"Oh, Father John, I won't promise that."

"Will you tell me, then, or Mrs. McKeon?"

"Oh, perhaps I'll be telling you, you know, when I come down to confession at Christmas; but indeed I shan't be telling Mrs. McKeon anything about it, to go talking over the counthry."

"Then, Feemy, I may as well tell you at once—if you will not trust to me, to your brother, or any friend who may be able to protect you from insult—nor prevail on your lover to come forward in a decent and respectable way, and avow his purpose—it will become your brother's duty to tell him that his visits can no longer be allowed at Ballycloran."

"Ballycloran doesn't belong to Thady, and he can't tell him not to come."

"That's not well said of you, Feemy; for you know your father is not capable of interfering in this business; but if, as under those circumstances he will do, Thady quietly and firmly desires Captain Ussher to stay away from Ballycloran, I think he'll not venture to come here. If he does, there are those who will still interfere to prevent him."

"And if among you all, that are so set up against him because he's not one of your own set, you dhrive him out of Ballycloran, I can tell you, I'll not remain in it!"

"Then your sins and your sorrows must be on your own head!"

And without saying anything further, Father John took his hat, and walked off. Feemy snatched her novel into her lap, to show how little what was said impressed her, and resumed her attitude over the fire. But she didn't read; her spirit was stubborn and wouldn't bend, but her reason and her conscience were touched by what the priest had said to her, and the bitter thought for the first time came over her, that her lover, perhaps, was not so true to her, as she to him. There she sat, sorrowfully musing; and though she did not repent of what she thought her own firmness, she was bitterly tormented by the doubts with which her brother, Mary Brady, and the priest, had gradually disturbed her happiness.

She loved Ussher as well as ever—yes, almost more than ever, as the idea that she might perhaps lose him came across her—but she began to be discontented with herself, and to think that she had not played her part as well as she might. In fact, she felt herself to be miserable, and, for the time, hated her brother and Father John for having made her so.

Father John walked sorrowfully back to his cottage, thinking Miss Feemy Macdermot the most stiff-necked young lady it had ever been his hard lot to meet.



CHAPTER IX.

MOHILL.

We must now request our reader to accompany us to the little town of Mohill; not that there is anything attractive in the place to repay him for the trouble of going there.

Mohill is a small country town, standing on no high road, nor on any thoroughfare from the metropolis; and therefore it owes to itself whatever importance it may possess—and, in truth, that is not much. It is, or, at any rate, was, at the time of which we are writing, the picture of an impoverished town—the property of a non-resident landlord—destitute of anything to give it interest or prosperity—without business, without trade, and without society. The idea that would strike one on entering it was chiefly this: "Why was it a town at all?—why were there, on that spot, so many houses congregated, called Mohill?—what was the inducement to people to come and live there?—Why didn't they go to Longford, to Cavan, to Carrick, to Dublin,—anywhere rather than there, when they were going to settle themselves?" This is a question which proposes itself at the sight of many Irish towns; they look so poor, so destitute of advantage, so unfriended. Mohill is by no means the only town in the west of Ireland, that strikes one as being there without a cause.

It is built on the side of a steep hill, and one part of the town seems constantly threatening the destruction of the other. Every now and again, down each side of the hill, there is a slated house, but they are few and far between; and the long spaces intervening are filled with the most miserable descriptions of cabins—hovels without chimneys, windows, door, or signs of humanity, except the children playing on the collected filth in front of them. The very scraughs of which the roofs are composed are germinating afresh, and, sickly green with a new growth, look more like the tops of long-neglected dungheaps, than the only protection over Christian beings from the winds of heaven.

Look at that mud hovel on the left, which seems as if it had thrust itself between its neighbours, so narrow is its front! The doorway, all insufficient as it is, takes nearly the whole facing to the street. The roof, looking as if it were only the dirty eaves hanging from its more aspiring neighbour on the right, supports itself against the cabin on the left, about three feet above the ground. Can that be the habitation of any of the human race? Few but such as those whose lot has fallen on such barren places would venture in; but for a moment let us see what is there.

But the dark misery within hides itself in thick obscurity. The unaccustomed eye is at first unable to distinguish any object, and only feels the painful effect of the confined smoke; but when, at length, a faint, struggling light makes its way through the entrance, how wretched is all around!

A sickly woman, the entangled nature of whose insufficient garments would defy description, is sitting on a low stool before the fire, suckling a miserably dirty infant; a boy, whose only covering is a tattered shirt, is putting fresh, but, alas, damp turf beneath the pot in which are put to boil the potatoes—their only food. Two or three dim children—their number is lost in their obscurity—are cowering round the dull, dark fire, atop of one another; and on a miserable pallet beyond—a few rotten boards, propped upon equally infirm supports, and covered over with only one thin black quilt—is sitting the master of the mansion; his grizzly, unshorn beard, his lantern jaws and shaggy hair, are such as his home and family would lead one to expect. And now you have counted all that this man possesses; other furniture has he none—neither table nor chair, except that low stool on which his wife is sitting. Squatting on the ground—from off the ground, like pigs, only much more poorly fed—his children eat the scanty earnings of his continual labour.

And yet for this abode the man pays rent.

The miserable appearance of Irish peasants, when in the very lowest poverty, strikes one more forcibly in the towns than in the open country. The dirt and filth around them seems so much more oppressive on them; they have no escape from it. There is much also in ideas and associations. On a road-side, or on the borders of a bog, the dusty colour of the cabin walls, the potato patch around it, the green scraughs or damp brown straw which form its roof, all the appurtenances, in fact, of the cabin, seem suited to the things around it. But in a town this is not so. It evidently should not be there—its squalidness and filth are all that strike you. Poverty, to be picturesque, should be rural. Suburban misery is as hideous as it is pitiable.

Again, see that big house, with such pretensions to comfort, and even elegance,—with its neat slated roof, brass knocker on the door, verandahs to the large sashed windows, and iron railing before the front. Its very grandeur is much more striking, that from each gable-end hangs another cabin, the same as those we have above described. It is true that an entrance for horses, cars, and carriages has been constructed, as it were through one end of the house itself; otherwise the mansion is but one house in the continuous street.

Here lives Mr. Cassidy, the agent; a fat, good-natured, easy man, with an active grown up son. Every one says that Mr. Cassidy is a good man, as good to the poor as he can be. But he is not the landlord, he is only the agent. What can he do more than he does? Is the landlord then so hard a man? so regardless of those who depend on him in all their wants and miseries? No, indeed; Lord Birmingham is also a kind, good man, a most charitable man! Look at his name on all the lists of gifts for unfortunates of every description. Is he not the presiding genius of the company for relieving the Poles? a vice-presiding genius for relieving destitute authors, destitute actors, destitute clergymen's widows, destitute half-pay officers' widows? Is he not patron of the Mendicity Society, patron of the Lying-in, Small Pox, Lock, and Fever Hospitals? Is his name not down for large amounts in aid of funds of every description for lessening human wants and pangs? How conspicuous and eager a part too he took in giving the poor Blacks their liberty! was not his aid strongly and gratefully felt by the friends of Catholic emancipation? In short, is not every one aware that Lord Birmingham has spent a long and brilliant life in acts of public and private philanthropy? 'Tis true he lives in England, was rarely in his life in Ireland, never in Mohill. Could he be blamed for this? Could he live in two countries at once? or would the world have been benefited had he left the Parliament and the Cabinet, to whitewash Irish cabins, and assist in the distribution of meal?

This would be his own excuse, and does it not seem a valid one? Yet shall no one be blamed for the misery which belonged to him; for the squalid sources of the wealth with which Poles were fed, and literary paupers clothed? Was no one answerable for the grim despair of that half-starved wretch, whom but now we saw, looking down so sadly on the young sufferers to whom he had given life and poverty? That can hardly be. And if we feel the difficulty which, among his numerous philanthropic works, Lord Birmingham must experience in attending to the state of his numerous dependents, it only makes us reflect more often, that from him to whom much is given, much indeed will be required!

But we are getting far from our story. Going a little further down the hill, there is a lane to the right. This always was a dirty, ill-conditioned lane, of bad repute and habits. Father Mathew and the rigour of the police have of late somewhat mended its manners and morals. Here too one now sees, but a short way from the main street, the grand new stirring poor-house, which ten years ago was not in being.

In this lane at the time to which we allude the widow Mulready kept the shebeen shop, of which mention has before been made.

In her business Mrs. Mulready acquired much more profit than respectability, for, whether well or ill-deserved, she had but a bad name in the country; in spite of this, however, to the company assembled here on Wednesday evening,—the same evening that Thady dined with Father John,—we must introduce our readers.

The house, or rather cabin, consisted only of two rooms, both on the ground, and both without flooring or ceiling; the black rafters on which the thatch was lying was above, and the uneven soil below; still this place of entertainment was not like the cabins of the very poor: the rooms were both long, and as they ran lengthways down the street, each was the full breadth of the house: in the first sat the widow Mulready, a strong, red-faced, indomitable-looking woman about fifty. She sat on a large wooden seat with a back, capable of containing two persons; there was an immense blazing fire of turf, on which water was boiling in a great potato pot, should any of her guests be able to treat themselves to the expensive luxury of punch. A remarkably dirty small deal table was beside her, on which were placed a large jar, containing a quantity of the only merchandize in which she dealt, and an old battered pewter measure, in which she gave it out; in a corner of the table away from the fire was cut a hole through the board, in which was stuck a small flickering candle. No further implements appeared necessary to Mrs. Mulready in the business which she conducted. A barefooted girl, with unwashed hands and face, and unbrushed head, crouched in the corner of the fire, ready to obey the behests of Mrs. Mulready, and attend to the numerous calls of her customers. This Hebe rejoiced in the musical name of Kathleen.

The Mohill resort of the wicked, the desperate, and the drunken, was not certainly so grand, nor so conspicuous, as the gas-lighted, mahogany fitted, pilastered gin palaces of London; but the freedom from decent restraint, and the power of inebriety at a cheap rate, were the same in each.

