wouldn't the humblest peasant that ever
crouched to his meal of potatoes, beside the little turf fire of his
cabin, love his home as well as the best blood in the land? No, no, Mat,
it's little kindness we 'd deserve on such a plea as that."

"There, there, don't agitate yourself. I know what you mean, and what
you'd like me to say."

"You do not," rejoined the old man, querulously, "for I have n't said it
yet. Nor I can't think of it now. Ah, Mat," here his voice softened once
more into its habitual key, "that was a cruel thought of me a while ago;
and faith, Mr. Cashel might well suspect, if he heard it, that I was n't
one of the old good blood of the Corrigans, that could talk that way of
the poor; but so it is. There is n't a bad trait in a man's heart that
is not the twin-brother of his selfishness. And now I'll say no more;
do the best you can for us, that's all. I was going to bid you tell him
that we have an old claim on the whole estate that some of the lawyers
say is good,--that the Crown have taken off the confiscation in the
time of my great father, Phil Corrigan; but sure he would n't mind
that,--besides, that's not the way to ask a favor."

"You must n't go on talking this way; see how hot your hand is!"

"Well, maybe it will be cold enough soon! There is another thing, Mat.
You must call on Murphy, with the bill of sale of the furniture and the
books, and get money to meet these bills. There they are; I indorsed
them this morning. Tell Green it's no use sending me the other bills; I
'll not have means to take them up, and it would be only disgracing my
name for nothing to write it on them. I 'll be longing to see you back
again, Mat, and hear your tidings; so God bless you, and send you safe
home to us."

"I 'll set off to-night," said the doctor, rising, and shaking his hand.
"Your attack is passed over, and there's no more danger, if you 'll keep
quiet."

"There's another thing, Mat," said the sick man, smiling faintly, and
with a strange meaning. "Call at 28 Drogheda Street, and ask the people
to show you the room Con Corrigan fought the duel in with Colonel
Battley. It was only twelve feet long and ten wide, a little place off
the drawing-room, and the colonel would n't even consent that we should
stand in the corners. Look and see if the bullet is in the wall still.
The old marquis used to have it fresh painted red every year, on the
anniversary of the day. Oh, dear, oh, dear, but they were the