“Mr. Corrigan's claim has nothing to go upon, I assure you,” broke in Kennyfeck. “If we accept the paper, it is by courtesy,--to show that we respect the feeling that suggested it,--nothing more.” While these words were addressed to Tiernay, Cashel, who had walked towards one of the windows, did not hear them. “Well,” cried Tiernay, after an awkward pause, “the devil a worse negotiator ever accepted a mission than myself! When I desire to be frank, the only truths that occur to me are sure to be offensive, and I never am so certain to insult as when I fancy I 'm doing a favor. Goodbye, sir; pardon the liberties of an old man, whose profession has taught him to believe that remedies are seldom painless, and who, although a poor man, would rather any day lose the fee than the patient! You'll not treat Con Corrigan the less kindly because he has an imprudent friend. I'm sorry to think that I leave an unfavorable impression behind me; but I'm glad, heartily glad, I came here to breakfast, for I go away convinced of two things, that I was far from believing so certain when I entered,”--he paused for a second or two, and then said,--“that a spendthrift could have an unblemished sense of honor, and that an attorney could appreciate it!” With these words he departed, while Cashel, after staring for a few moments at Kennyfeck, threw himself back in his chair, and laughed long and heartily. “An original, sir,--quite an original,” said Kennyfeck, who, not exactly knowing whether to accept the doctor's parting speech as a compliment, or the reverse, contented himself with this very vague expression. “He's a fine old fellow, although he does lay on his salve in Indian fashion, with a scalping-knife; but I wish he'd not have said anything of that confounded paper.” “Pardon me, sir,” interposed Kennyfeck, taking it from his pocket, “but it might prove of inestimable value, in the event of any future litigation.” “What! you kept it, then?” cried Cashel. “Of course I did, sir. It is a document scarce inferior to a deed of title; for, although Mr. Corrigan has nothing to substantiate a claim at law, it is incontestable that his family were the original owners of this estate.” Cashel took the paper from Kennyfeck's hand, and seemed to peruse it for some minutes, and then approaching the fire he threw it into the blaze, and pressed it down with a poker till it was consumed; while Kennyfeck, too much consternated to utter a word, stood the personification of terror-struck astonishment. “You have burnt it, sir!” said he at last, in a whisper. “Why not, sir?” cried Cashel, rudely. “Should I have made use of it against the man who wrote it, or against his heirs, if by chance they should seek one day to dispute my right?” A deep sigh was all the reply Kennyfeck could make.