wards the door. But Dr.
Tiernay interposed gently, and said, "No, this might prove dangerous;
remain here till I have seen and spoken with him." Mary assented by a
gesture, and sat down without speaking.

"Sit down, Tiernay," said the sick man, as the doctor came to his
bedside,--"sit down, and let me speak while I have strength. Everything
is against us, Tiernay. We are not to get the renewal; this young Mr.
Cashel wants the cottage,--we must turn out. I'll have to do so, even
before the gale-day; but what matter about me! It 's that poor child
I 'm thinking of--" Here he stopped, and was some minutes before he could
resume. "There,--read that; that will tell you all."

Tiernay took the crumpled letter, which the old man had all this while
held firmly in his closed grasp, and read it.

"Well, that 's bad news, is n't it?" said Corrigan. "Not the bill,--I
don't mean that; but _he 's_ coming back; do you see the threat?--he's
coming back again."

"How can he?" said the doctor. "The man committed a forgery. How will he
dare to return here and place his neck in a halter?"

"You forget whose evidence alone can convict him,--mine; the name he
forged was mine, the sum he took was mine,--nearly all I had in the
world; but he has nothing to fear from me, whatever I may have to dread
from _him_."

"How can he have any terror for _you!_"

"He can take _her_ away,--not from me, for she 'll soon be separated by
a stronger hand than his; but I can't bear to think that she 'll be in
his power. Tiernay, this is what is cutting into my heart now as I lie
here, and leaves me no rest to think of the brief minutes before me.
Tell me, is there no way to avoid this? Think of something, my old
friend,--take this weight off my dying heart, and my last breath will
bless you."

"Are there any relations, or friends?"

"None, not one; I 'm the last of the tree,--the one old rotten branch
left. I was thinking of a nunnery, Tiernay, one of those convents in
France or the Low Countries; but even there, if he found her out, he
could legally demand her to be restored to him,--and he would find her,
ay, that he would! There never was a thing yet that man could n't do
when he set his heart on it; and the more the obstacles, the greater his
wish. I heard him say it with his own lips, that he never had any fancy
for my poor Lucy till he overheard her one day saying that 'she never
hated any one till she knew him.' From that hour, he swore to hi