you mustn't. You 'il allow them fifteen minutes, Mrs. Kelly, not more, and then you'll c-oine up ; " and with these cautions, the doctor withdrew. " I wish he was come and gone," said the widow to her eidec aaughter. "Well; av I'd known all what was to tblloWj I'd 230 THE KELLYS AKD THE o'KELWS. nivcr liave got out of my ■warm bed to go anrl fetch Anty Lynch (lo;vu bere that cowld morning ! Well, 1 '11 be wise another time. Live and larn, they say, and it 's thrue, too." " But, mother, you ain't wisLing poor Anty wasn't here ? " " Indeed, but I do ; everything to give and nothin' to get — that 's not the way I havo managed to live. But it 's not that altogether, neither. I 'm not begrudging Anty anything for her-- self; but that I 'd be dhriven to let that blagguard of a brother of hers into the liouse, and that as a frind like, is what I didn't think I 'd ever have put upon me ! " Barry made his appearance about an hour after the time at which they had begun to expect him ; and as soon as Meg saw him, one of them flew up-stairs, to tell Anty and give her her tonic. Barry had made himself quite a dandy to do honour to the occasion of paying probably a parting visit to his sister, whom he had driven out of her own house to die at the inn. He had on his new blue frock-coat, and a buff waistcoat with gilt buttons, over which his watch-chain was gracefully arranged. His panta- loons were strapped down very tightly over his polished boots ; a shining new silk hat was on one side of his head ; and in his hand he was dangling an ebon}' cane. In spite, however, of all these gaudy trappings, he could not muster up an easy air ; and, as he knocked, he had that look proverbially attributed to dogs who are going to be hung. Sally opened the door for him, and the widow, who had come out from the shop, made him a low courtesy in the passage. " Oh — ah — yes— Mrs. Kelly, I believe? " said Barry. " Tes, Mr. Lynch, that 's my name ; glory be to God ! " " My sister, Miss Lynch, is still staying here, I believe ? " " Why, drat it, man ; wasn't Dr. CoUigan with you less than an 2iour ago, telling you you must come here, av you wanted to see her ? " . " Tou '11 oblige me by sending up the servant to tell Miss Lynch I'm here." " Walk up here a minute, and I '11 do that errand for you myself. • — Well," continued she, muttering to herself — " for him to ax av she war staying here, as though he didn't know it ! There niver was his ditto for desait, maneness and divilry ! " A minute or two after the widow had left him, Barry found himself by his sister's bed-side, but never had he found himself in a position for which he was less fitted, or which was less easy to him. He assumed, however, a long and solemn face, and crawling up to the bed-side, told his sister, in a whining voice, that he was very glad to see her. AKTY LYNCH S BED-SIDE. — SCENE THE FIliST. 231 "Sit down, Barry, ait down," saidAnty, stretching out her tliin pale hand, and taking hold of her brother's. Barry did as he was told, and sat down. " I 'm so glad to aea you, Barry," said she : "I'm so very glad to see you once more — " and thou after a pause, " and it'll be the last time, Barry, for I 'm dying." Barry told her he didn't think she was, for he didn't know when he 'd seen her looking better. " Tes, I am Barry : Doctor CoUigan has said as much ; and I should know it well enough myself, even if he 'd never said a word. AVe 're friends now, are we not p — Everything 'a forgiven and for* gotten, isn't it, Barry ? " Auty had still hold of her brother's hand, and seemed dcsiroua to keep it. He sat on the edge of his chair, with his knees tucked in against the bed, tlie very picture of discomfort, both of body and mind. " Oil, of course it is, Anty," said he ; " forgive and forget ; that was always my motto. I 'm LUire I never bore any malice — indeed I never was so sorry as when you went away, and — " "Ah, Barry," said Anty ; " it was better I went then ; may-bo it *s all better as it is. AVhen the priest has been with me and given me comfort, I won't fear to die. But there are other things, Barry, I want to spake to you about." " If there 's anything I can do, I 'm sure I 'd do it : if tliere 's anything at all you wish done. — "Would you like to come up to the house again ? " " Oh no, Barry, not for worlds." " Why, perhaps, just at present, you are too weak to move ; only wouldn't it be more comfortable for you to be in your own house H These people here are all very well, I dare say, but they must he a great bother to you, eh? — so interested, you know, in everything they do." " Ah ! Barry, you don't know them." Barry remembered that he would be on the wrong tack to abu.^o the Kellys. "I'm sure tiiey're very nice people," said h.;; "indeed I always thought so, and said so- — but tiiey're lujt like j'our own flesh and blood, are they, Anty ? — and why shouldn't ; ou come up and be — " " ISTo, Barry," said she ; " I '11 not do that ; as tbey 're so very, very kind as to kt me stay here, I '11 remain till — till God taken me to himself. But they're not my flesh and blood" — and she turned round and loolied aftectionately in tlie face of her broliier — " there are only the two of us left novr ; and soon, very soon you 'U be all alone." Barry felt very uncomfortable, and vviahed the 333 THE ICELLYS AND THE o'kELLYS. 'interview Tvas over: he tried to say something, but failed, and Anty -went on — " when that time comes, will you remember what I say to you now ? — When you 're all alone, Barry ; when there 'a nothing left to trouble you or put you out — will you think then of the last time you ever saw your sister, and — " "Oh, Anty, sure I'll be seeing you again! " " No, Barry, never again. This is the last time we shall ever meet, and think how much we ought to be to each other ! We 've neither of us father or mother, husband or wife. — "When I 'm gone you '11 be alone : will you think of me then — and wiU you remember, remember every day — what I say to you now? " " Indeed I will, Anty. I'll do anything, every thiug you 'd have me. Is there anything you 'd wish me to give to any person ? " "Barry," she continued, "no good ever came of my father's will." — Barry almost jumped off his chair as he heard Lis sister's words, so much did they startle him ; but he said nothing. — " The money has done me no good, but the loss of it has blackened your heart, and turned your blood to gall against me. Yes, Barry — yes — don't speak now, let me go on ; — the old man brought you up to look for it, and, alas, he taught you to look for nothing else ; it has not been your fault, and I 'm not blaming you — I 'm not maning to blame you, my own brother, for you are my own" - — and she turned round in the bed and shed tears upon bis hand, and kissed it. — " But gold, and land, will never make you happy, — no, not all the gold of England, nor all the land the old kings ever had could make you hapjjy, av the heart was bad within you. Ton '11 have it all now, Barry, or mostly all. Tou'U have what you think the old man wronged you of; you '11 have it with no one to provide for but yourself, with no one to trouble you, no one to thw.-irt you. But ob, Barry, av it 's in your heart that that can make you happy — there 's nothing before you but misery — and death — and hell." — Barry shook like a child in the clutches of its master — " Tes, Barry ; misery and death, and all the tor- tures of the damned. It 's to save you from this, my own brother, to try and turn your heart from that foul love of money, that your sister is now speaking to you from her grave. — Oh, Barry ! try and cure it. Learn to give to others, and you '11 enjoy what you have yourself. — Learn to love others, and then you '11 know ■what it is to be loved yourself. Try, try to soften that bard lieart. Marry at once, Barry, at once, before you 're older and tvorse to cure ; and you '11 have children, and love tliem ; and when you feel, as feel you must, that the money is clinging round your soul, fling it from you, and think of the last words your sistei 8aid to you." ANTY LYNCH S BED-SIDE. — SCENE THE FIRST. 2!i-i Tlie sweat was now running down tlie chcoiLS oi' ilie vrcix^i.cq man, for the mixed rebuke and prayer of his sister had come come to him, and touched him; but it was neither with pity, vitb remorse, nor penitence. No ; in that foul heart there wa:? no rooci, even for remorse ; but he trembled with fear as he listened to bo.r words, and, falling on his knees, swore to her that he wouui do just as she would have him. " If I could but think," continued she, " that you would remem- ber what I am saying — " " Oh, I will, Anty : I will— indeed, indeed, I will ! " "If I could believe so, Earry — I 'd die 'nappy and in comfort, for I love you better than anything on earth ;" and again she jjressed his hot red hand — " but oh, brother ! I feel for you : — you never kneel before the altar of God — you've no priest to move the weight of sin from your soul — and how heavy that must be ! Do you remember, Barry ; it 's but a week or two ago and you threatened to kill me for the sake of our father's money ? you wanted to put me in a mad-house ; you tried to make me mad with fear and cruelty ; me, your sister ; and I never harmed or crossed you. God is now doing what you threatened ; a kind, good God is now taking me to himself, and you will get what you so longed for without more sin on your conscience : but it '11 never bless you, av you 've still the same wishes in your heart, the same love of gold — the same hatred of a fellow-creature." " Oh, Anty ! " sobbed out Barry, who was now absolutely in tears, " I was drunk that night ; I was indeed, or I 'd never have said or done what I did." " And how often are you so, Barry ? — isn't it so with you every night ? That 's another thing ; for my sake, for your own sake —for God's sake, give up the dhrink. It 's killing you from day to day, and hour to hour. I see it in your eyes, and smell it in your breath, and hear it in your voice ; it 's that that makes your heart so black : — it 's that that gives you over, body and soul, to the devil. I would not have said a word about that night to hurt you now ; and, dear Barry, I wouldn't have said such words as these to you at all, but that I shall never speak to you again. And oh! I pray that yoii 'U remember them. You're idle now, always : — don't continue so ; earn your money, and it will be a blessing to you and to others. But in idleness, and drunkenness, and wickedness, it will only lead vou