There was a door at the further end of the room, which opened into the one where Mrs. Mulready's more known and regular visitors were accustomed to sit and drink, and here rumour said a Ribon lodge was held; there was a fire also here, at the further end, and a long narrow table ran nearly the whole length of the room under the two windows, with a form on each side of it. Opposite this was Mrs. Mulready's own bed, which proved that whatever improprieties might be perpetrated in the house, the careful widow herself never retired to rest till they were all over.

The assembly on the night in question was not very numerous; there might be about twelve in it, and they all were of the poorer kind; some even had neither shoes or stockings, and there was one poor fellow had neither hat nor coat,—nothing but a tattered shirt and trousers.

The most decent among them all was Pat Brady, who occupied a comfortable seat near the fire, drinking his tumbler of punch and smoking like a gentleman; Joe Reynolds was sitting on the widow's bed, with a spade in his hand; he had only just come in. They were all from Drumleesh, with one or two exceptions; the man without the coat was Jack Byrne, the brother of the man whom Captain Ussher had taken when the malt was found in his brother-in-law's house.

"Kathleen, agra," hallooed Joe Reynolds, "bring me a glass of sperrits, will you?"

"Send out the rint, Joe," hallooed out the wary widow, and Kathleen came in for the money.

"Sorrow to your sowl then, mother Mulready; d'ye think I'm so bad already then, that they haven't left me the price of a glass?" and he put three halfpence into the girl's hand.

"Oh, Joe," said Brady, "don't be taking your sperrits that way; come over here, like a dacent fellow, and we'll be talking over this."

"Oh, that's all right for you, Pat; you've nothing to be dhriving the life out of yer very heart. I am cowld within me, and divil a word I'll spake, till I dhriv it out of me with the sperrits," and he poured the glass of whiskey down his throat, as though he was pouring it into a pitcher. "And now, my boys, you'll see Joe Reynolds 'll talk may be as well as any of you. Give us a draw of the pipe, Pat."

He took the pipe from Pat's hand, and stuck it in his mouth.

"Well, Jack, I see'd your brother in Carrick; and I towld him how you'd done all you could for him, and pawned the clothes off your back to scrape the few shillings together for him; and what d'ye think he'd have me do then? why he towld me to take the money to Hyacinth Keegan, Esq., jist to stand to him and get him off. Why he couldn't do it, not av he was to give his sowl—and that's not his own to give, for the divil has it; and av he could, he wouldn't walk across Carrick to do them a good turn—though, by Jasus, he'd be quick enough pocketing the brads. Begad, Jack, and it's cowld you're looking without the frieze; come and warm your shins, my boy, and take a draw out of Pat's pipe."

"And Joe," said Pat, "what magisthrates war there in it?"

"Why, there war Sir Michael, and Counsellor Webb, and there war that black ruffian Jonas Brown."

"And they jist sent him back to gaol agin, Joe?"

"No, they didn't! Counsellor Webb stuck to the boys hard and fast, while he could; both his own boys and poor Tim; and that he may never sup sorrow; for he proved hisself this day the raal friend to the poor man—"

"But it war all no good in the end?"

"Divil a good. That thief of the world, old Brown, after axing Ussher a sight of questions, was sthrong for sending 'em back; and then Counsellor Webb axed Ussher how he could prove that the boys knew the stuff was in it; and he, the black-hearted viper, said, that warn't necessary, so long as they war in the same house; and then they jawed it out ever so long, and Ussher said as how the whole counthry through war worse than ever with the stills; and Counsellor Webb said that war the fault of the landlords; and Brown said, he hoped they'd take every mother's son of 'em as they could lay hands on in the counthry, and bring 'em there; and so they jawed it out a long while; and then, Sir Michael, who'd niver said a word at all, good, bad, or indifferent, said, as how Paddy Byrne and Smith war to pay each twenty pounds, and Tim ten, or else to go to gaol as long as the bloody owld barrister chose to keep 'em there."

"Jack," said one of the others, "did Paddy, d'y remimber, happen to have an odd twenty pound in his breeches pocket? becase av so, he might jist put it down genteel, and walk out afore thim all."

"Well, then, Corney," answered Jack, with Pat Brady's pipe in his mouth, "av Paddy had sich a thrifle about then, I disremember it entirely; but shure, why wouldn't he? He'd hardly be so far as Carrick, in sich good company too, without a little change in his pocket."

"But to go and put twenty pound on them boys!" observed the more earnest Joe; "the like of them to be getting twenty pounds! mightn't he as well have said twenty thousand? and tin pounds on Tim too! More power to you, Jonas Brown; tin pounds for a poor boy's warming his shins, and gagging over an owld hag's bit of turf!"

"But Joe," said Brady, "is it in Carrick they're to stop?"

"Not at all; they're to go over to the Bridewell in Ballinamore. Captain Greenough was there. A lot of his men is to take them to Ballinamore to-morrow; unless indeed, they all has the thrifle of change in their pockets, Corney was axing about."

"And supposing now, Joe," said Jack, "the boys paid the money, or some of the gentlemen put it down for 'em; who'd be getting it?"

"Sorrow a one of me rightly knows. Who would be getting the brads, Pat, av they war paid?"

"Who'd be getting 'em? why, who would have 'em but Masther Ussher? D'ye think he'd be so keen afther the stills, av he war not to make something by it? where d'ye think he'd be making out the hunters, and living there better nor the gentlemen themselves, av he didn't be getting the fines, and rewards, and things, for sazing the whiskey?"

"Choke him for fines!" said Jack; "that the gay horse he rides might break the wicked neck of him!"

"Sorrow a good is there in cursing, boys," continued Joe. "Av there war any of you really'd have the heart to be doing anything!"

"What'd we be doing, Joe? kicking our toes agin Carrick Gaol, till the police comed and spiked us? The boys is now in gaol, and there they're like to be, for anything we'll do to get 'em out again."

Joe Reynolds was now puzzled a little, so he fumbled in his pockets, and bringing out another three halfpence, hallooed to Kathleen.

"Kathleen, d'ye hear, ye young divil's imp! bring me another half noggin of speerits," and he gave her the halfpence; "and here, bring a glass for Jack too."

"Sind out the rint, Joe, my darling," again bawled the widow, proving that very little said in the inner room was lost upon her.

"Oh, sink you and your rint, you owld hag!" but he paid for the glass for his friend; "and may I be d——d if they aint the very last coppers I've got."

"Long life to you, Joe," said the other, as he swallowed the raw whiskey; "may be I'll be able to stand to you, the same way, some of these days, bad as things is yet. You is all to be up at Ballycloran afther to-morrow, with the rints, eh Brady? What'll you be saying to the young Masther, Joe?"

Joe was now somewhat elated by the second glass of whiskey.

"What 'll I be saying to him, is it? well I'll tell you what I'll be saying. I'll just say this—'I owes two years' rint, Misther Macdermot, for the thrifle of bog, and the cabin I holds up at Drumleesh, and there's what I got to pay it!' And I'll show him what he may put in his eye and see none the worse: and I'll go on, and I'll say, 'Now, Misther Macdermot, there is the bit of oats up there, as I and poor Tim broke the back of us dhrying the land for last winter; and there is the bit of pratees; and I didn't yet be cutting of the one, nor digging of the other; and if ye likes, ye may go and do both; and take them with yer for me; and ye may take the roof off the bit of a cabin I built myself over the ould mother; and ye may turn out the ould hag to die in the cowld and the bog; and ye may send me off, to get myself into the first gaol as is open to me. That's what you can do, Misther Macdermot: and when you've done all that, there'll be one, as would have stood betwixt you and all harum, will then go far enough to give you back your own in the hardships you've druv him to.' And then I'll go on, and I'll say, 'And you can do this—you can tell me to go and be d——d, as ye did many a day, and give me what bad language ye like; and you can send Pat to me next day or so, jist to tell me to sell the oats, and bring in what thrifle I can; and then, Mr. Thady, there'll be one who'll not let a foot or finger of that hell-hound Keegan go on Ballycloran; there'll be one'—and when there's me, my boys, there'll be lots more—'as 'll keep you safe and snug in yer own father's house, though all the Keegans and Flannellys in County Leitrim come to turn you out!' And that's what I'll say to the Masther; and now, Pat—for he tells you pretty much all—what'll the Masther be saying to that?"

"What'll he be saying to it, Joe! Faix then I don't know what he'll be saying to it; it's little mind, I think, he'll have to be saying much comfort to any of you; for he'll be vexed and out with everything, jist at present. He doesn't like the way that Captain Ussher is schaming with his sister."

"Like it! no, I wonder av he did; a black-hearted Protestant like him. What business is it a Macdermot would have taking up with the likes of him?"

"That's not it neither, Joe; but he thinks the Captain don't mane fair by Miss Feemy! and by the blessed Virgin, he ain't far wrong."

"Then why don't he knock the life out of the traitor? or av there is rasons why he shouldn't do it hisself, why don't he get one of the boys as'd be glad of the job to help him. Look here, Pat—" and Reynolds went over to the fire-place, and with his arm against the back wall and leaning down over the seat where Brady was sitting, began whispering earnestly in his ear; and then Brady muttered something dissenting, in a low voice; and Reynolds went on whispering again, with gesticulations, and many signs. This continued for a long time, till Corney exclaimed,

"What the divil, boys, are ye colloquing about there; arn't we all sworn frinds, and what need ye be whispering about? Why can't ye spake what ye've got to say out like a man, instead of huggery muggering there in the corner with Brady, as though any one here wasn't thrue to ye all."

"Whist, Corney, ye born idiot, ye don't know I s'pose what long ears the old hag there has? and ye'd be wanting her to hang two or three of us, I s'pose?"

"Divil a hang, Joe; av no one towld of any but her, we'd be safe enough that way; but what is it ye're saying?"

But instead of answering him Reynolds continued urging something to Pat Brady; at last he exclaimed,

"Tear and ages! and why wouldn't he side with the boys as lives on his own land? av he don't make frinds of them, where will he find frinds? Is it among the great gintlemen of the counthry? By dad, they don't think no more of him nor they do of us. And is it the likes of Captain Ussher as'll be good frinds to him? He's thinking of his own schames, and taking the honest name from his sister. Is that his frind, Pat?"

