doesn't mean to close his doors against you, what business has he to inquire where you came from? I suppose he doesn't like me a bit too well; but you're not weak enough to be afraid to say that you've been at Handicap Lodge?"
"The truth is, Dot, I don't think I'll go to Grey Abbey at all, till Fanny's of age. She only wants a month of it now; and then I can meet Lord Cashel in a business way, as one man should meet another."
"I can't for the life of me," said Blake, "make out what it is that has set that old fellow so strong against horses. He won the Oaks twice himself, and that not so very long ago; and his own son, Kilcullen, is deeper a good deal on the turf than I am, and, by a long chalk less likely to pull through, as I take it. But here's the Connaught man on the stairs,—I could swear to Galway by the tread of his foot!"—and Martin knocked at the door, and walked in.
"Well, Kelly," said Lord Ballindine, "how does Dublin agree with you?" And, "I hope I see your lordship well, my lord?" said Martin.
"How are they all at Dunmore and Kelly's Court?"
"Why thin, they're all well, my lord, except Sim Lynch—and he's dead. But your lordship'll have heard that."
"What, old Simeon Lynch dead!" said Blake, "well then, there's promotion. Peter Mahon, that was the agent at Castleblakeney, is now the biggest rogue alive in Connaught."
"Don't swear to that," said Lord Ballindine. "There's some of Sim's breed still left at Dunmore. It wouldn't be easy to beat Barry, would it, Kelly?"
"Why then, I don't know; I wouldn't like to be saying against the gentleman's friend that he spoke of; and doubtless his honour knows him well, or he wouldn't say so much of him."
"Indeed I do," said Blake. "I never give a man a good character till I know he deserves it. Well, Frank, I'll go and dress, and leave you and Mr. Kelly to your business," and he left the room.
"I'm sorry to hear you speak so hard agin Mr. Barry, my lord," began Martin. "May-be he mayn't be so bad. Not but that he's a cross-grained piece of timber to dale with."
"And why should you be sorry I'd speak against him? There's not more friendship, I suppose, between you and Barry Lynch now, than there used to be?"
"Why, not exactly frindship, my lord; but I've my rasons why I'd wish you not to belittle the Lynches. Your lordship might forgive them all, now the old man's dead."
"Forgive them!—indeed I can, and easily. I don't know I ever did any of them an injury, except when I thrashed Barry at Eton, for calling himself the son of a gentleman. But what makes you stick up for them? You're not going to marry the daughter, are you?"
Martin blushed up to his forehead as his landlord thus hit the nail on the head; but, as it was dark, his blushes couldn't be seen. So, after dangling his hat about for a minute, and standing first on one foot, and then on the other, he took courage, and answered.
"Well, Mr. Frank, that is, your lordship, I mane—I b'lieve I might do worse."
"Body and soul, man!" exclaimed the other, jumping from his recumbent position on the sofa, "You don't mean to tell me you're going to marry Anty Lynch?"
"In course not," answered Martin; "av' your lordship objects."
"Object, man!—How the devil can I object? Why, she's six hundred a year, hasn't she?"
"About four, my lord, I think's nearest the mark."
"Four hundred a year! And I don't suppose you owe a penny in the world!"
"Not much—unless the last gale [10] to your lordship—and we never pay that till next May."
"And so you're going to marry Anty Lynch!" again repeated Frank, as though he couldn't bring himself to realise the idea; "and now, Martin, tell me all about it,—how the devil you managed it—when it's to come off—and how you and Barry mean to hit it off together when you're brothers. I suppose I'll lose a good tenant any way?"
"Not av' I'm a good one, you won't, with my consent, my lord."
"Ah! but it'll be Anty's consent, now, you know. She mayn't like Toneroe. But tell me all about it. What put it into your head?"
"Why, my lord, you run away so fast; one can't tell you anything. I didn't say I was going to marry her—at laist, not for certain;—I only said I might do worse."
"Well then; are you going to marry her, or rather, is she going to marry you, or is she not?"
"Why, I don't know. I'll tell your lordship just how it is. You know when old Sim died, my lord?"
"Of course I do. Why, I was at Kelly's Court at the time."
"So you were, my lord; I was forgetting. But you went away again immediately, and didn't hear how Barry tried to come round his sisther, when he heard how the will went; and how he tried to break the will and to chouse her out of the money."
"Why, this is the very man you wouldn't let me call a rogue, a minute or two ago!"
"Ah, my lord! that was just before sthrangers; besides, it's no use calling one's own people bad names. Not that he belongs to me yet, and may-be never will. But, between you and I, he is a rogue, and his father's son every inch of him."
"Well, Martin, I'll remember. I'll not abuse him when he's your brother-in-law. But how did you get round the sister?—That's the question."
"Well, my lord, I'll tell you. You know there was always a kind of frindship between Anty and the girls at home, and they set her up to going to old Moylan—he that receives the rents on young Barron's property, away at Strype. Moylan's uncle to Flaherty, that married mother's sister. Well, she went to him—he's a kind of office at Dunmore, my lord."
"Oh, I know him and his office! He knows the value of a name at the back of a bit of paper, as well as any one."
"May-be he does, my lord; but he's an honest old fellow, is Moylan, and manages a little for mother."
"Oh, of course he's honest, Martin, because he belongs to you. You know Barry's to be an honest chap, then."
"And that's what he niver will be the longest day he lives! But, however, Moylan got her to sign all the papers; and, when Barry was out, he went and took an inventhory to the house, and made out everything square and right, and you may be sure Barry'd have to get up very 'arly before he'd come round him. Well, after a little, the ould chap came to me one morning, and asked me all manner of questions—whether I knew Anty Lynch? whether we didn't used to be great friends? and a lot more. I never minded him much; for though I and Anty used to speak, and she'd dhrank tay on the sly with us two or three times before her father's death, I'd never thought much about her."
"Nor wouldn't now, Martin, eh? if it wasn't for the old man's will."
"In course I wouldn't, my lord. I won't be denying it. But, on the other hand, I wouldn't marry her now for all her money, av' I didn't mane to trate her well. Well, my lord, after beating about the bush for a long time, the ould thief popped it out, and told me that he thought Anty'd be all the betther for a husband; and that, av' I was wanting a wife, he b'lieved I might suit myself now. Well, I thought of it a little, and tould him I'd take the hint. The next day he comes to me again, all the way down to Toneroe, where I was walking the big