quicker to the devil." Barry reiterated his promises; he would take the pledge; he would work at the farm ; he would marry and have a family ; he would not caro the least for money; he would pay his debts; 284 THE KELLTS AND ISE KELLTS. he would go to cburcli, or chapel, if Antj liked it better; at any rate, he 'd say his prayers ; he would remember every word ghe Imd said to the last day of his life ; he promised everything or auytliing, as though Ills future existence depended on liis appeasing his dying sister. But during the whole time, his chief wish, his longing desire, was to finiah tbe interview, and got out of that horrid room. He felt that he was mastered and cowed by the creature whom he had so despised, and he could not account for the feeling. Y/hy did he not dare to answer her ? She had told him he would have her money: she had said it would como to him as a matter of course ; and it was not the dread of losing that which prevented his saying a word in his own defence. No ; she had really frightened him : she had made him really feel that he was a low, wretched, wicked creature, and ho longed to escape from her, that he might recover his composure. " I have but little more to say to you, Barry," she continued, " and that little is about the property. Tou will have it all, but a small sum of money — " Here Anty was interrupted by a knock at the door, and the entrance of the widow. She came to say that the quarter of an hour allowed by the doctor had been long e.tceeded, and that really Mr. Barry ought to take his leave, as so much talkiug would be bad for Anty. This was quite a god-send for Barry, who was only anxious to be off; but Anty begged for a respite. " One five minutes longer, dear Mrs. Kelly," said she, "and I shall have done; only five minutes — I'm much stronger now, and really it won't hurt me." " Well, then — mind, only five minutes," said the widow, and again left them alone. " Tou don't know, Barry — you can never know how good that woman has been to me ; indeed all of them — and all for nothing. They 've asked nothing of me, and now that they know I 'm dying, I 'm sure they expect nothing from me. She has enough; but I wish to leave something to Martin, and the girls ;" and a slight pale blush covered her wan cheeks and forehead as she mentioned M/irtin's name. " I will leave him five hundred pounds, and them tlie same between them. It will be nothing to you, Barry, out of the whole ; but see and pay it at once, will you ? " and she looked kindly into his face. lie promised vehemenUy that he would, and told her not to bother herself about a will : they should have the money as cer- tainly as if twenty wills were made. To give Barry his due, at that moment, he meant to be as good as his word. Anty, how- ANTX LYNGH'S bed-side.— scene TH£ SECOND. S35 e7or, told him that she would make a will ; that she would send for a lawyer, and have the matter properly settled. " And now," she said, " dear Barry, may God Almighty bles3 you — may He guide you and preserve you ; and mny He, above all, take from you that horrid love of the world's gold and wealth. Good bye," and she raised herself up in her bed — "good bye, for the last time, my own dear brotber; and try to remember wliat I 've said to you this day. Kiss me before you go, Barry." Barry leaned over the bed, and kissed her, and then crept out of the room, and down the stairs, with the tears streaming down his red cheelcs ; and slculked across the street to his own house, with his hat slouched over his face, and his handkerchief held across his mouth. CHAPTER XXV. ANTY LTNOH'8 BED-SIDE. — SCENE THE SECONO. Antt was a good deal exhausted by her interview with her ororher, ^ut towards evening she rallied a little, and told Jane, who was sitti&g Tvith her, that she wanted to say one word in private, to Martm. Jane was rather surprised, for though Martin was in the habit of going into the room every morning to see the invalid, Anty had never before asked for him. However, she went for Martin, and found him. " Martin," said she ; " Anty wants to see you alone, in private." " Me ? " said Martin, turning a little red. " Do you know what it 's about? " " She did n't say a word, only she wanted to see you alone ; but I 'm thinking it 's something about her brother ; he was with her a long long time this morning, and went away more like a dead man ';han a live one. But come, don't keep her waiting ; and, whatever you do, don't stay long ; every word she spakes is killing her." Martin followed his sister into the sick room, and, gently taking Anty's offered hand, asked her in a whisper, what he could 'do for her. Jane went out ; and, to do her justice sat herself iown at a distance from the door, though she was in a painful Btate of curiosity as to what was being said within. " Tou 're all too good to me, Martin," said Anty ; " you 'I epoil me, between you, minding every word I say so quick." 236 THE EELLVS AND THE KiiLL Martin assured her again, in a whisper, that any thing and everything they could do for her was only a pleasure. " Don't mind whispering," said Anty ; " spake out ; your roice won't hurt me. I love to hear your voices, they 're all so kind and good. But, Martin, I 've business you must do for me, and that at once, for I feel within me that I '11 soon be gone from this." " "We hope not, Anty ; but it 's all with God now — isn't it ? No one knows that betther than yourself." " Oh yes, I do know that ; and I feel it is his pleasure that it should be so, and I don't fear to die. A few weeks back the thoughts of death, when they came upon me, nearly killed me ; but that feeling 's all gone now." Martin did not know what answer to make ; he again told her he hoped she would soon get better. It is a difficult task to talk properly to a dying person about death, and Martin felt that he was quite incompetent to do so. " But," she continued, after a little, " there 's still much that I want to do, — that I ought to do. In the first place, I must make my will." Martin was again puzzled. This was another subject on which he felt himself equally unwilling to speak ; be could not advise her not to make one ; and he certainly would not advise her to do so. " Tour will, Anty P — there 'a time enough for that ; you '11 be sthronger you know, in a day ot two. Doctor Colligan says so — and then we '11 talk about it." " I hope there is time enough, Martin ; but there isn't more than enough ; it 'a not much that I '11 have to say " — " Were you spaking to Barry about it this morning ? " " Oh, I was. I told him what I 'd do : he '11 have the property now, mostly all as one as av the ould man had left it to him. It would have been betther so, eh Martin ? " Anty never doubted her lover's disinterestedness ; at this moment she suspected him of no dirty longing after her money, and she did him only justice. When he came into her room he had no thoughts of inheriting anything from her. Had he been sure that by asking, he could have induced her to make a will in his favour, he would not have done so. But still his heart sunk a little within him when he heard lier declare that she was going to leave everything back to her brother. It was, however, only for a moment ; he remembered hia honest determination firmly and resolutely to protect their joint property against any of her brother's attempts, should he ever marry her ; but in no degree to strive or even hanker afte? it. unless it became hia own in a fair, straightforward manner. A-N-TY LtNCH'S BED-SIDE.— SCfiJTE THE SECONI/. 23) " "Well, Anty ; I think you 're right," said he. " But vrouldu't it all go to Barry, nathurally, without your bothering yourself about a will, and you so wake." " lu course it would, at laist I suppose so ; but Martin," and she smiled faintly as she looked up into his face, " I want the two dear, dear girls, and I want yourself to have somo little thing to remember me by ; and your dear kind mother, — she doesn't want money, but if 1 ask her to take a few of the silver things in tue house, I 'm sure she '11 keep them for my sake. Oh, Martin ! I do love you all so very — so very much ! " and the warm tears streamed down her cheeks. Martin's eyes were affected, too : he m.ade a desperate struggle to repress the weakness, but he could not succeed, and was obliged to own it by rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his coat. "And I'm shure, Anty," said he, "we all love you; any one must love you who Icnew you." And then he paused : he was trying to say something of his own true personal regard for her, but he hardly knew how to express it. " We all love you as though you were one of ourselves — and so you are — it 's all the same — at any rate it is to me." " And I would have been one of you, had I lived. I can talk to you more about it now, Martin, than I ever could before, because I know, I feel I am dying.'' " But you musn't tallt, Anty ; it wakens you, and you've had too much talking already this day." " It does me good, Martin, and I must say what I have to say to you. I mayn't be able again. Had it plazed God I should have lived, I would have prayed for nothing higher or betther than to be one of such a family as yourselves. Had I been — had I been" — and now Anty blushed again, and she also found a difficulty in expressing herself; but she soon got over it, and continued, " had I been permitted to marry you, Martin, I think I would have been a good wife to you. I am very, very sure I would have been an affectionate one." " I 'm shure you would — I 'm shure you would, Anty. God send you may still : av you war only once well again there's nothing now to hindher us." " Ton forget Barry," Anty said, with a shudder. " But it doesn't matther talking of that now" — Martin was on the point of teUing her that Barry had agreed, under certain conditions, to their marriage : but, on second thoughts, he felt it wouid be Dseless to do so ; and Anty continued, "I would have done all I could, Martin. I would have ioved you fondly and truly. I would have liked what you liked, andj 838 th£ kell^s akd the 0'KEL^tS. 87 I could, I -would 've made you're home quiet and happy. Touj mother should have been my mother, and your sisthers my eisthers." " So they are now, Anty — so they are now, my own, own Anty —they love you aa much as though they were." " God Almighty bless them for their goodness, and you too, Martin. I cannot tell you, I niver could tell you, how I 've valued your honest thrue love, for I know you have loved me honestly