“Mind yourself, Martin, as I told you before, and you’ll about have enough to do.—Miss Lynch, I’ve been instructed by your brother to draw up an indictment against Mrs Kelly and Mr Kelly, charging them with conspiracy to get possession of your fortune.” “A what!” shouted the widow, jumping up from her chair—“to rob Anty Lynch of her fortune! I’d have you to know, Mr Daly, I wouldn’t demane myself to rob the best gentleman in Connaught, let alone a poor unprotected young woman, whom I’ve—” “Whist, mother—go asy,” said Martin. “I tould you that that was what war in the paper he gave me; he’ll give you another, telling you all about it just this minute.” “Well, the born ruffian! Does he dare to accuse me of wishing to rob his sister! Now, Mr Daly, av’ the blessed thruth is in you this minute, don’t your own heart know who it is, is most likely to rob Anty Lynch?—Isn’t it Barry Lynch himself is thrying to rob his own sisther this minute? ay, and he’d murdher her too, only the heart within him isn’t sthrong enough.” “Ah, mother! don’t be saying such things,” said Martin; “what business is that of our’n? Let Barry send what messages he plazes; I tell you it’s all moonshine; he can’t hurt the hair of your head, nor Anty’s neither. Go asy, and let Mr Daly say what he has to say, and have done with it.” “It’s asy to say ‘go asy’—but who’s to sit still and be tould sich things as that? Rob Anty Lynch indeed!” “If you’ll let me finish what I have to say, Mrs Kelly, I think you’ll find it betther for the whole of us,” said Daly. “Go on thin, and be quick with it; but don’t talk to dacent people about robbers any more. Robbers indeed! they’re not far to fitch; and black robbers too, glory be to God.” “Your brother, Miss Lynch, is determined to bring this matter before a jury at the assizes, for the sake of protecting you and your property.” “Protecthing Anty Lynch!—is it Barry? The Holy Virgin defind her from sich prothection! a broken head the first moment the dhrink makes his heart sthrong enough to sthrike her!” “Ah, mother! you’re a fool,” exclaimed Martin: “why can’t you let the man go on?—ain’t he paid for saying it? Well, Mr Daly, begorra I pity you, to have such things on your tongue; but go on, go on, and finish it.” “Your brother conceives this to be his duty,” continued Daly, rather bothered by the manner in which he had to make his communication, “and it is a duty which he is determined to go through with.” “Duty!” said the widow, with a twist of her nose, and giving almost a whistle through her lips, in a manner which very plainly declared the contempt she felt for Barry’s ideas of duty.