--There's worse fellows than him, Mr Lynch."

"I'll be hanged if I know them, then; but if there are, I don't choose
my poor sister--only one remove from an idiot, and hardly that--to be
carried off from her mother's house, and married to such a fellow as
that. Why, it's all the same infernal plot; it's the same people that
got the old man to sign the will, when he was past his senses!"

"Begad, they must have been clever to do that! How the deuce could they
have got the will drawn?"

"I tell you, they _did_ do it!" answered Barry, whose courage was now
somewhat raised by the whiskey. "That's neither here nor there, but
they did it; and, when the old fool was dead, they got this Moylan
made Anty's agent: and then, the hag of a mother comes up here, before
daylight, and bribes the servant, and carries her off down to her
filthy den, which she calls an inn; and when I call to see my sister,
I get nothing but insolence and abuse."

"And when did this happen? When did Miss Lynch leave the house?"

"Yesterday morning, about four o'clock."

"She went down of her own accord, though?"

"D----l a bit. The old hag came up here, and filched her out of her
bed."

"But she couldn't have taken your sister away, unless she had wished to
go."

"Of course she wished it; but a silly creature like her can't be let to
do all she wishes.. She wishes to get a husband, and doesn't care what
sort of a one she gets; but you don't suppose an old maid--forty years
old, who has always been too stupid and foolish ever to be seen or
spoken to, should be allowed to throw away four hundred a-year, on the
first robber that tries to cheat her? You don't mean to say there isn't
a law to prevent that?"

"I don't know how you'll prevent it, Mr Lynch. She's her own
mistress."

"What the d----l! Do you mean to say there's nothing to prevent an
idiot like that from marrying?"

"If she _was_ an idiot! But I think you'll find your sister has sense
enough to marry whom she pleases."

"I tell you she _is_ an idiot; not raving, mind; but everybody knows
she was never fit to manage anything."

"Who'd prove it!"

"Why, I would. Divil a doubt of it! I could prove that she never could,
all her life."

"Ah, my dear Sir! you couldn't do it; nor could I advise you to
try--that is, unless there were plenty more who could swear positively
that she was out of her mind. Would the servants swear that? Could you
yourself, now, positively swear that she wa