involuntarily at the open expression of Barry's atrocious wish, and yet
taking his glass of wine.

"The devil she is!" muttered Barry, throwing himself into an arm-chair.
He sat there some little time, and the doctor also sat down, said
nothing, but continued sipping his wine.

"In the name of mercy, what must I do?" said Barry, speaking more to
himself than to the other.

"Why, you've enough, Mr Lynch, without hers; you can do well enough
without it."

"Enough! Would you think you had enough if you were robbed of more than
half of all you have. Half, indeed," he shouted--"I may say all, at
once. I don't believe there's a man in Ireland would bear it. Nor will
I."

Again there was a silence; but still, somehow, Colligan seemed to stay
longer than usual. Every now and then Barry would for a moment look
full in his face, and almost instantly drop his eyes again. He was
trying to mature future plans; bringing into shape thoughts which had
occurred to him, in a wild way at different times; proposing to himself
schemes, with which his brain had been long loaded, but which he had
never resolved on,--which he had never made palpable and definite. One
thing he found sure and certain; on one point he was able to become
determined: he could not do it alone; he must have an assistant; he
must buy some one's aid; and again he looked at Colligan, and again
his eyes fell. There was no encouragement there, but there was no
discouragement. Why did he stay there so long? Why did he so slowly sip