Mr Lynch?"

"To have it out, at once, then--she's not right in her upper story.
Mind, I don't mean she's a downright lunatic; but she's cracked, poor
thing, and quite unable to judge for herself, in money-matters, and
such like; and, though she might have done very well, poor thing,
and passed without notice, if she'd been left quiet, as was always
intended, I'm afraid now, unless she's well managed, she'd end her
life in the Ballinasloe Asylum."

The attorney made no answer to this, although Barry paused, to allow
him to do so. Daly was too sharp, and knew his employer's character
too well to believe all he said, and he now began to fancy that he saw
what the affectionate brother was after. "Well, Daly," continued Barry,
after a minute's pause; "after the old man died, we went on quiet
enough for some time. I was up in Dublin mostly, about that confounded
loan, and poor Anty was left here by herself; and what should she do,
but take up with a low huxter's family in the town here."

"That's bad," said the attorney. "Was there an unmarried young man
among them at all?"

"Faith there was so; as great a blackguard as there is in Connaught."

"And Miss Lynch is going to marry him?"

"That's just it, Daly; that's what we must prevent. You know, for the
sake of the family, I couldn't let it go on. Then, poor creature, she'd
be plundered and ill-treated--she'd be a downright idiot in no time;
and, you know, Daly, the property'd go to the devil; and where'd I be
then?"

Daly couldn't help thinking that, in all probability, his kind host
would not be long in following the property; but he did not say so. He
merely asked the name of the "blackguard" whom Miss Anty meant to
marry?

"Wait till I tell you the whole of it. The first thing I heard was,
that Anty had made a low ruffian, named Moylan, her agent."

"I know him; she couldn't have done much worse. Well?"

"She made him her agent without speaking to me, or telling me a word
about it; and I couldn't make out what had put it into her head, till I
heard that this old rogue was a kind of cousin to some people living
here, named Kelly."

"What, the widow, that keeps the inn?"

"The very same! confound her, for an impertinent scheming old hag, as
she is. Well; that's the house that Anty was always going to; drinking
tea with the daughters, and walking with the son--an infernal young
farmer, that lives with them, the worst of the whole set."

"What, Martin Kelly?