"Didn't I tell ye, Joe, he hates Ussher a d——d sight worse nor you or I; there's little need to say anything to him about that."

"Why wouldn't he join us then? Who else is there to help him at all? won't he be as bad as we are, if Flannelly dhrives him and the ould man out of Ballycloran; but av he'll stick to us, divil a lawyer of 'em all shall put a keeper on the lands; and I said before, and I say it agin,—and av I prove a liar, may I never see the blessed glory,—av young Macdermot 'll help the boys to right themselves, the first foot Keegan puts on Ballycloran, he shall leave there, by G——d!"

"But, Joe, s'pose now Mr. Thady agreed to join you here, what'd you have him be doing at all?"

"I'd have him lend a hand to punish the murthering ruffian as have got half the counthry dhruv into gaols, and as is playing his tricks now with his own sisther."

"But what could any of you do? You wouldn't dare knock the chap on the head?"

"Who wouldn't dare? by the 'tarnal, I'd dare it myself! Isn't there two of us here, whose brothers is now in gaol along of him? Wouldn't you dare, Jack, av he was up there again in the counthry, to tache him how to be sazing your people?"

"By dad, I'd do anything, Joe; but I don't know jist as to murthering. I'd do as bad to him as he did to Paddy: av they hung him, then I'd murther him, and wilcome; but Paddy'll be out of that some of these days—and I think therefore, Joe, av we stripped his ears, it'd do this go."

Jack Byrne's equal justice pleased the majority of his hearers; but it did not satisfy Joe. As for Pat, he continued smoking, and said nothing.

"Oh, my boys, that's nonsense," said Joe; "either do the job, or let it alone. Av you've a mind to let Captain Ussher walk into your cabins and take any of you off to Carrick, jist as he plazes—why you can; but I'm d——d if I does! I've had enough of him now; and by the 'tarnal powers, though I swing for it, putting Tim in gaol shall cost him his life!"

Joe was very much excited and half tipsy; but he only said what most of them were waiting to hear said, and what each of them expected; not one voice was raised in dissent. Pat said nothing, but smoked and gazed on the fire.

"Masther Thady'll be in at the wedding to-morrow, Pat?"

"Oh in course he will."

"Will you be axing him, thin?"

"Axing him what? is it to murther Ussher?"

"No, in course not that; but will you be thrying him, will he join wid us to rid the counthry of him?"

"I tell ye, Joe, he's willing enough to be shut of him entirely, av he knew how."

"Oh yes, Pat, I dare say he'd be willing any poor boy'd knock him on the head, and so be rid of him; and av that he who did do it, did be hung for it, what matther in life to him? That may do very well for Masther Thady, but by the powers, it'll not do for me!"

"Well, you can be spaking to him yourself to-morrow."

"Yes, but you must be getting him jist to come out, and spake to us; jist dhraw him out a bit, you know."

"Well then, boys, I've said as much to the Masther already, and he expects to meet you up there."

"That's the sort, Pat! and av he'll but join us, divil a fear at all for Captain Ussher. Come, my boys, we'll dhrink the gentleman's health, as would be only dacent and proper of us, seeing the great throuble he's at with us."

"But where'll ye get the whiskey, Joe?" said Corney; "I don't think mother Mulready 'll be too quick giving you thrust."

"That's thrue any way; which of ye's got the rint among yer? come, Pat, fork out for once."

"Is it for all of ye? I'll stand a glass for myself, and one for Joe."

"Well, Jack," said Corney, "you and I 'll have a dhrop together; you shan't say I let you go away dhry."

The rest made it up among them; and Kathleen, having duly received the price in advance, brought in a glass of spirits for each. The widow Mulready had only two glasses, and they therefore had to drink one after the other. Joe took his first, saying, "And there's more power and success to you, Captain Ussher; and it's a fine gentleman is the only name for ye; but av you're above the sod this day three months, may none of us that is in it this night ever see the blessed glory!"

And they all drank the toast which their leader gave them.

They now prepared to leave; but not so quickly but that Mrs. Mulready had to give them very forcible hints that she wanted quiet possession of her bed-room; and much animated conversation passed on the occasion.

"And now, an't ye a pretty set of boys, the whole of ye, blackguards that ye are! that ye can't dhrink yer sperrits quietly, in a lone woman's house, but you must be bringing the town on her, by yer d——d ructions; and av I niver saw the foot of any of ye agin, it's little I'd be grieving for ye."

"Quit that, you ould hag of the divil! or I'll give you more to talk about than'll plaze you."

"Is it you, Joe? by the mortial then, if ye don't quit that, you'll soon be having a stone roof over yer head. By the blessed Virgin, I'll be the hanging of you av you don't be keeping yerself to yerself."

"Is it hanging yer talking of? And where'll you be yerself? Not but hanging's twice too good for you. Come, Corney, is you coming up to Loch Sheen?"

After a few more exchanges of similar civilities between the landlady and her guests, the latter at length took their departure; and the widow having duly put away the apparatus of her trade, that is, having drank what whiskey there remained in the jug, betook herself to her couch in her usual state of intoxication.

Joe Reynolds and Pat Brady had each about three miles to go home, and the greater part of the way they walked together—talking over their plans, and discussing the probability of their success.

The two men were very different. The former was impoverished, desperate, all but houseless; he had been continually at war with the world, and the world with him. Whether, had he been more fortunate, he might have been an honest man is a question difficult to solve; most certainly he had been a hard working man, but his work had never come to good; he had long been a maker of potheen, and from the different rows in which he had been connected, had got a bad name through the country. The effect of all this was, that he was now desperate; ready not only to take part against any form of restrictive authority, but anxious to be a leader in doing so; he had somehow conceived the idea that it would be a grand thing to make a figure through the country; and, as he would have said himself, "av he were hanged, what harum?"

Pat Brady was a very different character. In a very poor country he enjoyed comparative comfort; he had never been rendered desperate by want and oppression. Poor as was the Ballycloran property, he had always, by his driving and ejecting, and by one or another art of rural law which is always sure to be paid for, managed to live decently, and certainly above want: it was difficult to conceive why he should be leagued with so desperate a set of men, sworn together to murder a government officer.

Yet in the conversation they had going home he was by far the most eager of the two; he spoke of the certainty they had of getting young Macdermot to join them the next evening; told Reynolds how he would get him, if possible, to drink, and, when excited, would bring him out to talk to the boys; in short, planned and arranged all those things about which Reynolds had been so anxious—but as to which he could get so little done at the widow's. When there, Pat had been almost silent; at any rate, he had himself proposed nothing. It had never occurred to the other, poor fellow, that Brady was making a tool of him; that though the rent-collector was now so eager in proving how easily young Macdermot might be induced to join their party, he would commit himself to nothing when they were congregated at the widow Mulready's. Had Reynolds not been so completely duped, he would have seen that Brady made him take the part of leader when others were present, who might possibly be called upon as witnesses; but that when they were alone together, he, Brady, was always the most eager to press the necessity of some desperate measure. On the present occasion too Reynolds was half drunk, whereas Brady was quite sober.

"So," said the latter on their way home, "thim boys is fixed in gaol for the next twelve months any way. Tim warn't thinking he'd get lodgings for nothing so long, when he went up to widow Smith's there at Loch Sheen."

"Well, Pat, a year is a dreary long time for a poor boy to be locked up all for nothing; and poor Tim won't bear up well as most might; but he that put him there will soon be sent where he'll be treated even worser than Tim at Ballinamore;—and he won't get out of it that soon. By G——d, I'd sooner be in Tim's shoes this night than in Captain Ussher's, fine gentleman as he thinks hisself!"

"But, Joe, will them boys from Loch Sheen let Tim and the others be taken quietly to Ballinamore? Won't they try a reskey on the road?"

"There arn't that sperrit left in 'em, Pat;—and how should it? what is the like of them with their shilelahs, and may be a few stones, agin them b—— pailers in the daylight? Av it had been at night, we might have tried a reskey; but the sperrit ain't in 'em at all. I axed 'em to go snacks with me in doing the job, but they was afeard—and no wonder."

"Well, you'll be up at Mary's wedding to-morrow, and see what the young masther 'll be saying."

And so the two friends parted to their different homes.



CHAPTER X.

MR. KEEGAN.

It will be remembered that the priest left Feemy after his stormy interview in a somewhat irritable mood; she was still chewing the cud of the bitter thoughts to which the events of the last few hours had given rise, and was trying to make herself believe that her brother and Father John and Pat Brady, and all the rest of them, were wrong in their detestable surmises, and that her own Myles was true to her, when another stranger called at Ballycloran; and a perfect stranger he must have been, for he absolutely raised the lion-headed, rusty knocker, and knocked at the door—a ceremony to which the customary visitors of the house never dreamed of having recourse. So unusual was this proceeding, that it frightened the sole remaining domestic, Katty, out of all her decorum. It will be remembered that Mary Brady had absconded with Biddy. Poor Katty did not well know how to act under the trying emergencies of the case; she could not get to the door of Miss Feemy's parlour, as a strange gentleman was standing in the hall, so she ran round the house, and ascertaining that the intruder was well in the hall, and could not see her, she clambered up to her mistress's window, and exclaimed,

"Hist! Miss Feemy, there's a sthranger gintleman a rapping at the big knocker, and I think it's the fat lawyer from Carrick; what'll I do thin, Miss?"

"Why, you fool!" whispered Feemy through one of the broken panes of glass, "go and ask him who he wants, and tell him Thady an't at home."

So Katty dropped from the window-sill again, and went to receive the gentleman into the house by following him in at the hall door. By the time, however, that she had entered herself, old Larry Macdermot had been aroused out of his lethargy by a third knocking of the stranger; and on opening his own parlour door, was startled to see Mr. Hyacinth Keegan, the attorney from Carrick on Shannon, standing before him.

