style="font-size:15px;"> "Then down with us at Ballintubber there is Father Malachi."
"I know him too," said Mr. Blake. "He would not interfere with a boy like Florian. Is there no one else? What curate lives with Father Malachi?"
"There is none with him at Ballintubber. One Brosnan lives with Father Giles."
"That man is a firebrand," said Mr. Blake. "He is a wretched politician, always preaching up Home Rule."
"But I do not think that even he would teach a boy to deceive his own father in such a matter as this."
"I am not sure," said Blake. "It is very difficult to get at the vagaries of mind in such a man as Mr. Brosnan. But what do you intend to do?"
"I have come to you for advice. But remember this: – in my present frame of mind, the suspicion that I feel as to poor Florian is ten times worse to me than the loss of all my meadows. If I could find out Edith to have been wrong, I should be at once relieved of the great trouble which sits heaviest at my heart."
"I fear that Edith is right," said Mr. Blake.
"You are prejudiced a little in her favour. Whatever she says you will think right."
"You must weigh that, and take it for what it's worth," said Mr. Blake. "We know that the boy has got himself into bad hands. You do not suspect him of a desire to injure you?"
"Oh, no!" said the father.
"But he has seen these men do it, and now refuses to tell you. They have terrified him."
"He is not a cowardly boy," said Mr. Jones, still standing up for his son.
"But they have made him swear an oath that he will not tell. There has been something of that sort. What does he say himself?"
"Simply that he knows nothing about it."
"But how does he say it? Does he look you in the face? A boy of that kind may lie. Boys do – and girls also. When people say they don't, they know nothing about it; but if it's worth one's while to look at them one can generally tell when they're lying. I'm not a bit afraid of a boy when he is lying, – but only of one who can lie as though he didn't lie."
"I think that Florian is lying," said Mr. Jones slowly; "he does not look me in the face, and he does not lie straightforward."
"Then Edith is right; and I am right when I swear by her."
"But what am I to do with him? If, as I suppose, he saw Pat Carroll do the mischief, he must have seen others with him. If we knew who were the lot, we could certainly get the truth out of some of them, so as to get evidence for a conviction."
"Can't he be made to speak?" asked Mr. Blake.
"How can I make him? It will be understood all about Morony that he has been lying. And I feel that it is thought that he has made himself a hero by sticking to his lie. If they should turn upon him?" Mr. Blake sat silent but made no immediate reply. "It would be better for me to let the whole thing slide. If they were to kill him!"
"They would not do that. Here in County Galway they have not come to that as yet. There is not a county in all Ireland in which such a deed could be done," said Mr. Blake, standing up for his country. "Are you to let this ruffian pass unpunished while you have the power of convicting him? I think that you are bound to punish him. For the sake of your country you are bound to do so."
"And the boy?" said Mr. Jones hoarsely.
"He is but ten years old, and will soon live it down. And the disgrace of the lie will be drowned in the triumph of telling the truth at last. We should all feel, – I should feel, – that he would in such case deserve well, rather than ill, of his father and of me, and of all of us. Besides you had some idea of sending him to school in England." Here Mr. Jones shook his head, intending to indicate that no such expensive step as that would be possible after the loss incurred by the flooding of the eighty acres. "At any rate my advice to you is to make him declare the truth. I think little harm of a boy for lying, but I do think harm of those who allow a lie to pass unnoticed." So saying Mr. Blake ended the meeting, and took Mr. Jones away to see Mrs. Blake and the girls.
"I do suppose that father has gone to Carnlough, to consult with Mr. Blake about this affair of the flood." It was thus that Ada spoke to her brother Florian, when he came to her discussing the matter of their father's absence.
"What can Mr. Blake know about it?" said Florian.
"I suppose he means to ask about you. It is quite clear, Florian, that no one in the house believes you."
"Peter does."
"You mean that Peter thinks you are right to stand to the lie now you have told it. More shame for Peter if he does."
"You wouldn't have a fellow go and put himself out of favour with all the boys through the country? There is a horrible man that wears a mask – " Then he remembered, and stopped himself. He was on closer terms with Ada than with Edith, but not on terms so close as to justify his whispering a word about the man in the mask.
"Where did you see the man in the mask?" asked Ada. "Who is the man in the mask?"
"I don't know."
"But you know where you saw him. You must know that. What did the man in the mask say to you?"
"I am not going to tell you anything about him," said the boy. "I am not going to have my secrets got out of me in that way. It isn't honest. Nobody but a Protestant would do it." So saying Florian left his sister, with the tale of the man in the mask only half told.
CHAPTER V.
MR. O'MAHONY AND HIS DAUGHTER
We must now turn to another personage in our story, and tell our readers something of the adventures and conditions of this gentleman; – something also of his daughter. The adventures of her early life will occupy much of our time and many of our pages; and though her father may not be so interesting as it is hoped that she will become, still he was so peculiar in his modes of thought, and so honest, though by no means wise, in his manner of thinking, as to make his story also perhaps worth the telling.
Gerald O'Mahony was at the time of the flooding of Mr. Jones's meadows not much more than forty years old. But he was already the father of a daughter nearly twenty. Where he was born, from what parents, or to what portion of Ireland his family belonged, no one knew. He himself had been heard to declare a suspicion that his father had come from County Kerry. But as he himself had been, according to his own statement, probably born in the United States, the county to which his father had belonged is not important. He had been bred up as a Roman Catholic, but had long since thrown over all the prejudices of his religion. He had married when he was quite young, and had soon lost his wife. But in talking of her now he always described her as an angel. But though he looked to be so young as to be his daughter's brother, rather than her father, he had never thought of marrying again. His daughter he declared was everything to him. But those who knew him well said that politics were dearer to him even than his daughter. Since he had been known in County Galway, he had passed and repassed nearly a dozen times between New York and Ireland; and his daughter had twice come with him. He had no declared means, but he had never been known to borrow a shilling, or to leave a bill unpaid. But he had frequently said aloud that he had no money left, and that unless he returned to his own country he and his daughter must be taken in by some poor-house. For Mr. O'Mahony, fond as he was of Ireland, allowed no one to say that he was an Irishman.
