"Shure your honour, Mr. Barry, isn't this the time then to open yer
honour's hand, when Miss Anty, God bless her, is afther making sich a
great match for the family?--Glory be to God!"

"What d'ye mean, you ruffian?"

"Isn't the Kellys great people intirely, Mr. Barry? and won't it be a
great thing for Miss Anty, to be sib to a lord? Shure yer honour'd not
be refusing me this blessed day."

"What the d---- are you saying about Miss Lynch?" said Barry, his
attention somewhat arrested by the mention of his sister's name.

"Isn't she going to be married then, to the dacentest fellow in
Dunmore? Martin Kelly, God bless him! Ah! there'll be fine times at
Dunmore, then. He's not the boy to rattle a poor divil out of the
kitchen into the cold winther night! The Kellys was always the right
sort for the poor."

Barry was frightened in earnest, now. It struck him at once that Jack
couldn't have made the story out of his own head; and the idea that
there was any truth in it, nearly knocked him off his horse. He rode
on, however, trying to appear to be regardless of what had been said to
him; and, as he trotted off, he heard the fool's parting salutation.

"And will yer honour be forgething me afther the news I've brought yer?
Well, hard as ye are, Misther Barry, I've hot yer now, any way."

And, in truth, Jack had hit him hard. Of all things that could happen
to him, this would be about the worst. He had often thought, with