Mr. Hyacinth Keegan requires some little introduction, as he is one of the principal personages of my tale. As Father Cullen before remarked, his father was a process-server living at a small town called Drumshambo;—that is, he obtained his bread by performing the legal acts to which Irish landlords are so often obliged to have resort in obtaining their rent from their tenants. This process-server was a poor man, and a Roman Catholic, but he had managed to give his son a decent education; he had gotten him a place as an errand boy in an attorney's office, from whence he had risen to the dignity of clerk, and he was now, not only an attorney himself, but a flourishing one, and a Protestant to boot. His great step in the world had been his marriage with Sally Flannelly,—that Sally whom Macdermot had rejected,—for from the time of his wedding he had much prospered in all worldly things. He was a hardworking man, and in that consisted his only good quality; he was plausible, a good flatterer, not deficient in that sort of sharpness which made him a successful attorney in a small provincial town, and he could be a jovial companion, when called on to take that part. Principle had never stood much in his way, and he had completely taught himself to believe that what was legal was right; and he knew how to stretch legalities to the utmost. As a convert, Mr. Keegan was very enthusiastically attached to the Protestant religion and the Tory party, for which he had fought tooth and nail at the last county election.

Mr. Keegan boasted a useful kind of courage; he cared but little for the ill name he had acquired by his practice in the country among the poorer classes, and to do him justice, had shown pluck enough in the dangerous duties which he sometimes had to perform; for he acted as agent to the small properties of some absentee landlords, and for a man of his character such duties in County Leitrim were not at that time without risk. He had been shot at, had once been knocked off his horse, and had received various threatening letters; but it always turned out that he discovered the aggressor, and prosecuted and convicted him. One man he had transported for life; in the last case, the man who had shot at him was hung; and consequently the people began to be afraid of Mr. Keegan.

Our friend was fond of popularity, and was consequently a bit of a sportsman, as most Connaught attorneys are. He had the shooting of two or three bogs, kept a good horse or two, went to all the country races, and made a small book on the events of the Curragh. These accomplishments all had their effect, and as I said before, Mr. Keegan was successful. In appearance he was a large, burly man, gradually growing corpulent, with a soft oily face, on which there was generally a smile; and well for him that there was, for though his smile was not prepossessing, and carried the genuine stamp of deceit, it concealed the malice, treachery, and selfishness which his face so plainly bore without it. His eyes were light, large, and bright, but it was that kind of brightness which belongs to an opaque, and not to a transparent body—they never sparkled; his mouth was very large, and his lip heavy, and he carried a huge pair of brick-coloured whiskers. His dress was somewhat dandified, but it usually had not a few of the characteristics of a horse jockey; in age he was about forty-five. His wife was some years his senior; he had married her when she was rather falling into the yellow leaf; and though Mr. Hyacinth Keegan was always on perfectly good and confidential terms with his respected father-in-law, report in Carrick on Shannon declared, that great battles took place beside the attorney's fireside, as to who was to have dominion in the house. The lady's temper also might be a little roused by the ill-natured reports which reached her ears, that her handsome Hyacinth lavished more of his attentions and gallantry abroad than at home. Such was the visitor who now came to call at Ballycloran.

Mr. Macdermot was very much surprised, for Mr. Keegan's business with Ballycloran was never done by personal visits. If money was received, Thady used to call and pay it at Keegan's office; if other steps were to be taken, he employed one of those messengers, so frequently unwelcome at the houses of the Connaught gentry, and this usually ended in Thady calling at Mr. Keegan's for a fresh bill for his father to sign. Old Macdermot was therefore so surprised that he knew not how to address his visitor. This, together with his hatred of the man, and his customary inability to do or say anything, made him so perplexed that he could not comprehend Mr. Keegan's first words, which were not only conciliatory and civil, but almost affectionate.

"Ah! Mr. Macdermot, how do you do—how d'ye do? I'm glad to see you—very glad to see you—looking so well too. Why, what a time it is since I last had the pleasure—but then I'm so tied by the leg—so much business, Mr. Macdermot; indeed, though I was determined to drop in this morning as a friend, still even now I've just a word to say on business. You see I must join business and pleasure; so if you are not very much engaged, and could spare a minute or two, why I have a little proposal to make to you—acting for Mr. Flannelly you know—which I think you'll not be sorry to hear."

The attorney had been obliged to begin his story thus far in the hall—as the old man had shown no inclination to ask him into the parlour: nor did Larry even now move from the door; and, indeed, he did not look as though he was a fit subject to enter on business with an attorney. He had not shaved, or rather been shaved, since Sunday last; his eyes, though wide open, looked as if they had very lately been asleep, and were not quite awake; his clothes were huddled on him, and hung about him almost in tatters; the slaver was running down from his half open mouth, and his breath smelt very strongly of whiskey.

Keegan, finding that his host did not seem bent on hospitality, was edging himself into the room, when Feemy, who had heard his address to her father, came out to the old man's relief, and told the visitor that he was not just himself that morning—that Thady was out, but that she would desire him to call at Mr. Keegan's office the next day.

"Ah! Miss Feemy, and how's your pretty self this morning?—and is it the fact what we hear down at Carrick, that we are to have a wedding soon at Ballycloran? Ah! well, of course you wouldn't be after telling me, but I was very glad to hear it; that I was, Miss Feemy. But, Mr. Macdermot—it was your father, Miss Feemy, I was wishing to see this morning, not Mr. Thady—if you could allow me ten minutes or so—just a message from our old friend, Flannelly:"—and by this time Keegan had wedged his way into the room, out of which any one who knew him would be very sure he would not stir, until he had said what he had come to say.

Larry, hobbling back after him, sat himself down in his accustomed chair, and Feemy, as if to protect her father in her brother's absence, followed him.

"It's very hard, then, Mr. Keegan, that you should come up here; as if sending your processes, and latitats, and distraining, weren't enough, but now you must—"

"Ah! my dear Sir, it's not about such disagreeable business at all—we're done with all that. It's not about such business at all. When I've disagreeable jobs to do—of course we must have disagreeable jobs sometimes—why, I always send some of my disagreeable fellows to do it; but when I've good news, why I like to bring it myself, and that's why I rode down this morning."

Larry, stupid as he was, couldn't be talked round by the attorney so easily.

"If it's good news you have, why shouldn't Thady hear it then? I am sure, poor fellow, he hears enough of bad news from you one way or another. And I tell you I can't understand business to-day, and Flannelly's bill doesn't come round till next month—I know that; and so, if you plaze, Thady can hear what you have to say, at Carrick, on Saturday or Monday, or any day you plaze. Feemy, my darling, get something for Mr. Keegan to eat. I'll be glad to see you eat a bit, but I can't talk any more." And the old man turned himself away, and began groaning over the fire.

"You see, Mr. Keegan, my father can't go to business this morning. When shall I tell Thady to call down?—But wouldn't you take a glass of—"

Wine, Feemy was going to say, but she knew she had none to offer.

"Not a taste in life of anything, thank you, Miss Feemy; not a drop, I'm very much obliged to you: but I'm sorry to find your good father so bent on not hearing me, as I have something to propose which he couldn't but be glad to hear."

"Well, father, will you listen to what Mr. Keegan has to say?"

"Don't I tell you, Feemy, that the bill doesn't come round before November? and it's very hard he won't lave me in pace till that time comes."

"You see," continued Feemy, "that he won't hear anything; don't you think you'd better wait and see Thady down at Carrick?"

Now this was what Mr. Keegan did not want; in fact, his wish was to talk over Larry Macdermot to agree to something to which he feared Thady would object; but he had had no idea the old man would be so obstinate. He, however, was at a loss how to proceed, when Feemy declared that Thady was seen approaching.

"Well, then, Miss Feemy, as your brother is here, and as your father isn't just himself this morning, I might as well do my business with him; but as it is of some importance, and as Mr. Flannelly wishes to have your father's answer as soon as possible, he will not object, I hope, to giving his opinion, when he shall have heard what I have to say."

By this time Thady was before the door, and on Feemy's calling to him, informing him that Mr. Keegan was in the house, waiting to speak to him, he came up into the parlour.

"How do you do this morning?" said the lawyer, shaking Thady by the hand, "how d'ye do? I've just ridden up here to bring a message to your father from Mr. Flannelly about this mortgage he holds; but your father doesn't seem quite the thing this morning, and therefore it's as well you came in. Of course what I have to say concerns you as well as him."

"Of course, Mr. Keegan; I look after the affairs at Ballycloran mostly, now. Don't you know it's me you look to for the money?—and I'm sorry you should have to bother my father about it. Just step out of the room, Feemy."

And the young lady retreated to her own possessions.

"Why, now, Mr. Thady, how you all put your backs up because an unfortunate attorney comes to call on you. What I'm come to say is what I hope and think you'll both be glad to hear; and I trust you've too much good sense to put your father against it merely because it comes from me."

"You may be sure I shall not put my father against anything which would be good for him or Feemy—"

"Well, Mr. Thady, so far so good; and I'm sure you wouldn't; besides, what I've got to say is greatly to your own advantage."

"Well, Mr. Keegan, out with it."

"Why, you see, Mr. Macdermot,"—and the attorney turned to the father, who sat poring over the fire, as if he was determined not to hear a word that passed,—"you see, Mr. Macdermot, Mr. Flannelly is thinking how much better it would be to settle the affair of this mortgage out and out. He's getting very old, Mr. Macdermot. Why, Thady, he's more than thirty years older than your father; and you see he wants to arrange all his money matters. Between us and the bedpost, by the by, I wish he didn't think so much of those nephews of his. However, he wishes the matter settled, and I explained to him that after knowing one another so long, it wouldn't be fair—though, for the matter of that, of course it would be fair, but, in fact, the old man doesn't exactly wish it himself—that is, you know, to foreclose at once, and sell the estate—"

Here he paused; while Larry merely fidgeted in his chair, and Thady said, "Well, Mr. Keegan?"

"So, you see, he just wishes the affair to be settled amicably. I fear, Mr. Thady, your father hasn't just got the amount of the principal debt."

"Oh! you know that of yourself, Mr. Keegan; you know he hasn't the interest itself, till I screw it out of them poor devils of tenants."