ftnd tliruly ; but I 've always been afraid to spake to you. I 've sometimes thought you must despise me, I 've been so wake and cowardly." " Despise you, Anty ? — how could I despise you, when 1 've ilways loved you ? " " But now, Martin, about poor Barry — for he is poor. I 've Bometiines thought, as I 've been lying here the long long hours awake, that, feeling to you as I do, I ought to be laving you what the ould man left to me." -• I'd be sorry you did, Anty. I '11 not be saying but what I ^jought of that wheu I first looked for you, but it was never to take it from you, but to share it with you, and make you happy with it." " I know it, Martin : I always knew it and felt it." "And now, av it 's God's will that you should go from ua, I'd rather Barry had the money than us. We've enough, tlie Lord be praised ; and I wouldn't for worlds it should be said that it war for that we brought you among us ; nor for all County Galway would I lave it to Barry to say, that when you were here, sicli, and wake, and dying, we put a pen into your hand to make you sign a will to rob him of what should by rights be his." "That 's it, dear Martin; it wouldn't bless you if you had it; it can bless no one who looks to it alone for a blessing. It wouldn't Hake you happy — it would make you miserable, av people said you had that which you ought not to have. Besides, I love my poor brother ; he is my brother, my only real relation ; we 've lived all our lives together; and though he isn't what he should be, tho fault is not all his own, I should not sleep in my grave, av I died with his curse upon me ; as I should, av' he found, wheu I am gone, that I'd willed the property all away. I 've told him he'd have it all — nearly all; and I 've begged him, prayed to him, from my dying bed, to mend his ways; to try and be something betther in the world than what I fear he 's like to be. I think he minded what I said when he was here, for death-bed words have a solemn Bound to the most worldly ; but when I 'm gone he '11 be all alone, there'll be no one to look afther him. Nobody loves him — no cue ANTT LTNCh'S EETd-SIDE. — SCENE THE BECOND. 239 even likes him ; no one will live with him but those who mane ta rob him ; and he will be robbed, and plundered, and desaved, when he thinks be 's robbing and desaving others." Anty paused, more for breath than for a reply, but Martin felt that he must say Bomethiug. " Indeed, Anty, I fear he 'II hardly come to good. He dhrinks too much, by all accounts ; besides, he 'a idle, and the honest feeling isn't in him." " It 's thrue,dear Martin; it 's too thrue. "Will you do me a great great favour, Martin" — and she rose up a little and turned her moist clear eye full upon him — " will you show your thrue love to your poor Anty, by a rale lasting kindness, but one that '11 be giving you much much throuble and pain ? Afther I 'm dead and gone — long long after I'm in my cold grave, will you do that for me, Martin ?" "Indeed I will, Anty," said Martin, rather astonished, but witli a look of solemn assurance ; " anything that I can do, I v\ ill : you needn't dread my not remembering, but I fear it isn't much thai; I can do for you." " Will you always think and spake of Barry — will you always act to him and by him, and for him, not as a man whom you know and dislike, but as my brother — your own Anty's only brother ? — Whatever he does, will you thry to make him do betther ? What- ever troubles he's in, will you lend him your hand f Come what come may to him, will you be his friud ? He has no frind now. When I 'm gone, will you be a frind to him ?" Martin was much confounded. " He won't let me be his fi-ind," he said ; " he looks down on us and despises us ; he thinks him- self too high to be befrinded by us. Besides, of all Dunmore he hates us most." " He won't when he finds you haven't got the property from him : but frindship doesn't depend on letting — rale frindship doesn't. I don't want you to be dhrinking, and ating, and going about with him. God forbid! — you're too good for that. But when you find he wants a frind, come forward, and thry and make him do something for himself. Tou can't but come together; you '11 be the executhor in the will; won't you Martin f and then he '11 meet you about the property ; he can't help it, and you must meet then as frinds. Ajid keep that up. If he insults you, forgive it for my sake ; if he 's fractious and annoying, put up with it for my sake ; for my sake thry to make him like you, and thry to make others like him." Martin felt that this would be im- possible, but he didn't say so— -"No one respects him now, but they all respect you. 1 see it in people's eyes and manners, with- 240 THE IffiLLYS AND THE O'kELLTS. ;ut hearing wtat they say. Av you spake well of him — at any rate kindly of him, people won't turn themselyes so against him. Will you do all this, for my sake ? " Martin solemnly promised that, as far as he could, he would do go ; that, at any rate as far as himself was concerned, he would never quarrel with him. " Ton 'U. have very, very much to forgive," continued Aaty ; "but then it 's so sweet to forgive ; and he 's had no fond piother like you ; he has not been taught any duties, any virtues, as you have. He has only been taught that money is the thing to love, and that he should worship nothing but that. Martin, for my sake, will you look on him as a brother ? — a wicked, bad, castaway brother ; but still as a brother, to be forgiven, and, if possible, redeemed?" "As I hope for glory in Heaven, I will," said Martin; "but I think he 'Jl go far from this ; I think he '11 quit Dunmore." " May-be lie will ; perhaps it 's betther he should ; but he '11 lave iis name behind him. Don't be too hard on that, and don't let others ; and even av he does go, it '11 not be long before he '11 want a fried, and I don't know anywhere he can go that he 's likely to find one. Wherever he may go, or whatever he may do, you won't forget he was my brother; will you, Martin? You won't forget he was your own Anty's only brother." Martin again gave her his solemn word that he would, to the best cf his ability, act as a friend and brother to Barry. " And now about the will." Martin again endeavoured to dissuade her from thinking about a will just at present. " Ah ! but my heart 's set upon it," she said ; " I shouldn't be happy unless I did it, and I 'm sure you don't want to make me unhappy, now. Ton must get me some lawyer here, Martin; I 'm afraid you 're not lawyer enough for that yourself." " Indeed I 'm not, Anty ; it 's a trade I know little about." " Well ; you must get me a lawyer ; not to-morrow, for I know I shan't be well enough ; but I hope I shall next day, and yon may tell him just what to put in it. I 've no secrets from you." And she told him exactly what she had before told her brother. " That '11 not hurt him," she continued ; "and I'd like to think you and the dear gtrls should accept something from me." Martin then agreed to go to Daly. He was on good terms with them all now, since making the last offer to them respectino- the property ; besides, as Martin said, " he knew no other lawyer, and, as the will wau so decidedly in Barry's favour, who was so proper to make it an Barry's own lawyer ? " *• Good bye now, Martin," said Anty ; " we shall be desperately ANTY LYNCh'S BED-SIDE. — SCENE THE SECOND. 241 Bcolded for talking so long ; but it was on my mind to say it all, and I 'm betther now it 's all over." " Good night, dear Anty," said Martin, " I '11 be seeing you to-morrow." " Every day, I hope, Martin, till it 'a all over. God bless you, God bless you all — and you above all. Tou don't know, Martip — at laist you dicfn't know all along, how well, how thruly I 'va loved you. Good night," and Martin left the room, as Barry had done, in tears. But he had no feeling within him of which he had cause to be ashamed. He was ashamed, and tried to hide his face, for he was not accustomed to be seen with the tears running down his cheeks ; but still he had within him a strong sensation of gratified pride, as he reflected that he was the object of the warmest affection to so sweet a creature as Anty Lynch. " Well, Martin — what was it she wanted ?" said his mother, as she met him at the bottom of the stairs. " I couldn't tell you now, mother," said he ; " but av there was iver an angel on 'arth, it's Anty Lynch.'" And saying bo, he pushed open the door and escaped into the street. "I wondher what she's been about now ? " said the widow, speculating to herself — " well, av she does lave it away from Barry, who can say but what she has a right to do as she likes with her own ? — and who 's done the most for her, I 'd like to know ?" — • and pleasant prospects of her son's enjoying an independence flitted before her mind's eye. " But thin," she continued, talking to herself, " I wouldn't have it said in Dunmore that a Kelly demancd hisself to rob a Lynch, not for twice all Sim Lynch ever had. "Well — we '11 see ; but no good '11 ever come of meddling with them people. Jane, Jane," she called out, at the top of her voice, " are you niver coming down, and letting me out of this ? — bad manners to you." Jane answered, in the same voice, from the parlour-up stairs, • Shure, mother, ain't I getting Anty her tay." " 'Drat Anty and her tay ! — Well, shure, I 'm railly bothered now wid them Lynches ! — Well, glory be to God, there 's an end to everything — not that I 'm wishing her anywhere but where ihe is i she 's welcome, for Mary Kelly." 