Barry remembered that he would be on the wrong tack to abuse the Kellys. “I’m sure they’re very nice people,” said he; “indeed I always thought so, and said so—but they’re not like your own flesh and blood, are they, Anty?—and why shouldn’t you come up and be—” “No, Barry,” said she; “I’ll not do that; as they’re so very, very kind as to let me stay here, I’ll remain till—till God takes me to himself. But they’re not my flesh and blood”—and she turned round and looked affectionately in the face of her brother—“there are only the two of us left now; and soon, very soon you’ll be all alone.” Barry felt very uncomfortable, and wished the interview was over: he tried to say something, but failed, and Anty went on—“when that time comes, will you remember what I say to you now?—When you’re all alone, Barry; when there’s nothing left to trouble you or put you out—will you think then of the last time you ever saw your sister, and—” “Oh, Anty, sure I’ll be seeing you again!” “No, Barry, never again. This is the last time we shall ever meet, and think how much we ought to be to each other! We’ve neither of us father or mother, husband or wife.—When I’m gone you’ll be alone: will you think of me then—and will you remember, remember every day—what I say to you now?” “Indeed I will, Anty. I’ll do anything, everything you’d have me. Is there anything you’d wish me to give to any person?” “Barry,” she continued, “no good ever came of my father’s will.”—Barry almost jumped off his chair as he heard his sister’s words, so much did they startle him; but he said nothing.—“The money has done me no good, but the loss of it has blackened your heart, and turned your blood to gall against me. Yes, Barry—yes—don’t speak now, let me go on;—the old man brought you up to look for it, and, alas, he taught you to look for nothing else; it has not been your fault, and I’m not blaming you—I’m not maning to blame you, my own brother, for you are my own”—and she turned round in the bed and shed tears upon his hand, and kissed it.—“But gold, and land, will never make you happy,—no, not all the gold of England, nor all the land the old kings ever had could make you happy, av the heart was bad within you. You’ll have it all now, Barry, or mostly all. You’ll have what you think the old man wronged you of; you’ll have it with no one to provide for but yourself, with no one to trouble you, no one to thwart you. But oh, Barry, av it’s in your heart that that can make you happy—there’s nothing before you but misery—and death—and hell.” Barry shook like a child in the clutches of its master—“Yes, Barry; misery and death, and all the tortures of the damned. It’s to save you from this, my own brother, to try and turn your heart from that foul love of money, that your sister is now speaking to you from her grave.—Oh, Barry! try and cure it. Learn to give to others, and you’ll enjoy what you have yourself.—Learn to love others, and then you’ll know what it is to be loved yourself.