"Well, Mr. Macdermot, as you haven't the money to pay the principal debt, of course you can't clear the estate. Why, you see, the interest amounts to L198 odd shillings a year; and before that's paid—times is so bad, you see—Mr. Flannelly is obliged—obliged, in his own defence, you see—to run you to great expense. Well, now, perhaps you'd say, if Flannelly wants his money at once, you'd borrow it on another mortgage—that is, sell the mortgage, Mr. Thady; but money's so scarce these days, and the property is so little improved, and the tenants so bad, that you couldn't raise the money on it—you couldn't possibly raise the money on it."

"Why, Mr. Keegan, father pays Mr. Flannelly L5 per cent., and the property is near to L400 a year, even now."

"Well, of course, if you think so, I wouldn't advise you to the contrary; only, if so, Mr. Flannelly must foreclose at once, in which case the property would be sold out and out; but perhaps you could effect a loan in time—"

"Well, Mr. Keegan, what was it you said you had to propose?"

"What Mr. Flannelly proposes, you mean;—of course I'm only his messenger now. What he proposes is this. You see, the property is so unimproved, and bad—why, the house is tumbling down—it's enough to kill your father, now he's getting a little infirm."

"Well, well, Mr. Keegan; what is it Mr. Flannelly wishes to do with us?"

"Wishes to do?—oh, he doesn't wish anything, of course; the law is open to him to get his own; in fact, the law would give him much more than he wishes to take: but he proposes to buy Ballycloran himself."

"Buy Ballycloran!" screamed Larry.

"Well, well, father; let's hear what Mr. Keegan has to say.—Well, Mr. Keegan, does he propose giving anything but what he has got himself already?—or does he propose to take the estate for the mortgage, and cry quits; so that father, and Feemy, and I, can walk out just where we plaze?"

"Of course not, of course not. It's to make your father what he thinks a fair offer that I'm come up; and it's what I'm sure you must think is a generous offer."

"Well, out with it."

"Well then; what he proposes to do is, to settle an annuity on your father for his life; and give you a sum of money down for yourself and your sister."

"Let's hear what he offers," said Thady.

Larry, whose back was nearly turned to the chair where the attorney was sitting, said nothing; but he gave an ominous look round, which showed that he had heard what had passed. But it did not show that he by any means approved of the proposition.

"I'm coming to that. You see the rent is mostly all swallowed up by this mortgage. Now can you say you've L50 a year coming into the house? I'm afraid not, Mr. Thady—I'm afraid not; and then all your time is occupied in collecting it, and scraping it; and if it's true what I hear—to be plain, I fear you'll hardly have the interest money this November; and if you like Mr. Flannelly's proposal, he'll give in that half year; so that you'd have something in hand to begin. And how comfortable Mr. Macdermot would be in lodgings down at Carrick; you've no idea how reasonable he might board there; say at Dargan's for instance, for about ten shillings a week. And I'm very glad, I can assure you, to hear of the very respectable match your sister is making. Ussher is a very steady nice fellow, knows what's what, and won't be less ready to come to the scratch when he knows he'll have to touch a little ready cash."

"You'd better let us know what your offer is, and lave my sisther alone. It doesn't do to bring every old woman's story in, when we're talking business; so, if you plaze, we won't calculate on Feemy's marriage."

"Well, well, I didn't mean anything more than that I just heard that a match was made between them. So, Mr. Macdermot, Mr. Flannelly will settle L50 a year on you, paid as you like; or come, say a pound a week, as you would probably like to pay your lodgings weekly; and he would give L100 each to your son and daughter, ready money down you know, Mr. Thady. What do you say, Mr. Macdermot?" And he got up and walked round so as to stand over the side of Larry's chair.

"Didn't I tell you, then, I wouldn't be bothered with your business? If you must come up here jawing and talking, can't you have it out with Thady there?"

"Well, Thady, what do you say? You see how much your father's comfort would be improved; and as I suppose, after all, your sister is to be married, you couldn't well keep the house up; and I'll tell you what more Mr. Flannelly proposes for yourself."

"I don't want what Mr. Flannelly will do for me; but I'm thinking of the old man, and Feemy there."

"Well, don't you see how much more comfortable he must be?—nothing to bother him, you know; no bills coming due; and as for yourself, you should have a lease, say for five years, of any land you liked; say forty acres or so, and with your ready money you know."

"Sure isn't the land crowded with tenants already?" said Thady.

"Ah yes; those wretched cabin holders with their half acres. Mr. Flannelly would soon get shut of them: he means to have no whiskey making on the land! Let me alone to eject those fellows. By dad! I'll soon clear off most of them."

"What! strip their roofs?"

"Yes, if they wouldn't go quietly; but they most of them know me now; and I give you my word of honour—indeed, Flannelly said as much—you should have any forty acres you please, at a fair rent. Say what the poor devils are paying now, without any capital you know."

"No, Mr. Keegan; I wouldn't have act or part in dhriving off the poor craturs that know me so well; nor would I be safe if I did; nor for the matter of that, could I well bring myself to be one of Mr. Flannelly's tenants at Ballycloran. But I won't say I won't be advising the owld man to take the offer, if you only make it a little fairer. Consider, Mr. Keegan; the whole property—nigh L400 a year, besides the house—and Mr. Flannelly's debt on it only L200."

"Ah! L400 a year and the house is very well," said Keegan; "but did you ever see the L400—and isn't the house half falling down already?"

"Whose fault is that—who built it then, Mr. Keegan?—bad luck to it for a house!"

"Well, I don't know it's much use going into that now; but you can't say but what the proposal is a fair one."

"Ah! Mr. Keegan, L1 a week is too little for the owld man; make it L100 a year for his life, and give Feemy L300, so that she, poor girl, may have some chance of neither begging or starving, if she shouldn't get married, and I'll not go against the bargain. I'd get a bit of land somewhere, though I couldn't be a tenant on Ballycloran. 'Deed for the matter of that, if we must part it, I don't care how long it is before I see a sod of it again."

"Nonsense, Mr. Thady; L100 a year is out of the question; why, your father's hardly to be called an elderly man yet. I couldn't think of advising Mr. Flannelly to give more than he has already proposed.—Don't you think, Mr. Macdermot,"—and he began speaking loudly to the old man;—"L1 a week, regularly paid, you know, would be a nice thing for you, now that your daughter is going to get married, and that Thady here thinks of taking a farm for himself?"

"I towld you before I'd nothing to say about it—and I will say nothing about it; the bill don't come round till November, and it's very hard you should be bothering the life out of me this way."

Keegan turned away, and taking Thady by the collar of his coat, led him to the window; he began to find he could do nothing with Larry.

"You see, Macdermot," he said in a half whisper, "it is impossible to get your father to listen to me; and therefore the responsibility must rest upon you as to advising him what he'd better do. And now let me put it to you this way: you know that you have not the means of raising the money to pay off this debt, and that Flannelly can sell the estate any day he pleases; well,—suppose you drive us to this, and suppose the thing fetches a little over what his claim is, don't you know there are great expenses attached to such a sale? All would have to come out of the property; and your father's other creditors would come on the little remainder, and where would you be then? You see, my boy, it's quite impossible the estate should ever come to you. Now, by what I propose, your father would sell the estate while still he had the power; he would get comfortably settled—and I'd take care to manage the annuity so that the other creditors couldn't touch it; and you'd get a handful of money to set you up something more decently than the way you're going on here with your tenants."

"But my sisther, Mr. Keegan; when the home came to be taken from over her head, what would become of Feemy? She and the owld man could hardly live on a pound a week. And when the owld man should die—"

"Why, nonsense, man! Isn't your sister as good as married? or if not, a strapping girl like her is sure of a husband. Besides, when she's a hundred pounds in her pocket, she won't have to go far to look for a lover. There's plenty in Carrick would be glad to take her."

"Take her, Mr. Keegan! Do you think I'd be offering her that way to any huckster in Carrick that wanted a hundred pound;—or that she would put up with the like of that?—Bad as we are, we an't come to that yet."

"There you go with your family pride, Thady; but family pride won't feed you, and the offer I've made will; so you'd better bring the old man round to accept it."

"Make it L80 a year for my father, and L250 for Feemy, and I'll do the best I can."

"Not a penny more than I offered. Indeed, Mr. Flannelly would get the property cheaper if he sold it the regular way under the mortgage, so that he doesn't care about it: only he'd sooner you got the difference than strangers.—Well, you won't get the old man to take the offer—eh?"

"I can't advise him to sell his property, and his house, and everything, so for nothing."

"Then you know we must sell it for him."

"Will you give me till Monday," said Thady, "till I ask some friend what I ought to do?"

"Some friend;—what friend do you want to be asking—some attorney? Dolan, I suppose, who of course would tell you not to part with the property, that he might make a penny of it. No, Master Thady, that won't do; either yes or no—no or yes; I don't care which; but an answer, if you please, as Flannelly is determined he will do something."

"It's no lawyer I want to spake to, Mr. Keegan; I've had too much of lawyers; but it's my friend, Father John."

"What, the priest! thank ye for nothing; I'll have no d——d priest meddling; and to tell you the truth at once, it's either now or never. And think where your father 'll be if the house is sold over his head, before he has a place to stretch himself in."

"Oh! you know, and I know, you can't sell it out of hand, in that way,—all at once."

"'Deed but we can though; and, by G——d, if you mean to be stiff about it, you shall be out of the place before the May rents become due."

"Would you want me to go and sell all that's left in the family, without giving me a day to consider?—without asking my friends what's best to do for the old man, and for poor Feemy? Surely, Mr. Keegan—"

"Surely, nonsense. You see how it is; I want to give Flannelly an answer; he's not asking anything of you—he's offering a provision to you all, which you might go far to look for if the law takes its course,—as of course it will do if you oppose his offer. But perhaps you're thinking we can't sell the estate; and from the old man's state, because he's not compos, you can get Ballycloran into your own hands. If that's the game you're playing, you'll soon find yourself in the wrong box, my lad."

"It's not of myself I'm thinking; and it's only you, and such as you, would be saying so of me. But supposing now, the owld man consinted to this bargain,—how would he be sure of his money?"