242 THE KEIiLYS AND THE O KEIXYS. CHAPTEE XXVI. love's ambasbabob. Two days after the bunt in which poor Groneaway was killed by Harry's horse, Ballindiue received the following letter from his friend Dot Blake. " Limmer'B Hotel, 27th March, 1814. " Dear Erank, " I and Brien, and Bottom, crossed over last Friday nio-ht, and, thanks to the God of storms, were allowed to get quietly through it. Tlie young chieftain didn't like being boxed on the quay a bit too well ; the rattling of the chains upset him, and the fellows there are so iuferuuUy noisy and awkward, that I wonder he was ever got on board. It 's difficult to make an Irishman handy, but it 's the very devU to make him quiet. There were four at bis head, and three at his tail, two at the wheel, turning, and one up aloft, haUooing like a demon in the air ; and when Master Brien showed a little aversion to this comic performance, they were going to drag him into the box hongre malgr^, till Bottom interposed and saved the men and the horse from destroying each other. " We got safe to Middleham on Saturday night, the greatest part of the way by rail. Scott has a splendid string of horses. These English fellows do their work in tip- top style, only they think more of spending money than they do of making it. I waited to see him out on Monday, when he 'd got a trot, and he was as bright as though he 'd never left the Curragh. Scott says he 's a little too fine ; but you know of course he must find some fault. To give Igoe his due, he could not be in better condition, and Scott was obliged to own that, considering wJiere he came from, he was very well. I came on here on Tuesday, and have taken thirteen wherever I could get it, and thought the money safe. I have got a good deal on, and won't budge till I do it at six to one ; and I 'm sure I '11 bring hini to that. I think he '11 rise quickly, as he wants so little training, and as his qualities must be at once known now he 's in Scott's stables ; 80 if you mean to put any more on you had better do it at once. " So much for the stables. I left the other two at home, but have one of my own string here, as may-be I 'II pick up a match : and now I wish to let you know a report that 1 heard this love's ambassador. 243 morning — at least a secret, wliich bids fair to become a report. It is said that KilcuUen is to marry F W , and that he has already paid Heaven only knows how many thousand pounds of debt with her money ; that tbe old earl has arranged it all, and that the beautiful heiress has reluctantly agreed to be made a viscountess. I 'm very far from saying that I believe this ; but it may suit you to know that I heard the arrangement mentioned before two other persons, one of whom was Morris ; — strange enough this, as he was one of the set at Handicap Lodge when you told them that the match with yourself was still on. I have no doubt the plan would suit father and son ; you best know how far the lady may have been likely to accede. At any rate, my dear Frank, if you '11 take my advice, you '11 not sit quiet tiU she does marry some one. Tou can't expect she '11 wear the wiUow for you very long, if you do nothing yourself. Write to her by post, and write to the earl by the same post, Baying you have done so. Tell her in the sweetest way you can, that you cannot live without seeing her, and getting your conge, if conge it is to be, from her own dear lips ; and tell him, in as few words, as you please, that you mean to do yourself the honour of knocking at his door on such and such a day — and do it. " By the bye, Kilcullen certainly returns to Ireland immediately. There 's been the devil's own smash among hira and the Jews. He has certainly been dividing money among them ; but not near enough, by all accounts, to satisfy the half of them. For the sake of your reputation, if not of your pocket, don't let him walk oif with the hundred and thirty thousand pounds. They Bay it's not a penny less, " Very faithfully vours, " W. Blake. " Shall I do anything for yoi \ere about Brien ? I think 1 mi"-ht still get you eleven to one, but let me hear at once." As Frank read the first portion of this epistle, his affection for his poor dear favourite nag returned in full force, and he felt all the pangs of remorse for having parted with him ; but when he came to the latter part, to Lord KilcuUen's name, and the initials by which his own Fanny was designated, he forgot all about horse and owner ; became totally regardless of thirteen, eleven, and six to one, and read on hastily to the end ; read it all again^ then closed the letter, and put it in his pocket, and remained for a considerable time in silent contemplation, trying to make uj hie mind what he woxild do. 244 TH'E KELLYS AND THE O KELLYS. Nobody waa with him as he opened his post-bag, whioh he took from the messenger as the boy was coming up to the house ; he therefore read his letter alone, on the lawn, and he continued pacing up and down before the house with a most perturbed air, for half an hour. Kilcullen going to marry Fanny Wyndham ! So, thai; was the cause of Lord Cashel's singular behaviour — his incivility, and refusal to allow Frank to see his ward. " What ! to have arranged it all in twenty-four hours," thought Frank to himself; " to have made over his ward's money to his son, before hei brother, from whom she inherited it, was in his grave: to deter- mine at once to reject an accepted suitor for the sake of closing on the poor -girl's money — and without the slightest regard for her happiness, without a thought for her welfare ! And then, such lies," said the viscount, aloud, striking his heel into the grass in his angry impetuosity ; " such base, cruel lies ! — to say that she had authorised him, when he couldn't have dared to make such a proposal to her, and her brother but two days dead. Well ; I took him for a stiff-necked pompous fool, but I never thought him such an avaricious knave." And Fanny, too, — could Fanny have agreed, so soon, to give her hand to another ? She could not have transferred her heart. His own dear, fond Fanny ! A short time ago they had been all in all to each other and now so completely estranged as they were ! However, Dc4 was right ; up to this time Fanny might be quite true to him ; indeed, there was not ground even for doubting her, for it was evident that no reliance was to be placed in Lord Cashel's asseve- rations. But still he could not expect that she should continue to consider herself engaged, if she remained totally neglected by her lover. He must do something, and that at once ; but there was very great difficulty in deciding what that something was to be. It was easy enough for Dot to say, first write, and then go. If lie were to write, what security was there that his letter would be allowed to reach Fanny ? and if he went, how much less chance was there that he would be allowed to see her. And then, again to be turned out of the house ! again informed, by that pompous scheming earl, that his visits there were not desired. Or, worse still, not to be admitted ; to be driven from the door by a footman who would well know for what he came ! No ; come what come might, he would never again go to Grey Abbey; at least not unless he was specially and courteously invited thither by the owner; and then it should only be to marry his ward, and take her from the odious place, never t« jeturn again. iiOVE'S AMBASSADOR. 245 "The impudent impostor ! " continued Yrank to himself; " to pretend to suspect me, when he was himself hatching his dirtj-, mercenary, heartless schemes! " But still the same question recurred, — what was to be done ? Venting his wrath on Lord Cashel would not get him out of the difficulty: going was out of the question; writing was of little use. Could he not send somebody else ? Some one who could not be refused admittance to Fanny, .ind who might at any rate learn what her wishes and feelings were ? He did not like making love by deputy ; but still, in his present dilemma, he could think of nothing better. But whom was he to send ? Bingham Blake was a man of character, and would not make a fool of himself ; but he was too young ; he would not be able to make his way to Panny. No — a young unmarried man would not do. — Mat Tierney ? — he was afraid of no one, and always cool and collected ; but then, Mat was in London ; besides, he was a sort of friend of Kilcullen's. General Bourke ? JSIo one could refuse an entree to his venerable grey hairs, and polished manner ; besides, his standing in the world was so good, so unexceptionable ; but then the chances were he would not go on such an errand; he was too old to be asked to take such a troublesome service ; and besides, if asked, it was very probable he would say that he considered Lord Cashel entitled to his ward's obedience. The rector — the Rev. Joseph Armstrong ? He must be the man : there was, at any rate, respectability in his profession ; and he had sufficient worldly tact not easily to be thrust aside from his object : the difficulty would be, whether he had a coat sufficiently decent to appear in at Grey Abbey. After mature consideration he made up his mind that the parson should be his ambassador. He would sooner have confided in Bingham Blake, but an unmarried man would not do. No ; the parson must be the man. Frank was, unfortunately, but little disposed to act in any case without advice, and in his anxiety to consult some one as to consulting the parson, returned into the house, to make a clear breast of it to his mother. He found her in the breakfast-room with the two girls, and the three wore holding council deep. " Oh, here 's Franlc," said Sophy ; " we 'd better tell him all about »t at once — and he 'U tell us which she 'd like best." " "We didn't mean to tell you," said Guss ; " but I and Sophy are going to work two sofas for the drawing-room — in Berlin wool, you know : they '11 be very handsome — everybody has them now, you know ; they have a splendid pair at Ballyhaunia which Nora and her cousin worked," 346 THE KELLYS AND THE KELLYS. " But we want to know wliat pattern would suit Fanny's taste," Baid Sopliy.' " Well ; you can't know that," said Frank rather pettishly, " so you 'd better please yourselves." " Oh, but you must know what she likes," continued Guss ; " I 'm for this," and she displayed a pattern showing forth two gorgeous macaws — each with plumage of the brightest colours. " The colours are so bright, and the feathers will work in so well." "I don't like anything in worsted-work but ilowers," said Sophy ; " Nora Dillon says she saw two most beautiful wreaths at that shop in Grafton Street, both hanging from bars, you know; and that would be so much prettier. I 'm sure Fanny would likb flowers best; wouldn't she now, Frank? — Mamma thinks the common cross-bar patterns are nicer for furniture." "Indeed I do, my dear," said Mrs. 0' Kelly; "and you see them much more common now in well-furnished drawing-rooms. But still I 'd much sooner have them just what Fanny would like best. Surely, Frank, you must have heard her speak about worsted-work ? " All this completely disconcerted Frank, and made him very much out of love with his own plan of consulting his mother. He gave the trio some not very encouraging answer as to their good- natured intentions towards his drawing-room, and again left them alone. " Well ; there's nothing for it but to send the parson; I don't thirfk he'll make a fool of himself, but then I know he'll look so shabby. However, here goes," and he mounted his nag, and rode oif to Ballindine glebe. The glebe house was about a couple of miles from Kelly's Court, and it was about half-past four when Lord Ballindine got there. He knocked at the door, which was wide open, though it was yet only the last day of March, and was told by a remarkably slatternly maid-servant, that her master was " jist afther dinner ; " that he was stepped out, but was about the place, and could be " fetched in at oncet ; " — and would his honour walk in ? And so Lord Eallindine was shown into the rectory drawing-room on one side of the passage (alias hall), while the attendant of all work went to announce his arrival in the rectory dining-room on the other side. Here Mrs. Armstrong was sitting among hel numerous progeny, scouring the debris of the dinner from theii rapacious paws, and endeavouring to make two very unruly boys consume the portions of fat which had been supplied to them with, as they loudly declared, an unfairly insufficient quantum of lean. As the girl was good-natured enough to leave both doors wide open, Fi-ank ^id the full advantage of the conversation. love's ambassador. 