"Oh my!" said Jane. "Now sit still, Anty dear, and he can't come near you. Shure, he'll niver be afther coming upstairs, will he, Meg?"
Anty, who had begun to feel quite happy in her new quarters, and among her kind friends, turned pale, and dropped her knife and fork. "What'll I do, Mrs Kelly?" she said, as she saw the old lady complacently get up. "You're not going to give me up? You'll not go to him?"
"Faith I will thin, my dear," replied the widow; "never fear else—I'll go to him, or any one else that sends to me in a dacent manner. May-be it's wanting tay in the shop he is. I'll go to him immediately. But, as for giving you up, I mane you to stay here, till you've a proper home of your own; and Barry Lynch has more in him than I think, av' he makes me alter my mind. Set down quiet, Meg, and get your dinner." And the widow got up, and proceeded to the shop.
The girls were all in commotion. One went to the door at the top of the stairs, to overhear as much as possible of what was to take place; and the other clasped Anty's hand, to re-assure her, having first thrown open the door of one of the bed-rooms, that she might have a place of retreat in the event of the enemy succeeding in pushing his way upstairs.
"Your humble sarvant, Mr Lynch," said the widow, entering the shop and immediately taking up a position of strength in her accustomed place behind the counter. "Were you wanting me, this evening?" and she took up the knife with which she cut penn'orths of tobacco for her customers, and hitting the counter with its wooden handle looked as hard as copper, and as bold as brass.
"Yes, Mrs Kelly," said Barry, with as much dignity as he could muster, "I do want to speak to you. My sister has foolishly left her home this morning, and my servants tell me she is under your roof. Is this true?"
"Is it Anty? Indeed she is thin: ating her dinner, upstairs, this very moment;" and she rapped the counter again, and looked her foe in the face.
"Then, with your leave, Mrs Kelly, I'll step up, and speak to her. I suppose she's alone?"
"Indeed she ain't thin, for she's the two girls ating wid her, and myself too, barring that I'm just come down at your bidding. No; we're not so bad as that, to lave her all alone; and as for your seeing her, Mr Lynch, I don't think she's exactly wishing it at present; so, av' you've a message, I'll take it."
"You don't mean to say that Miss Lynch—my sister—is in this inn, and that you intend to prevent my seeing her? You'd better take care what you're doing, Mrs Kelly. I don't want to say anything harsh at present, but you'd better take care what you're about with me and my family, or you'll find yourself in a scrape that you little bargain for."
"I'll take care of myself, Mr Barry; never fear for me, darling; and, what's more, I'll take care of your sister, too. And, to give you a bit of my mind—she'll want my care, I'm thinking, while you're in the counthry."
"I've not come here to listen to impertinence, Mrs Kelly, and I will not do so. In fact, it is very unwillingly that I came into this house at all."
"Oh, pray lave it thin, pray lave it! We can do without you."
"Perhaps you will have the civility to listen to me. It is very unwillingly, I say, that I have come here at all; but my sister, who is, unfortunately, not able to judge for herself, is here. How she came here I don't pretend to say—"
"Oh, she walked," said the widow, interrupting him; "she walked, quiet and asy, out of your door, and into mine. But that's a lie, for it was out of her own. She didn't come through the kay-hole, nor yet out of the window."
"I'm saying nothing about how she came here, but here she is, poor creature!"
"Poor crature, indeed! She was like to be a poor crature, av' she stayed up there much longer."
"Here she is, I say, and I consider it my duty to look after her. You cannot but be aware, Mrs Kelly, that this is not a fit place for Miss Lynch. You must be aware that a road-side public-house, however decent, or a village shop, however respectable, is not the proper place for my sister; and, though I may not yet be legally her guardian, I am her brother, and am in charge of her property, and I insist on seeing her. It will be at your peril if you prevent me."
"Have you done, now, Misther Barry?"
"That's what I've got to say; and I think you've sense enough to see the folly—not to speak of the danger, of preventing me from seeing my sister."
"That's your say, Misther Lynch; and now, listen to mine. Av' Miss Anty was wishing to see you, you'd be welcome upstairs, for her sake; but she ain't, so there's an end of that; for not a foot will you put inside this, unless you're intending to force your way, and I don't think you'll be for trying that. And as to bearing the danger, why, I'll do my best; and, for all the harm you're likely to do me—that's by fair manes,—I don't think I'll be axing any one to help me out of it. So, good bye t' ye, av' you've no further commands, for I didn't yet well finish the bit I was ating."
"And you mean to say, Mrs Kelly, you'll take upon yourself to prevent my seeing my sister?"
"Indeed I do; unless she was wishing it, as well as yourself; and no mistake."
"And you'll do that, knowing, as you do, that the unfortunate young woman is of weak mind, and unable to judge for herself, and that I'm her brother, and her only living relative and guardian?"
"All blathershin, Masther Barry," said the uncourteous widow, dropping the knife from her hand, and smacking her fingers: "as for wake mind, it's sthrong enough to take good care of herself and her money too, now she's once out of Dunmore House. There many waker than Anty Lynch, though few have had worse tratement to make them so. As for guardian, I'm thinking it's long since she was of age, and, av' her father didn't think she wanted one, when he made his will, you needn't bother yourself about it, now she's no one to plaze only herself. And as for brother, Masther Barry, why didn't you think of that before you struck her, like a brute, as you are—before you got dhrunk, like a baste, and then threatened to murdher her? Why didn't you think about brother and sisther before you thried to rob the poor wake crature, as you call her; and when you found she wasn't quite wake enough, as you call it, swore to have her life, av' she wouldn't act at your bidding? That's being a brother and a guardian, is it, Masther Barry? Talk to me of danger, you ruffian," continued the widow, with her back now thoroughly up; "you'd betther look to yourself, or I know who'll be in most danger. Av' it wasn't the throuble it'd be to Anty,—and, God knows, she's had throubles enough, I'd have had her before the magisthrates before this, to tell of what was done last night up at the house, yonder. But mind, she can do it yet, and, av' you don't take yourself very asy, she shall. Danger, indeed! a robber and ruffian like you, to talk of danger to me—and his dear sisther, too, and aftimer trying his best, last night, to murdher her!"
These last words, with a long drawl on the word dear, were addressed rather to the crowd, whom the widow's loud voice had attracted into the open shop, than to Barry, who stood, during this tirade, half stupefied with rage, and half frightened, at the open attack made on him with reference to his ill-treatment of Anty. However, he couldn't pull in his horns now, and he was obliged, in self-defence, to brazen it out.
"Very well, Mrs Kelly—you shall pay for this impudence, and that dearly. You've invented these lies, as a pretext for getting my sister and her property into your hands!"
"Lies!" screamed the widow; "av' you say lies to me agin, in this house, I'll smash the bones of ye myself, with the broom-handle. Lies, indeed! and from you, Barry Lynch, the biggest liar in all Connaught—not to talk of robber and ruffian! You'd betther take yourself out of that,
