or thinking of such a thing: he would show Daly, when in the
plenitude of his wealth and power, how he despised the lukewarmness
and timidity of his councils. These and other delightful visions were
floating through his imagination; when, all of a sudden, like a blow,
like a thunderbolt, the idea of _a will_ fell as it were upon him with
a ton weight. His heart sunk low within him; he became white, and his
jaw dropped. After all, there were victory and triumph, plunder and
wealth, _his_ wealth, in the very hands of his enemies! Of course the
Kellys would force her to make a will, if she didn't do it of her
own accord; if not, they'd forge one. There was some comfort in that
thought: he could at any rate contest the will, and swear that it was
a forgery.

He swallowed a dram, and went off, almost weeping to Daly.

"Oh, Mr Daly, poor Anty's dying: did you hear, Mr Daly--she's all but
gone?" Yes; Daly had been sorry to hear that Miss Lynch was very ill.
"What shall I do," continued Barry, "if they say that she's left a
will?"

"Go and hear it read. Or, if you don't like to do that yourself, stay
away, and let me hear it."

"But they'll forge one! They'll make out what they please, and when
she's dying, they'll make her put her name to it; or they'll only just
put the pen in her hand, when she's not knowing what she's doing.
They'd do anything now, Daly, to get the money they've been fighting
for so hard."

"It's my belief," answered the attorney, "that the Kellys not only
won't do anything dishonest, but that they won't even take any unfair
advantage of you. But at any rate you can do nothing. You must wait
patiently; you, at any rate, can take no steps till she's dead."

"But couldn't she make a will in my favour? I know she'd do it if I
asked her--if I asked her now--now she's going off, you know. I'm sure
she'd do it. Don't you think she would?"

"You're safer, I think, to let it alone," said Daly, who could hardly
control the ineffable disgust he felt.

"I don't know that," continued Barry. "She's weak, and 'll do what
she's asked: besides, _they'll_ make her do it. Fancy if, when she's
gone, I find I have to share everything with those people!" And he
struck his forehead and pushed the hair off his perspiring face, as he
literally shook with despair. "I must see her, Daly. I'm quite sure
she'll make a will if I beg her; they can't hinder me seeing my own,
only, dying sister; can they, Daly? And when I'm once