247 "Kow, Greg," said the mother, "if you leave your meat that way I '11 have it put by for you, and you shall have nothing but potatoes till it 's ate." ""Wh}', mother, it's nothing but tallow; look here ; you gave me all the outside part." " I '11 tell your dada, and see wTiat he '11 say, if you call the meat tallow ; and you 're just as bad, Joe ; worse if anything — graciuua me, here 's waste ! well, I '11 lock it up for you, and you shall both of you eat it to-morrow, before you have a bit of anything else." Then followed a desperate fit of coughing. " My poor Minny ! " said the mother, "you 're just as bad as ever. Why would you go out on the wet grass ? — Is there nona of the black currant jam left ? " " No, mother," coughed Minny, "not a bit." " G-reg ate it all," peached Sarah, an elder sister; " I told him not, but he would." " Grreg, I '11 have you flogged, and you never shall come from school agaiu. What 's that you 're saying, Mary f " " There 's a jintleman in the drawing-room as is axing afther masther." " Gentleman — what gentleman ? " asked the lady. " Sorrow a know I know, ma'am ! " said Mary, who was a new importation — " only, he 's a dark, sightly jintleman, as come on a horse." " And did you send for the master ? " " I did, ma'am ; I was out in the yard, and bad Patsy go look for him." "It's Nicholas Dillon, I'll bet twopence," said Greg, jumping up to rush into the other room ; "he's come about the black colt, I know." " Stay whci'C you arc, Greg ; and don't go in there with your dirty face and fingers ; " and, after speculating a little longer, the lady went into the drawing-room herself; though, to tell the truth, her own face and fingers were hardly in a state suitable for receiving company. Mrs. Armstrong marched into the drawing-room with somethmg oi a stately air, to meet the strange gentleman, and there she found her old friend Lord Ballindine. Whoever called at the rectory, and at whatever hour the visit might be made, poor Mrs. Armstrong was sure to apologise for the confusion in which she was found. She had always just got rid of a servant, and could not get another that suited her ; or there was some other coramon- place° reason for her being discovered en deshabille. However, she managed to talk to Frank for a minute or two with tolerabla g48 THE KEtLYS ANt> "Mil! o'KELLYS. volubility, till her eyes Bappeniug to dwell on her own hands, which were certainly not as white as a lady's should be, she became a little uncomfortable and embarrassed — tried to hide them in her drapery — then remembered that she had on her morning slippers, which were rather the worse for wear ; and, feeling too much ashamed of her tord ensemble to remain, hurried out of the room, saying that she would go and see where Armstrong could possibly have got himself to. She did not appear again to Lord Ballindine. Poor Mrs. Armstrong! — though she looked so little like one, she had been brought up as a lady, carefully and delicately ; and her lot was the more miserable, for she knew how lamentable were her present deficiencies. When she married a poor curate, having, herself, only a few hundred pounds' fortune, she had made up her mind to a life of comparative poverty ; but she had meant even in her poverty to be decent, respectable, and lady-like. "Weak health, nine children, an im.provident husband, and an income so lament- ably ill-suited to her wants, had however been too much for her, and she had degenerated into a slatternly, idle scold. In a short time the parson came in from his farm, rusty and muddy — rusty, from his clerical dress ; muddy from bis farming occupations ; and Lord Ballindine went into the business of his embassy. He remembered, however, how plainly he had heard the threats about the uneaten fat, and not wishing the household to hear all he had to say respecting Panny Wyndham, he took the parson out into the road before the house, and, walking up and down, unfolded his proposal. Mr. Armstrong expressed extreme surprise at the nature of the mission on which he was to be sent ; secondly at the necessity of such a mission at all ; and thirdly, lastly, and chiefly, at the enormous amount of the heiress's fortune, to lose which he declared would be an unpardonable sin on Lord Ballindine's part. He seemed to be not at all surprised that Lord Cashel should wish to secure so much money in his own family ; nor did he at all participate in the unmeasured reprobation with which Frank loaded the worthy earl's name. One hundred and thirty thousand pounds would justify anything, and he thought of hia nine poor children, his poor wife, his poor home, his poor two Hundred a-year, and his poor self. He calculated that so very ncn a lady would most probably have some interest in the Church, which she could not but exercise in his favour, if he were instru- mental in getting her married ; and he determined to go. Then the difficult question as to the wardrobe occurred to him. Beside?, he had no money for the road. Those, however, were minor eyilB LOVte's AMBASSAbOfe. 349 to be got over, and he expressed himself willing to undertake the embassy. "But, my dear Ballindine ; what is it I'm to do?" said he. " Of course you know, I 'd do anything for you, as of course I ought — anything that ought to be done ; but what is it exactly you wish me to say ? " " You see, Armstrong, that pettifogging schemer told me he didn't wish me to come to his house again, and I wouldn't, even for Panny AVyndham, force myself into any man's house. He would not let me see her when I was there, and I could not press it, because her brother was only just dead ; so I 'm obliged to take her refusal second hand. Now I don't believe she ever sent the message he gave me. I think he has made her believe that I 'm deserting and ill-treating her ; and in this way she may be piqued and tormented into marrying Kilcullen." " I see it now : upon my word then Lord Cashel knows how to play his cards ! But if I go to Grey Abbey I can't see her with- out seeing him." " Of course not — but I 'm coming to that. Tou see, I have no reason to doubt Fanny's love ; she has assured me of it a thousand times. I wouldn't say so to you even, as it looks like boasting, only it 's so necessary you should know how the land lies ; besides, everybody knew it ; all the world knew we were engaged." " Ob, boasting — it 's no boasting at all : it would be very little good my going to Grey Abbey, if she had not told you so." " Well, I think that if you were to see Lord Cashel and tell him, m your own quiet way, who you are ; that you are rector of Ballindine, and my especial friend ; and that you had come all the way from County Mayo especially to see Miss Wyndham, that you might hear from herself whatever message she had to send to me — if you were to do this, I don't think he would dare to prevent you from seeing her." "If he did, of course I would put it to him that you, who were so long received as Miss Wyndham's accepted swain, were at least entitled to so much consideration at her hands ; and that I must demand so much on your behalf, wouldn't that be it, eh P " " Exactly. I see you understand it, as if you'd been at it all your life ; only don't call me her swain." " Well, I '11 think of another word— her beau." " Tor Heaven's sake, no ! — that 's ten times worse." « Well, her lover ? " " That '3 at any rate English : but say, her accepted husband — i that '11 be true and plain : if you do that I think you will manage to see her, and then — " S60 THE KELLVS and THfi O'ltELLyS. " Well, then— for that 'II be the difficult part." "Oh, when you see her, one simple -word will do: Fanny "Wyndham loves plain dealing. Merely tell her that Lord Ballindine has not changed his mind ; and that ho wishes to hnow from herself, by the mouth of a friend whom he can trust, whether she has changed hers. If she tells you that she has, I would not follow her farther though she were twice as rich as Croesus. I ' tn not hunting her for her money ; but I am deter- mined that Lord Cashel shall not make us both miserable by forcing her into a marriage with his roue of a son." " AVell, Ballindine, I '11 go ; but mind, you must not blame mo if I fail. I '11 do the best I can for you." " Of course I won't. When will you be able to start ? " " Why, I suppose there 's no immediate hurry f " said the parson, remembering that the new suit of clothes must be procured. " Oh, but there is. Kilcullen will be there at once ; and con- sidering how long it is since I saw Fanny — three months, I belieye — no time should be lost." " How long is her brother dead P " " Oh, a month — or very near it." " Well, I '11 go Monday fortnight ; that '11 do, fron't it ? " It was at last agreed that the parson was to start for Grey Abbey on the Monday week following ; that he was to mention to no one where he was going ; that he was to tell his wife that he was going on business he was not allowed to talk about ; — she would be a very meek woman if she rested satisfied with that !