ork he was about was very, very dirty work. Two or three
times on the road, he had all but made up his mind to tear the letters
he had in his pocket, and to drive at once to Dunmore House, and tell
Barry Lynch that he would do nothing further in the case. And he would
have done so, had he not reflected that he had gone so far with Moylan,
that he could not recede, without leaving it in the old rogue's power
to make the whole matter public.

As he drove down the street of Dunmore, he endeavoured to quiet his
conscience, by reflecting that he might still do much to guard Anty
from the ill effects of her brother's rapacity; and that at any rate he
would not see her property taken from her, though she might be
frightened out of her matrimonial speculation.

He wanted to see the widow, Martin, and Anty, and if possible to see
them, at first, separately; and fortune so far favoured him that, as he
got off the car, he saw our hero standing at the inn door.

"Ah! Mr Daly," said he, coming up to the car and shaking hands with the
attorney, for Daly put out his hand to him--"how are you again?--I
suppose you're going up to the house? They say you're Barry's right
hand man now. Were you coming into the inn?"

"Why, I will step in just this minute; but I've a word I want to spake
to you first."

"To me!" said Martin.

"Yes, to you, Martin Kelly: isn't that quare?" and then he gave
directions to the driver to put up the horse, and bring the car round
again in an hour's time. "D' you remember my telling you, the day we
came into Dunmore on the car together, that I was going up to the
house?"

"Faith I do, well; it's not so long since."

"And do you mind my telling you, I didn't know from Adam what it was
for, that Barry Lynch was sending for me?"

"And I remember that, too."

"And that I tould you, that when I did know I shouldn't tell you?"

"Begad you did, Mr Daly; thim very words."

"Why then, Martin, I tould you what wasn't thrue, for I'm come all the
way from Tuam, this minute, to tell you all about it."

Martin turned very red, for he rightly conceived that when an attorney
came all the way from Tuam to talk to him, the tidings were not likely
to be agreeable.

"And is it about Barry Lynch's business?"

"It is."

"Then it's schames there's divil a doubt of that."

"It is schames, as you say, Martin," said Daly, slapping him on the
shoulder--"fine schames--no less than a wife with four hundred a-year!
Woul