"Sure of his money! why, wouldn't it be settled on him?—wouldn't it be named as one of the conditions of the sale? He'd be a deal surer of that, than he is now of his daily dinner; for that I believe he's not very sure of as things are going at Ballycloran."

Thady looked at the attorney as though he longed to answer him in the same strain; but he said nothing of the sort; he remained looking out of the window for a short time, considering what he should do.

"Well, Macdermot, I can't be waiting here all day you know; what do you say to it?"

"I'll spake to my father; it's he must decide you know, at last, and not me. Larry, you heard what Mr. Keegan said, didn't you?" and he explained to his father the nature of the offer; and tried to make him understand that at any rate Ballycloran must go; and that it would be better to go at once, with some provision to look to, than to stay there, and be driven out, without any; and that Mr. Flannelly would not be content any longer with getting the interest for his money, but that he was determined to get the principal, either by having the property sold, or by taking possession of it himself. It was long before he could make the old man precisely understand what it was that was required of him; during which time Keegan remained at the window, as if he was not hearing a word that passed between the father and son.

"And does he want us to go clane out of it, Thady?"

"Root and branch, father, for iver and iver; and there'll be the finish of the Macdermots of Ballycloran; but Larry,"—and he put his hand, with more tenderness than seemed to belong to his rough nature, on his father's arm;—"but Larry, you know you'll never want for anything then; you'll be snug enough jist wherever you plaze; and your money coming due and paid every week—you'd be better than in this wretched place; eh Larry?"

"And what's to become of Feemy?"

"Why, we must get Feemy a husband; till then she'll stay with you; she'll have a thrifle of money herself, you know; she'll be poor enough, though, God knows!—It's the thought of her that throubles me most."

"And yourself, Thady, where would you go, till you got Ballycloran again?"

"Got Ballycloran again! why Larry, you're to sell it outright; clane away altogether. As for me, I must get a bit of land, I suppose, or 'list, or do something; go to America, perhaps."

"And was it Keegan wanted to buy Ballycloran?"

"Oh, it's between them, I suppose; but what does it matter—Keegan or Flannelly?"

"And what did you say, Thady?"

"What did I say! Oh, I could say nothing, you know; it's for you to do it. But, Larry, I think it's the best for you, and you may be sure I'll not be complaining afther; or saying ill of you for what you did, when you could do no other."

"And you didn't tell the blackguard ruffian robber to be gone out of that, when he asked you to dhrive your own family out of your own house?"

"Whist, father, whist!"

When Keegan heard old Macdermot break out in this way, he was obliged to turn round: so he walked up to the fire, and said, "Mr. Macdermot, may I ask who you are speaking of?"

Larry was again commencing, when Thady held him down gently, and said,

"It's not so asy, Mr. Keegan, for an old man to hear for the first time, that he's to lave his house and his home for iver; where he and his father and his grandfather have lived. You'd better let me talk to him a while."

"Oh! for the matter of that, I don't care for his passion; but if he means to come to reason, let him do so at once, for as I said before, I won't wait here all day."

"Nobody wants you to wait—nobody wants you to wait!" said the father.

"Whist, Larry, whist! be asy a while."

"I won't whist, and I won't be asy: so, Mr. Keegan, if you want to have my answer, take it, and carry it down to that old bricklayer in Carrick, whose daughter has the divil's bargain in you; and for the like of that you're not bad matched. Tell him from me, Larry Macdermot—tell him from me, that I'm not so owld yet, nor so poor, nor so silly, that he can swindle me out of my lands and house that way. So clever as you think yourself, Mr. Keegan, you may walk back to Carrick again, and don't think to call yourself masther of Ballycloran yet awhile."

"Very well, Mr. Macdermot; very well, my fine fellow; look to yourself, and mind, I tell you I'll have a cheaper bargain of the place by this day six months, than I should have now by the terms I'm offering myself."

"You dirthy mane ruffian—if it was only myself you was wanting to turn out of it—but to be robbing the boy there of his property, that has been working his sowl out these six years for that dirthy owld bricklayer!—And you want the place all to yourself, do you, Mr. Keegan? Faix, and a fine estated gintleman you'd make, any how!"

"Well now; you'll repent the day you made yourself such a fool. However, good morning, Mr. Macdermot—good morning; I'll tell them down at Carrick, to keep a warm corner for you in the lane there, where them old beggars sleep at night!"

"Kick him out, Thady: kick him out, will ye?—Have ye none of the owld blood left round your heart, that you'll not kick him out of the house, for a pettifogging schaming blackguard!" and Larry got up as though he meant to have a kick at the attorney himself.

"Be asy, father, and let him go of himself; he'll go fast enough now. Sit down awhile; sit down till I come back," and Thady followed the attorney down the steps on to the gravel road.

"You'll see, my boy," said Keegan—and now the benevolent attorney had altogether lost his smile,—"you'll see, my boy, whether I won't make the two of you pay for this; ay! and the whole family too, for a set of proud, beggarly, starved-out paupers. By G——, I'll sell every rotten stick of old furniture left in the house, on the 6th of next month; and the three of you shall be tramping in the roads before the winter's over!"

"You're worse than the old man with your passion, Mr. Keegan," said Thady; "ten times worse; you know I did what I could to advise him; and even now, if you'll lave him to me, I'll bring him round."

"Be d——d to you with your bringing round! I'll have no more to do with the pack of you."

"Would you go to remember the passionate words of an owld man that's lost his senses, Mr. Keegan? for shame on you. If you'll stick to the offer you made before, I'll bring the old man round yet."

"I tell you I'll do no such thing, Master Thady; but root and branch I'll have you out of that, and that right soon; a pack of beggars like you! What right have you to be keeping a respectable man out of his money?"

"Respictable indeed! very respictable!—Look at the house, Mr. Keegan, for which you want to take the whole property,—tumbling down already; and you call that respictable! And to be threatening to be dhriving an owld man, past his senses, out of his house for a few foolish words; and a poor innocent defenceless girl too!" Thady himself was beginning to get in a passion now,—"And since you will have it, the owld man was not far wrong, for it is robbers you are, both of you, and that's your respictability!"

"Robbers are we? and what are you and your innocent sister? You know, Thady, she can go to Ussher; he says he'll keep her. She won't be a huckster's wife, you say? better that than a captain's misthress, as all agree she is now."

As Keegan said this, he seemed to expect that he would be answered by some personal violence. The two were together, standing at the end of the avenue, all but on the public road. Keegan had a stout walking-stick in his hand, and he walked out into the road as he said the last words, turning round as he did so, so as to face Thady.

The young man stood still for a second or two, as if the meaning of the words had hardly reached him, and then rushed at the attorney with his clenched fist; but the man of law was too quick for him, for striking out with his stick, he cried,

"By the Lord of heaven, if you come nearer I'll brain you!" and, as the young man endeavoured to get within the sweep of the stick, he received a blow on the arm and elbow, which, for the moment, disabled him; and the pain was so sharp, as to prevent him from any further immediate attack.

"Mr. Keegan, by the living Lord, this day's work shall cost you dear!" and then, indulging that ready profuseness of threats in which the less educated of his countrymen are so prone to indulge, he returned within the gateway of the avenue, and proceeded a short way towards the house. Here he reached a felled tree, lying somewhat across the path, on which he sat down; for he felt that he could not go to the house before he had considered, in his sad heart, what he would say there, and how he would say it.

Keegan, when he found that his antagonist, like a dog cowed by a blow, was not inclined to come again to the fight, turned on his heel, and walked back to the place where he had left his horse.

For some time Thady did not recover from the immediate sharp pain arising from the blow, and during these minutes firm determinations of signal vengeance filled his imagination, damped by no thought of the punishment to which he might thereby be subjecting himself. But the luxury of these resolves—for they had a certain luxury—was soon banished by the thoughts that crowded on his mind, when pain gave him liberty to think. Firstly, his own impotence with regard to retaliating on Keegan; secondly, the horrid charge brought against Feemy, and the conviction that the scurrility of it would not have occurred to Keegan had it not previously been rumoured or suggested by others; and the dreadful doubt—for it was dreadful to Thady—whether there could be any grounds for it: then the recollection of their defenceless state—the certainty that Flannelly would take every legal step against them, and that Keegan's threat, that they should be turned out to wander through the roads, would be realized:—all these things forced themselves on his recollection, and he could not go up to the house. He could not meet his father, and tell him that, between them, they had destroyed all hopes of conciliation; that they must wander forth as beggars, to starve. He could not ask counsel from Feemy; his inability to protect her made him averse to see her.

In his misery, and half broken-hearted as he was, he all but made up his mind to join the boys, who, he knew, were meeting with some secret plans for proposed deliverance from their superiors. Better, at any rate, join them now, thought he, than be driven to do it when he was no better than them—as would soon be the case; and, if he was to perish, better first strike a blow at those who had pressed him so low! And then it occurred to him that, at any rate, he would first go to his only good counsellor; and he accordingly retraced his steps to the bottom of the avenue, resolved, if he could find him, to tell all his new sorrow to Father John.



CHAPTER XI.

PAT BRADY.

When Thady reached the end of the avenue, where the fracas had taken place between himself and Keegan, he met Pat Brady.

As I fear that this talented young man must by this time be subject to heavy suspicions; that his faith and honesty must be greatly doubted; and as, even with those who may still look upon him as a trusty servant, it would be impossible to keep up the delusion much longer, I may as well now make his character no longer doubtful, by explaining some passages which had occurred in his life during the last few months.

In the first place, however, we must return for a short time to Mr. Keegan.

It will be remembered that this gentleman was the son-in-law of Larry Macdermot's creditor, Mr. Flannelly; and it had been arranged between the two worthy relations that if, by some law-craft or other means, Keegan could obtain possession of the estate of Ballycloran in payment of the debt due by the proprietor, it should become his, Keegan's, property.