— and that he was to present himself at Grey Abbey on the following Wednesday. " And now," said the parson, with some little hesitation, " my difficulty commences. We country rectors are never rich; but when we've nine children, Ballindine, it 's rare to find us witli money in our pockets. Ton must advance me a little cash for the emergencies of tlie road." " My dear fellow ! Of course the expense must be my own. I '11 send you down a note between this and then ; I haven't enough about me now. Or, stay — I '11 give you a cheque," and he turned into the house, and wrote him a cheque for twenty pounds. That '11 get the coat into the bargain, thought the rector, as he rather uncomfortably shufSed the bit of paper into his pocket. He had still a gentleman's dislike to be paid for his services. But- then, Necessity — how stern she is ! He literally could not have gone without it. MR. I.YNcM's I,AST feESOUECi!. iol CHAPTER XXVII. ME. LTNCH's last EESOUECE. On the following morning Lord Ballindine as he had appointed to do, drove over to Dunmore, to settle with Martin about the money, and, if necessary, to go with him to the attorney's office in Tuam. Martin had as yet given Daly no answer respecting Barry Lynch's last proposal ; and though poor An-ty's health made it hardly necessary that any answer should be given, still Lord Ballindine had promised to see the attorney, if Martin thought it necessary. The family were all in great confusion that morning, for Anty was very bad — worse than she had ever been. She was in a paroxysm of fever, was raving in delirium, and in such a state that Martin and his sister were occasionally obliged to hold her in bed. Sally, the old servant, had been in the room for a considerable time during the morning, standing at the foot of the bed with a big tea-pot in her hand, and begging in a wliining voice, from time to time, that " Miss Anty, God bless her, might get a dhrink of tay ! " But, as she had been of no other service, and as the widow thought it as well that she should not hear what Anty said in her raving, she had been desired to go down-stairs, and was sitting over the fire. She had fixed the big tea-pot among the embers, and held a slop-bowl of tea in her lap, discoursing to Nelly, who with her hair somewhat more than ordinarily dishevelled, in token of grief for Anty's illness, was seated on a low stool, nursing a candle- stick. ""Well, Welly," said the prophetic Sally, boding evil in her anger,— for, considering how long she had been in the family, sht) had thought herself entitled to hear Anty's ravings; "mind, I tell you, good won't come of this. The Virgin prothect us from all harum ! — it niver war lucky to have sthrangers dying in the house." "But shure Miss Anty's no stranger." " Faix thin, her words must be sthrange enough when the likes o' me wouldn't be let hear 'em. Not but what I did hear, as how could I help it ? There'U be no good come of it. Who's to be axed to the wake, I'd like to know ? " " Axed to the wake, is it ? Why, sure, won't there be rashiony of atin and lashings of dhrinking ? The misthress isn't the woman to spare, and sich a frind as Miss Anty dead in the house. Let 'em ax whom they like." I'HE KELLYS AND THE KELLTS. " Tou 're a fool, Nelly — Ax whom they like ! — that's asy said. Is they to ax Barry Lynch, or is they to let it alone, and put the sisther into the sod without a word said to him about it ? God be betwixt us and all evil" — and she took a long pull at the slop- bowl ; and, as the liquid flowed down her throat, she gradually threw back her head till the top of her mob cap was flattened against the side of the wide fire-place, and the bowl was turued bottom upwards, so that the half-melted brown sugar might trickle into her mouth. She then gave a long sigh, and repeated that difficult question — " Who is they to ax to the wake ? " It was too much for Nelly to ipiswer : she re-echoed the sigh, and more closely embraced the candlestick. " Besides, Nelly, who '11 have the money when she 's gone P — and slie 's nigh that already, the Blessed Virgin guide and prothect her. Who'll get all her money ? " " Why ; won't Mr. Martin ? Sure, an't they as good as man and wife — all as one ? " " That 's it ; they '11 be lighting and tearing, and tatthering about that money, the two young men will, you '11 see. There '11 be lawyering, an' magisthrate's work — an' factions — an' fighthins at fairs ; an' thin, as in course the Lynches' can't hould their own agm the Kellys, there'll be undherhand blows, an' blood, an' murdher ! — you '11 see else." " Glory be to God," involuntarily prayed Nelly, at the thoughts suggested by Sally's powerful eloquence. " There will, I tell ye," continued Sally, agam draining the tea- pot into the bowl. " Sorrow a lie I'm telling you ; " and then, in a low whisper across the fire, " didn't I see jist now Miss Anty ketch a hould of Misther Martin, as though she 'd niver let him go agin, and bid him for dear mercy's sake have a care of Barry Lynch ? — Shure I knowed what that meant. And thin, didn't he thry and do for herself with his own hands ? Didn't Biddy say she 'd swear she heard him say he 'd do it ? — and av he wouldn't boggle about his own sisther, it 's little he 'd mind what he 'd do to an out an out inemy like Misther Martin." " Wam't that a knock at the hall-door, Sally ? " " Eun and see, girl ; may-be it 's the docthor back again ; onij mostly he don't mind knocking much." Nelly went to the door, and opened it to Lord Ballindine, who had left his gig in charge of his servant. He asked for Martin, who in a short time, joined him in the parlour. " This is a dangerous place for your lordship, now," said he : " the fever is so bad in the house. Thank God, nobody seems to have taken it yet, but there 's no knowing." sm. lVnch's last KESOUECE. 253 " Is sbe still so bad, Martin ? " " Worse than iver, a dale worse ; I don't think it '11 last lona, now : another bout such as this last '11 about finish it. But I Vson't keep your lordship. I 've managed about the money ; " — and the necessary writing was gone through, and the cash was handed to Lord Ballindine. " You've given over all thoughts then, about Lynch's offer — eh, Martin ?- — I suppose you 've done with all that, now ? " " Quite done with it, my lord ; and done with fortune-hunting too. I've seen enough this last time back to cure me altogether — at laist, I hope so." " She doesn't mean to make any will, then ? " " Why, she wishes to make one, but I doubt whether she '11 ever be able ; " and then Martin gave his landlord an account ol all that Auty had said about her will, her wishes as to the property, her desire to leave something to him (Martin) and his sisters ;. and last he repeated the strong injunctions which Anty had given him respecting her poor brother, and her assurance, so full ot affection, that had she lived she would have done her best to make Jiim happy as her husband. Lord Ballindine was greatly affected ; he warmly shook hands with Martin, told him how highly he thought of his conduct, and begged him to take care that Anty had the gratification of making her will as she had desired to do. " Tlie fact," Lord Ballindine said, " of your being named in the will as her executor will give Tou more control over Barry than anything else could do." He then proposed at once to go, himself, to Tuam, and explain to Daly what it was Miss Lynch wished him to do. This Lord Ballindine did, and the next day the will was completed. Por a week or ten days Anty remained in much the same con- dition. After each attack of fever it was expected that she would perish from weakness and exhaustion ; but she still held on, and then the fever abated, and Doctor CoUigan thought that it was possible she might recover : she was, however, so dreadfully emaciated and worn out, there was so little vitality left in her, that he would not encourage more than the faintest hope. Anty herself was too weak either to hope or fear ; — and the women of the family, who from continual attendance knew how very near to death she was, would hardly allow themselves to think that she could recover. There were two persons, however, who from the moment of her amendment felt an inward sure conviction of her convalescence. They were Martin and Barry. To the former this feeling was of course one of unalloyed delight. He went over to Kelly'* Courl^ a54 THE KELLtS AND THE O'KELLITS. »nd spoke there of his betrothed as tliough she were already flitting up and eating mutton chops ; was congratulated by the young ladies on his approaching nuptials, and sauntered round the kelly's Court shrubberies with Frank, talking over his future prospects ; asking advice about this and that, and propounding the pros and cons on that difficult question, whether he would live at Dunmore, or build a house at Toneroe for himself and Anty. With Barry, however, the feeling was very different : he was agaia going to have his property wrenched from him ; he was again to Buffer the pangs he had endured, when first he learned the purport of his father's will ; after clutching the fruit for which he had striven, as even he himself felt, so basely, it was again to be torn from him so cruelly. He had been horribly anxious for a termination to Anty'a Bufferings ; horribly impatient to feel himself possessor of the whole. Prom day to day, and sometimes two or three times a day, he had seen Dr. Colligan, and inquired how things were going on : he had especially enjoined that worthy man to come up after his morning call at the inn, and get a glass of sherry at Dunmore House ; and the doctor had very generally done so. For some time Barry endeavoured to throw the veil of brotherly regard over the true source of his anxiety ; but the veil was much too thin to hide what it hardly covered, and Barry, as he got intimate with the doctor, all but withdrew it altogether. When Barry would say, " Well, doctor, how is she to-day ? " and then remark, in answer to the doctor's statement that she was very bad — " Well, I suppose it can't last much longer ; but it 's very tedious, isn't it, poor thing ?" it was plain enough that the brother was not longing for the sister's recovery. And then be would go % little further, and remark that " if the poor thing was to go^ it fvould be better for aU she went at once," and expressed an opinion that he was rather Hi-treated by being kept so very long in suspense. Doctor Colligan ought to have been shocked at this; and so he was, at first, to a certain extent, but he was not a man of a very high tone of feeling. He had so often heard of helra to estates longing for the death of the proprietors of them ; he had so often seen relatives callous and indifferent at the loss of those who ought to have been dear to them ; it seemed so natural to him that Barry should want the estate, that he gradually got accustomed to his impatient inquiries, and listened to, and answered them, without disgust. He fell too into a kind of intimacy with Barry ; he liked his daily glass, or three or four glasses, of sherry; and besides, it was a good thing for him to stand well in a professionai ME. LTNCh'S last RESOURCE. 