night," and Martin left the room, as Barry had done, in tears. But he
had no feeling within him of which he had cause to be ashamed. He was
ashamed, and tried to hide his face, for he was not accustomed to be
seen with the tears running down his cheeks; but still he had within
him a strong sensation of gratified pride, as he reflected that he was
the object of the warmest affection to so sweet a creature as Anty
Lynch.

"Well, Martin--what was it she wanted?" said his mother, as she met him
at the bottom of the stairs.

"I couldn't tell you now, mother," said he; "but av there was iver an
angel on 'arth, it's Anty Lynch." And saying so, he pushed open the
door and escaped into the street.

"I wondher what she's been about now?" said the widow, speculating to
herself--"well, av she does lave it away from Barry, who can say but
what she has a right to do as she likes with her own?--and who's done
the most for her, I'd like to know?"--and pleasant prospects of her
son's enjoying an independence flitted before her mind's eye. "But
thin," she continued, talking to herself, "I wouldn't have it said in
Dunmore that a Kelly demaned hisself to rob a Lynch, not for twice
all Sim Lynch ever had. Well--we'll see; but no good 'll ever come of
meddling with them people. Jane, Jane," she called out, at the top of
her voice, "are you niver coming down, and letting me out of this?--bad
manners to you."

Jane answered, in the same voice, from the parlour upstairs, "Shure,
mother, ain't I getting Anty her tay?"