Now, this gentleman had long looked forward to the day when he should be able to describe himself as Hyacinth Keegan, Esq., of Ballycloran—having been aware that, after his father-in-law's death, all right in the property would become his own; but since he had induced the old man to make a gift instead of a legacy of the debt, his passion to become an estated gentleman had hourly increased. An ambitious man in his own way was Hyacinth Keegan: he had first longed to obtain admission into the more decent society of Carrick-on-Shannon—that he had some time since achieved; he then sought to mix among the second-rate country gentlemen; and by making himself useful to them, by plausibility, by some degree of talent, and by great effrontery, he had become sufficiently intimate with many of them to shake hands with them at race-courses and ordinaries, and to talk of them to others as "Blake," "Brown," and "Jones." To some few, who now usually called him "Hyacinth," and occasionally invited him to drinking parties at their houses, he had lent small sums of money on good security; and now he was looking to obtain the sub-shrievalty of the county, and to be Hyacinth Keegan, Esq., of Ballycloran.

Since the immediate probability of realizing this brilliant vision had occurred to him, he had left nothing undone which could, as he thought, lead to its completion. From the constant business which he had with Thady, he pretty well knew all the difficulties of the Macdermots, and the great poverty of their house; and he had observed how completely Pat Brady was in young Macdermot's confidence. He also knew that if any direct legal steps were necessary in selling the estate under the mortgage, or if any underhand scheming should be required to drive the Macdermots into further difficulties, Pat Brady could, and probably would—for a consideration—give him his zealous co-operation. There were also other reasons why he desired the assistance of our friend Pat. It was a part of Mr. Keegan's daily practice to obtain what information he could of the habits of those with whom he was likely to form any connection; and it was generally believed through the county, that he could usually tell those who were, and who were not, guilty of the common crimes of the times—illicit distillation, and secret conspiracies among the poor to injure their superiors, or to redress their fancied wrongs. It was from his accurate information on these points that he was usually employed in their defence when they were brought to trial, and that he had been able to detect and punish those by whom he had himself been attacked. This, moreover, as his character became known, had materially led to his own safety; for the boys knew that he knew everything through the county, and thus had learnt to become afraid of him.

He felt, therefore, that as it was probable that Ballycloran would become his own, Pat Brady's assured services might be of great utility; and he found but little difficulty in obtaining them. Pat was clever enough to foresee that the days of the Macdermots were over, and that it was necessary for him to ingratiate himself with the probable future "masther;" and though he, of course, made sufficiently good market of his treachery, he felt that in all ways he consulted his own interest best in making himself useful to Keegan. He had dim prospects, too, of great worldly advantages which might accrue from being chief informer to so conspicuous a man as Mr. Keegan was likely to prove himself, and, with no false self-vanity, he felt himself qualified for such a situation. There was considerable danger in being always among people of a wild and savage nature, to entrap and ensnare whom would be his duty, and he felt that he had the requisite courage. Moreover, there was a certain cunning and prudence necessary, and in that also he, with some truth, fancied himself not deficient; and as Mr. Keegan's scheme opened upon him, the idea of entrapping his young master into the difficulties which lay around, offered not a bad opportunity for the display of his talents.

That such a man as Brady is described to be, should exist and find employment in a country, is a fact which must shock and disgust; but that it is a fact in great parts of Ireland, those who are most conversant with the country will not pretend to deny. It is true, that by paid spies and informers, real criminals may not unfrequently be brought to justice; but those who have observed the working of the system must admit that the treachery which it creates—the feeling of suspicion which it generates—but, above all, the villanies to which it gives and has given rise, in allowing informers, by the prospect of blood-money, to give false informations, and to entrap the unwary into crimes—are by no means atoned for by the occasional detection and punishment of a criminal.

Let the police use such open means as they have—and, God knows, in Ireland they should be effective enough; but I cannot but think the system of secret informers—to which those in positions of inferior authority too often have recourse—has greatly increased crime in many districts of Ireland. I by no means intend to assert that this system is patronised or even recognised by Government. I believe the contrary most fully; but those to whom the execution of the criminal laws in detail are committed, and who look to obtain advancement and character by their activity, do very frequently employ what I must call a most iniquitous system of espionage.

A very few years since I was walking down the street of a small town with a gentleman who was at that time in the immediate employment of the Government. It was a fair day, and we were strolling through the crowd, which was moving slowly hither and thither, as though in absolute idleness. The dusk was fast commencing, and he pointed out to me two or three men, who had come in from the country like the others, telling me that they were waiting till it was dark to speak to him; that they did not dare to speak to him during the light; that they were in his pay; and that they had information to give him respecting illegal societies, and hidden arms. He ridiculed me when I questioned the propriety of his system; in fact he was so accustomed to it that he could not conceive the possibility of going on without it. In the same way I have had men pointed out to me by the officer leading a party of revenue police in quest of illicit stills, who were dressed as policemen though not belonging to the force, and who were brought in that disguise that they might not be known by their neighbours whose haunts they were going to disclose.

The momentary success no doubt reconciles this usage to the officer employing it; but the result must be to create suspicion of each other among the poor, and fearfully to increase instead of diminishing crime.

Now that our friend Brady's character is perfectly understood, we will return to our story; first, however, explaining that he had witnessed the scene between the attorney and his master, and had determined to make the most of it.

Thady had turned on the road towards the priest's house without taking any notice of his dependant, but this Pat could not allow.

"Well, Mr. Thady, you'll live to be even with him yet—the born ruffian! faix and a good sight more nor even; else it'll be no one's fault but yer own."

"Even with who?"

"With who now? why didn't I see it with my own eyes?—the born thief of the world! Didn't he knock flashes out of yer shoulther with the shilaleh he had—Mr. Keegan, I main? And if it worn't that you hadn't—bad cess to the luck of it!—your own bit of a stick in your hand, wouldn't you have knocked the life out of him for the name he put on your sisther, Miss Feemy?—the blackguard!"

"And did you hear him, Pat?"

"Shure I did, yer honer."

"And did you see him?"

"See him, yes, shure; I seed him riz his big stick, and I thought it was nigh kilt you were."

"And you heard him call your misthress the name he called; and you saw him sthrike at me the way he did, and I having nothing but my fist to help me; and were you so afraid of a man like Keegan, you wouldn't step forward to strike a blow for me?"

"Afraid of Keegan! No, Masther Thady, I arn't afraid of him; but you wouldn't have had me come up, jist to witness that you war the first to strike at him."

"Nonsense! wasn't he the first to call my sisther the name he did?"

"Ah! but that warn't a braich of the pace. You see, Mr. Thady, thim divils of lawyers is so cute; and av I had come to help you, or sthrike a blow, or riz my stick, he'd have had both before old Jonas Brown to-morrow morning; and where'd we've been then? But, Mr. Thady, as I said before, you'll be more nor even with Mr. Keegan yet, any way."

"How'll I be even with him, Pat?"

"But where are you going, Mr. Thady? shure an't it your dinner time at the house? and remimber you've to be at the wedding to-night."

"Oh! d——n the wedding. Do you think I'd be playing the fool at weddings to-night, afther what just took place? I want to see Father John; and I'll go and catch him before he goes down to your sisther."

"What, Mr. Thady! to tell about the blow, and the dishonour the ruffian put on you and Miss Feemy?—shurely you wouldn't be doing that."

"And why not?—won't all Carrick have it before long?"

"That's no rule why you should be going and telling Father John about it yourself. And won't he be putting you against revenging yourself; and you wouldn't, Mr. Thady, with the owld blood in your veins, and in Miss Feemy's—may the divil's curse blacken him for the name he give her!—you wouldn't be putting up quiet and aisy with what he's done?—and the like of him too!"

By this time Thady had stopped, and was beginning to waver in his determination of going to the priest. He felt that what Brady said was true—that the priest would implore him not to avenge himself, in the manner in which his heart strongly prompted him to do. He felt he could not forego the impulse to inflict personal punishment on Keegan. And after all, what could Father John do for him?

"Besides, Mr. Thady, now I think of it, Father John an't in it at all, for he was to be at Drumsna before the wedding; and I know he's to dine with Mrs. McKeon; he does mostly when he's in Drumsna this time of day, so I'm sure he arn't in it."

Satisfied by this, Thady allowed himself to be led back again; and they walked together in silence a little way.

"You've only to say the word," continued Pat, in a low voice, "you've only to say the word to them boys as 'll be there to-night, and they'll see you righted with Keegan."

"What boys—and how righted?"

"How righted! why how should you be righted afther what he's afther doing?—and I tell you them's the boys as will not see your father's son put upon that way."

"Which them d'ye main, Pat?"

"Oh! there's a lot of them up to anything. There's Jack Byrne and Joe Reynolds is mad to be having a fling at Ussher; you know their brothers is in gaol about the malt they found away at Loch Sheen; and there's Corney Dolan, and McKeon, and a lot more of them; I knows them all, and it'll be jist as good to them to be making a job of Keegan, as the other."

"I wouldn't have the ruffian murthered, Pat; you don't think I want to have him murthered?"

"Whist, Mr. Thady; may be the children about in the trees there would hear you. Who says anything of murdher? No, but just give him a bating that would go nigh taching him the taste of being murdhered,—and the same for Master Ussher; for I tell ye—may the tongue of the cowardly ruffian be blisthered for putting the name he did on your sisther!—but he was only repating what Ussher has said hisself, and that more nor once nor twice."

Thady made no reply, but walked on slowly; he gave no assent, but he showed no indignation at the kind of revenge which was proposed to him.

"And what was he saying about the estate,—Keegan, I main, Mr. Thady,—before you came to be quarrelling that way?"

"He was saying what 'll be thrue enough,—that Ballycloran 'll be sold, right away, before next May; and that he himself will be the purchaser—and that we'll be wandering the road like any other set of beggars."

"And did he say he'd buy Ballycloran?"

"He did."

"And turn you all out, Mr. Thady?"

"And he 'll do it too," said Thady.

"Tunder and ages! man, and would you be letting him come over ye that way? If any blackguard of a lawyer could be selling an estate that way, because money may be a little scarce or so, would there be so many gintlemen in the counthry, enjoying themselves in their own houses, just keeping the right side of the door? Only take care the owld man don't be showing hisself that way he does be doing on the big steps there; and take care the door is kept shut, instead of right open; and make Biddy understand she an't to open it for any one at all, at all—except yerself jist, and Father John, or the like, who wouldn't mind going round to the back door. I tell ye that all the Flannellys and Keegans in Ireland can't sell Ballycloran, unless they first get hould of the owld man."