256 point of view witli a man who had the best house in tho Tillagei, and who would soon have eight hundred a-year. If Barry showed his impatience and discontent as long as the daily bulletins told him that Anty was stili alive, though dying, it may easily be imagined that he did not hide his displeasure when he first heard that she was alive and better. His brow grew very bir.ck, his cheeks flashed, the drops of sweat stood on his forehead, and he said, speaking through his closed teeth, " D it, doctor, you don't mean to tell me she's recovering now?" " I don't say, Mr. Lynch, whether she is or no ; but it 's certain the fever has left her. She 's very weak, very weak indeed ; I never knew a person to be alive and have less life in 'em ; but the fever has left her and there certainly is hope." " Hope !" said Barry — " why, you told me she couldn't live ! " " I don't say she will, Mr. Lynch, but I say she may. Of course we m.ust do what we can for her," and the doctor took his sherry and went his way. How horrible then was the state of Barry's mind ! For a time he was absolutely stupified with despair ; he stood fixed on the spot where the doctor had left him, realising, bringing home to himself, the tidings which he had heard. His sister to rise again, as though it were from the dead, to push him off' his stool ! Was he to fall again into that horrid low abyss in which even the Tuam attorney had scorned him ; in which he had even invited that odious huxter's son to marry his sister and live in his house r What ! was he again to be reduced vo poverty, to want, to despair, by her whom he so hated ? Could nothing be done P^Something must be done — she should not be, could not be allowed to leave that bed of sickness alive. " There must be an end of her," he muttered through his teeth, " or she '11 drive me mad ! " And then he thought how easily he might have smothered her, as she lay there clasping his hand, with no one but themselves in the room ; and as the thought crossed his brain his eyes nearly started from his head, the sweat ran down his face, he clutched the money in his trousers' pocket till the coin left an impression on his flesh, and he gnashed his teeth till his jaws ached with his own violence. But then, in that sick-room, he had been afraid of her ; he could not have touched her then for the wealth of the Bank of England ! — but now ! The devil sat within him, and revelled with full dominion over bis soul : there was then no feeling left akin to humanity to give him one chance of escape ; there was no glimmer of pity, no ahadow of remorse, no sparkle of lo?e, even though of a degraded kj«d ; no hesitation in the will for prime, ^vhich might yet, by 256 THE KELLYS AND THE O'KELLYS, God's grace, lead to its eschewal: all there was black, foul, and deadly, ready for the devil's deadliest work. Murder crouched there, ready to spring, yet afraid ; — cowardly, but too thirsty aftei blood to heed its own fears. Tbeft, — low, pilfering, pettifogging, theft ; avarice, lust, and impotent, scalding hatred. Controlled by these the black blood rushed quict%) and from his heart, filling him with sensual desires below the passions of a brute, but denying him one feeling or one appetite for aught that was good or even human. Again tlie next morniog the doctor was questioned with intense anxiety ; " Was she going ? — was she drooping ?• — had yesterday's horrid doubts raised only a false alarm f " It was utterly beyond Barry's power to make any attempt at concealment, even of the most shallow kind. " Well, doctor, is she dying yet ? " was the brutal question he put. " She is, if anything, rather stronger ; " answered the doctor, shuddering involuntarily at the open expression of Barry's atrocious wish, and yet taking his glass of wine. " The devil she is ! " muttered ]?arry, throwing himself into an arm-chair. He sat there some little time, and the doctor also sat down, said nothing, but continued sipping his wine. " In the name of mercy, what must I do ?" said Barry, speaking more to himself than to the other. " Why, you 'vo enough, Mr. Lynch, without hers ; you can do well enough without it." " Enough ! "W'^ould you think you had enough if you were robbed of more than half of all you have. Half, indeed," he shouted — " I may say all, at once. I don't believe there 's a man in Ireland would bear it. Nor will I." Again there was a silence ; but still, somehow, Colligan seemed to stay longer than usual. Every now and then Barry would for a moment look full in his face, and almost instantly drop his eyes again. He was trying to mature future plans ; bringing into shape thoughts wliich had occurred to him, in a wild way at different times ; proposing to himself schemes, with which his brain had been long loaded, but which he had never resolved on, — which he had never made palpable and definite. One thing he found sure and certain ; on one point he was able to become determined : he could not do it alone ; he must have an assistant ; he must buy some one's aid ; and again he looked at Colligan, and again his eyes fell. There was no encouragement there, but there was no discouragement. Why did he stay there so long ? Why did he BO slowly sip that third glass of wine ? Was he waiting to be aaked? was he ready, willing, to be bought? There must be ME. LYNCH S LAST KESOUECE. 25? Btrmething in his thoughts — he must have some reason for sitting there so long, and so silent, without speaking a word, or taking his eyes off the fire. Barry had all but made up his mind to ask the aid he wanted ; but he felt that he was not prepared to do so — that he should Boon quiver and shake, that he could not then carry it through. He felt that he wanted spirit to undertake his own part in the business, much less to inspire another with the will to assist him in it. At last he rose abruptly from his chair, and said, " Will you dine with me to-day, Colligan ? — I 'm so down iu the mouth, so deucedly hipped, it will be a charity." " Well," said Colligan, " I don't care if I do. I must go down to your sister in the evening, and I shall be near her here." " Tes, of course ; you '11 be near her here, as you say : come at six, then. By the bye, couldn't you go to Anty first, so that we won't be disturbed over our punch." " I must see her the last thing, — about nine, but I can look up again afterwards, for a minute or so. I don't stay long with her now : it 's better not." " Well, then, you '11 be here at six ? " " Yes, six sharp ; " and at last the doctor got up and went away. It was odd that Doctor Colligan should have sat thus lono-; "it showed a great want of character and of good feeling in him. He should never have become intimate, or even have put up with a man expressing such wishes as those which so often fell from Barry's lips. But he was entirely innocent of the thoughts which Barry attributed to him. It had never even occurred to him that Barry, bad as ho was, would ~svish to murder his sister. No ; bad, heedless, sensual as Doctor CoUigan might be, Barry was a thousand fathoms deeper in iniquity than he. As soon as he had left the room the other uttered a long, deep sigli. It was a great relief to him to be alone : he could now collect his thoughts, mature his plans, and finally determine. Ho took his usual remedy in his difficulties, a glass of brandy ; and, goiug out into the garden, walked up and down, the gravel walk | almost unconsciously, for above an hour. Yes : he would do it. He would not be a coward. The thing \ had been done a thousand times before. Hadn't he heard of ', it over and over again ? Besides, ColHgan's manner was an assurance to him that he would not boggle at such a job. But then, of course, he must be paid — and Barry began to calculate how much he must ofi'er for the service ; and, when the service Bhould be performed, how he might avoid the fulfilment of his portion of the bargain. THE MELLYS AND. THE O'KELLTg. He went in and ordered the dinner ; filled the spirit decanters, opened a couple of bottles of wine, and then walked out again. In giving his orders, and doing the various little things with whicli he had to keep himself employed, everj-body, and every- thing seemed strange to him. He hardly knew what he was about, and felt almost as though he were in a dream. He had quite made up his mind as to what he would do ; his resolution was fixed to carry it through but : — still there was the but, — how was he to open it to Doctor Colligan ? He walked up and down the gravel path for a long time, thinking of this ; or rather trying to think of it, for his thoughts would fly away to all manner of other subjects, and he continually found himself harping upon some trifle, connected with Anty, but wholly irrespective of her death ; some little thing that she had done for him, or ought to have done ; something she had said a long time ago, and which he had never thought of till now ; something she had worn, and which at the time he did not even know that he had observed ; and as often as he found his mind thus wandering, he would start off at a quicker pace, and again endeavour to lay out a line of conduct for the evenmg. At last, however, he came to the conclusion that it would be better to trust to the chapter of chances : there was one thing, or rather two things, he could certainly do : he could make the doctor half drunk before he opened on the subject, and he would take care to be in the same state himself. So he walked in and sat still before the fire, for the two long remaining hours, which intervened before the clock struck six. It was about noon when the doctor left him, and during those six long solitary hours no one feeling of remorse had entered his breast. He had often doubted, hesitated as to the practicability of his present plan, but not once had he made the faintest effort to overcome the wish to have the deed done. There was not one moment in which he would not most willingly have had his sister's blood upon his hands, upon his brain, upon his soul; could he have willed and accomplished her death, without making himself liable to the penalties of the law. At length Doctor Colligan came, and Barry made a great effort to appear unconcerned and in good humour. " And how ia she now, doctor?" he said, as they sat down to table, " Is it Anty ? — why, you know I didn't mean to see her since I was here this morning, till nine o'clock." " Oh, true ; so you were saying. I forgot. Well, will you 9l glass of wine ? " — and Barry filled his pwn glass quite hi\. MR. LYNCH g LAST EESOURCE. 259 He draai his wine at dinner like o glutton, who bad only a short time allowed him, and wished during that time to swallow as much as possible ; and he tried to hurry his companion in t-Ira same manner. But the doctor didn't choose to have wine forced down his throat ; he wished to enjoy himself, and remonstrated against Barry's violent hospitality. At last, dinner was over; the things were taken away, they both drew their chairs over the fire, and began the business of the evening — the making and consumption of punch. Barry had determined to begin upon the subject which lay so near his heart, at eight o'clock. He had thought it better to fix an exact hour, and had calculated that the whole matter might be completed before CoUigan went over to the inn. He kept continually looking at his watch, and gulping down his drink, and thinking over and over again how he would begin the conversation. "You're very comfortable here. Lynch," said the doctor, stretching his long legs before the fire, and putting his dirty boots upon the fender. " Tes, indeed," said Barry, not knowing what the other was saying. "All you want 's a wife, and you 'd have as warm a house as there is in Galway. Tou '11 be marrying soon, I suppose ? " " Well, I wouldn't wonder if I did. Tou don't take your punch ; there 's brandy there, if you like it better than whiskey." " This is very good, thank you — couldn't be better. Tou haven't much land in your own hands, have you ? " " Why, no — I don't think I have. What 's that you 're saying? — land? — No, not much: if there's a thing I hate, it's farming." "Well, upon my word you're wrong. I don't see what else a gentleman has to do in the country. I wish to goodness I could give up the gallipots and farm a few acres of my own land. 'There 's nothing I wish so much as to get a bit of land : indeed, I 've been looking out for it, but it's so difficult to get." Up to this, Barry had hardly listened to what the doctor had been saying ; but now he was ail attention. " So that is to be his price," thought he to himself; " he '11 cost me dear, but I suppose he must have it." Barry looked at his watch : it was near eight o'clock, but he seemed to feel that aU he had drank had had no effect on him : it bad not given him the usual pluck ; it had not given him the feel- ing of reckless assurance, which he mistook for courage and capacity. " If you 'vf a niind to be a tenant of mine, CoUigan, I 'U keep look out for vQu. The land 'a crowded now, but there 's a lot 260 THE KELLTS AND THE O KELLYS. cf them cottier devils I mean to send to the right about. TI107 do the estate no good, and I hate the sight of them. But you know how the property's placed, and while Anty's in thia wretched state, of course I can do nothing." "Will you bear it in mind though. Lynch? When a bit of land does fall into your hands, I should be glad to be your tenant. I 'm quite in earnest, and should take it as a great favour." " I '11 not forget it ; " and then he remained silent for a minute. What an opportunity this was for him to lose! Colligan so evidently wished to be bribed — so clearly showed what the price was which was to purchase him. But still he could not ask the fatal question. Again he sat silent for a while, till he looked at his watch, ana found it was a quarter past eight. "Never fear," he said, referring to the farm ; " you shall have it, and it shall not be the worst land on the estate that I '11 give you, you may be sure ; for, upon my soul, I have a gi-eat regard for you ; I have indeed.'' The doctor thanked him for hig good opinion. " Oh ! I 'm not blarneying you ; upon my soul I 'm not ; that 's not the way with me at all ; and when you know me better you 'il say so, — and you may be sure you shall have the farm by Michael- mas." And then, in a voice which he tried to make as uncon- cerned as possible, he continued : " By the bye, Colligan, when do you think this affair of Anty's -will be over r It 's the devil and all for a man not to know when he '11 be his own master." " Oh, you mustn't calculate on your sister's property at ail naw," said the other, in an altered voice. I tell you it 's very pio- bable she may recover." This again silenced Barry, and he let the time go b}', till tho doctor took up his hat, to go down to his patient. " Ton '11 not be long, I suppose ? " said Barry. " WeU, it 's getting late," said ColUgan, " and I don't think I '11 be coming back to-night." "Oh, but you will; indeed, you must. You promised you would, you know, and I want to hear how she goes on." " W ell, I '11 just come up, but I won't stay, for I promised Mrs. CoEigan to be home early." This was always the doctor's excuse when he wished to get away. He never allowed his domestic promises to draw him home when there was anything to induce pim to stay abroad ; but, to tell the truth, he was getting rather sick of his companion. The doctor took his hat, and went to hia patient. " He '11 not be above ten minutes or at any rate a quarter of 5P hour." thought Barry, "apd then I must do it. How Im MB. LYNCH S LAST EESOUEOK. £8] S'loked it all in about the farm ! — that 's the trap, certairjj'," And lie stood leaning with his back against the mantel-piece, and his coat-laps hanging over his arm, waiting for and yet faaring, the iDciiieut of the doctor's return. It seemed an age since he went. Eiirrj looked at his watch almost every minute : it was twenty niiimtea past nine, five-ind-twenty — thirty — forty — three 'quarters of an hour — "By Heaven!" said he, '' the man is not coming! he is going to desert mo — and 1 shall be ruined ! Why the deuce didn't I speak out when the man was here! " At last his ear caught the sound of the doctor's heavy foot on the gravel outside the door, and immediately afterwards the door bell was rung. Barry hastily poured out a glass of raw spirits and swallowed it ; he then threw himself into his chair, and Doctor Colligan again entered the room. " \V'^Liat a time you've been, Colligan! Why I thought yoa weren't coming all night. Now, Terry, some hot water, and mind you look sharp about it. Well, how 's Anty to-night ? " " Weak, very weak ; but mending, I think. The disease won't kill her now; the only thing is whether the cure will." " Well, doctor, you can't expect me to be very anxious about it : unfortunately, we had never any reason to be proud of Anty, and it would be humbug in me to pretend that I wish she should recover, to rob me of what you know I 've every right to con- sider my own." Terry brought the hot water in, and left the room. " Well, I can't say you do appear very ansious about it. I 'U just swallow one dandy of punch, and then I '11 get home. I 'm later now than I meant to be." '■■ Nonsense, man. The idea of your being in a hurry, when everybody knows that a doctor can never tell how long he may be kept in a sick room ! But come now, tell the truth ; put yourself in my condition, and do you mean to say you 'd be very anxious that Anty should recover ? — Would you like your own sister to rise from her death-bed to rob you of everything you have? For, by Heaven ! it is robbery — nothing less. She's so stiff- necked that there 's no making any arrangement with her. I 've tried everything, fair means and foul, and nothing '11 do but she must go aud marry that low young Kelly— so immeasurably beneath her, you know, and of course only scheming for her money. Put yourself in my place, I say ; and tell me fairly whaG your own wishes would be ? " " I was always very fond of my brothers and sisters," answered the doctor; "and we couldn't well rol? each other, for iione of ua bad a penny to lose," 262 THE KELLYg AND THE O KELLTS. " That 's a different thing ; but just supposing you were exactly in my shoes at this moment, do you mean to tell me that you 'd be glad she should get well ? — that you 'd be glad she should be able to deprive you of your property, disgrace your family, drive you from your own house, and make your life miserable for evej- after ? " "Upon my soul I can't say ; but good night now, you're get- ting excited, and I 've finished my drop of punch." " Ah ! nonsense, man, sit down. I 've something in earnest I want to say to you," and Barry got up and prevented the doctor from leaving the room. Colligan had gone so far as to put on his hat and great coat, and now sat down again without taking them off. " Tou and I, Colligan, are men of the world, and too wide awake for all the old woman's nonsense people talk. What can I, or what could you in my place, care for a half-cracked old maid like Anty, who 's better dead than alive, for her own sake and eve;/- body's else ; unless it is some scheming ruffian like young Keliy there, who wants to make money by her ? " " I 'm not asking you to care for her ; only, if those are your ideas, it's as well not to talk about them for appearance sake." "Appearance sake ! There 's nothing makes me so sick, as for two men like you and me, who know what 's what, to be talking about appearance sake, like two confounded parsons, whose business it is to humbug everybody, and themselves into the bargain. I'll tell you what : had my father — bad luck to him for an old rogue, — not made such a will as he did, I 'd 've treated Anty as well as any parson of 'em all would treat an old maid of a sister ; but I 'm not going to have her put over my head this way. Come, doctor, confound all humbug. I say it openly to you — to please me, Anty must never come out of that bed alive." "As if your wishes could make any difference. If it is to be so, she'll die, poor creature, without your saying so much about it, but may-be, and it 's very likely too, she '11 be alive and strong, after the two of us are under the sod." " Well ; if it must be so, it must ; but what I wanted to say to you is this : while you were away, I was thinking about what you said of the farm — of being a tenant of mine, you know." " We can talk about that another time," said the doctor, who began to feel an excessive wish to be out of the hous."?. "There's no time like the present, when I've got it in my mind ; and, if you '11 wait, I can settle it all for you to-night. 1 was telling you that I hate farming, and so i do. There !