"But can't they put resavers on every acre of the land, and wouldn't that be all one as selling it?"

"Oh! let the boys alone for that; stick to them, and they'll not let a resaver do much among them; faix, I'm thinking I for one wouldn't like to go resaving rents up to Drumleesh for any one but the Masther hisself. But any way you'll be coming down to the boys and spaking to them yerself this night—you wouldn't go, Mr. Thady, not to be at Mary's wedding?"

"You know that ruffian Ussher 'll be there; and I don't want to be meeting him."

"But that's jist it; don't let him be there playing what tricks he plazes with Miss Feemy, and you not there to purtect her—and there's all them boys expect you. You won't let Keegan run off with land and house, and all without a blow sthrick?"

"They'll all be up at Ballycloran to-morrow, and I'll hear what they have to say then."

"But I tell you, they won't be there at all to-morrow, unless you come down to them to-night," answered Pat.

"Do they main to say they refuse out and out to pay the rint?"

"Not at all; but they'll be getting stiff if they think you're so thick with him as is their inimy—and isn't that natural too? It's only to come down and say a kind word or so to 'em yourself, and you'll find them all right—and ready to stand by you and yours to the last, Mr. Thady."

"Well, Pat, I'll be down there. Father John would think it odd if I weren't there."

By this time they had got round to the back of the house, where the outhouse stood; and the young man told Brady to go into the kitchen and get him a coal for his pipe, and to tell the girl to say he wouldn't be in to dinner.

"And won't you be wanting your dinner, Mr. Thady?"

"No, Pat; I'll jist sit and have a smoke in the stable, till it's time to go down to you. I couldn't face the owld man and Feemy, afther what jist happened."

So we will for the present leave him smoking in the stable, and return to the inmates of the house.

It will be remembered that when Father John left Feemy after his morning visit, she remained alone till Mr. Keegan came: and that she was dismissed from the dining-room when they began to talk on business. She then betook herself to dress for the evening amusement; that is, to make herself something decent before she met Ussher; to brush her hair, and to dismiss all the traces of that disenchanting dishabille which I have attempted to describe. Whilst at her toilet Feemy turned over in her mind all that her brother and Father John had said, and firmly resolved not to let the evening pass without telling her lover the comfort it would be to have some decided steps taken as to their engagement: and yet she almost shuddered at the thoughts of doing so; there was a frown which occasionally came over Ussher's face, which made her dread him; and she couldn't but feel that if he wished to take any such steps, he would do so without her asking him; in fact, that it would be much better that he should do so unasked. And then, if he got angry,—if he should tell her that as she could not wait and trust him, they must part; how could she bear the idea of losing him? What could she say or do, if he answered her sternly?—if he scolded her, or perhaps worse, absolutely quarrelled with her? Poor Feemy began to wish the evening over to which she had looked forward as the source of so much pleasure; she feared to neglect the warnings she had received, and she felt that things could not go on always as they were; but she trembled at the idea of telling this to Ussher.

Her silent dinner was soon over; she made her father's punch, and sat down to wait for her lover. Larry kept up a continual growl about Thady's absence, suggesting that Keegan had cozened him off to Carrick, to sign the estate away; accusing him of conspiracy with the attorney, to rob him, his father; wondering why he wouldn't come to dinner, &c.: to all which Feemy made no reply; she never noticed his grumblings; she sat absorbed in her own thoughts, meditating what she would say to Ussher, till she heard his horse's feet at the head of the avenue, and then she jumped up to meet him at the hall-door.

"How are you, Myles?" and "Well, Feemy, how's yourself?" and then, having reached the hall door, he took the fond girl in his arms and kissed her. "Ah; don't then, Myles; there's Katty on the stairs; come in then, and take your punch;" and they entered the room where Larry was sitting over the fire.

"How are you this evening, Sir?" said Ussher, "this fine night."

The old man always brightened up a little when Ussher came in.

"How d'ye do, Captain?—I'm glad to see you. Did the Captain get his dinner then, Feemy?—you don't ask Captain Ussher whether he got his dinner."

"Feemy knows she needn't ask about that; that's one of the things I always take care of. But where's Thady, Mr. Macdermot? I wanted to speak to him about Keegan, that sworn friend of his:" and Ussher began to make himself comfortable with the hot water, sugar, &c.

"Thady is it you're axing afther? 'Deed then, I don't know where he is. And as for Keegan—but you don't make your punch, Captain—as for Keegan, the ruffian, he was here this blessed morning,—wanting me, and Feemy, and Thady too, to walk clane out of the place! but I walked him off. The like of him to be buying Ballycloran; and his father a process-server, and his wife's father that d——d bricklayer Flannelly!"

"Holloa! Mr. Macdermot; so you've had a breeze with the attorney, have you? And was Thady here at the time?"

"He was in it all the time; and divil a word he'd say for himself, or Feemy, or his father, or the owld place either; but just wanted me, Captain, to give it all up to them at once, the ruffians! and when I wouldn't, he went off with Keegan to Carrick. There's my own son joined with 'em agin me; and he'll help to dhrive me out, he will,—and Feemy too, poor girl!"

In vain Ussher endeavoured to make him believe that his son had not conspired against him, to deprive him of his property. The old man had taken it into his head that Thady had gone off to Carrick with Keegan, and was determined to make the most of this new grievance, and would not be comforted. He seemed cunning enough in his determination to thwart the attorney in his plan of buying the estate, and explained to Ussher that he had made up his mind not to be taken personally; assuring him, that from that time nothing should induce him to leave his own fireside, or so much as show himself at the hall-door; that he would have the hall-door barricadoed; and, in short, that he would himself take all those precautions which Brady had enumerated to his son, as proper to be put in practice on such an occasion. And from that time, with one sad exception, it was many months before Larry Macdermot was seen to cross his threshold; he strictly adhered to his resolution; and although during that time many attempts to arrest him were made, he eluded them all. He could not, however, be brought to understand that, for the present, this was useless—that no one could arrest him till after Christmas. The dread of losing his property had come upon him, and he would not allow himself even to be seen by any one but those of his own household, and by Ussher.

After listening to his grievances as long as he thought necessary, Ussher followed Feemy into her own room, and here we will leave them, till we meet them again at Denis McGovery's wedding; merely remarking, that poor Feemy, though more than once she prepared to make her dreaded speech to her lover, each time hesitated and stopped, and at last made up her mind that it would be just as well to put off the evil hour till her pleasure was over; and finally determined to have the conversation on the return home, for she well knew that Ussher would walk back with her to Ballycloran, where his horse would be left.



CHAPTER XII.

THE WEDDING.

When Ussher first came into the parlour at Ballycloran, he asked after Thady, and it will be necessary to explain why he did so; the terms on which the two men stood towards each other not being such as to render it probable that either should be very anxious for the presence of the other.

It had come to the knowledge of Denis McGovery that Brady had asked to the wedding a lot of men from Drumleesh, and some also from Mohill—characters with whom Denis was not apt to consort himself, and whom he looked on as paupers and rapparees. He had also made out, it is presumed with the aid of his affianced, that some other motive was probably ensuring their attendance than merely that of doing honour to his, Denis's, nuptials. Pat Brady was not likely to have made a confidant of his sister or of Denis on the occasion; but nevertheless, the bridegroom had discovered that the meeting was, to some extent, to be a political one, and moreover, that Thady Macdermot was expected to be there.

Now McGovery, although it must be presumed that, in common with all Irishmen of the lower order, he conceived that he was to a certain degree injured and oppressed by the operation of the existing laws, nevertheless had always thought it the wiser course to be with the laws, bad as they might be, than against them. When, therefore, he learnt that the brothers of the men whom Ussher had put into prison were to be of the party, and that many of their more immediate neighbours would be there, and remembered also that Captain Ussher himself had promised to come to the "divarsion," mighty fears suggested themselves to him, and he began to dread that the occasion would be taken for offering some personal injury to the latter! In which case, might not all be implicated?—and among the number that dear person for whom Denis felt the tenderest regard—viz., himself?

Actuated by these apprehensions, Denis, on the morning of the wedding, had gone to Ussher to unfold his budget of dreadful news,—to assure the Captain that his only object "was to get himself married," and to see that the "pigs and the thrifle of change were all right,"—and strongly to advise the Captain to stay away; "not that it wouldn't be a great honer for a poor boy like him to see his honer down there, for he had the greatest rispect in life for him, and all that wore the King's sword; but there war no knowing what them boys might be afther when they got the dhrink in them."

Ussher thanked Denis for his communication, but at the same time begged him not to disquiet himself—told him that there was no danger in life; and declared that he felt so confident of the good feeling of the men through the country towards him, particularly those at Drumleesh and Mohill, that he should always feel perfectly safe in their company—in fact, that he looked on their presence as a protection. Poor Denis stared hard at him; but as he soon perceived that the Captain was laughing at him for his solicitude, he retreated with a grin on his face, remarking that he had meant all for the best.

Though Captain Ussher affected to set no value on McGovery's tale, he nevertheless thought that there might be something in it. He determined, however, not to be deterred from going to the wedding. Though in many respects a bad man, Ussher was very vigilant in the performance of his official duties, and, as has been before said, was possessed of sufficient courage. It had been part of McGovery's disclosure that Thady Macdermot was to be at the wedding, and it occurred to Ussher, that at any rate no personal violence would be offered as long as young Macdermot was with him; he therefore determined to see him first, and tell him what he had heard. It is true he had no great love for the poor fellow; still he would have been sorry to see him, from any cause of uneasiness or distress, throw himself into the hands of men who might probably induce him to join in acts which would render him subject to the severest penalties of the law. Ussher understood Thady's character tolerably well; and though he had no real sympathy for his sufferings, still he had manly feeling enough to wish to save him, as Feemy's brother, from the danger into which he believed him so likely to fall.