“I mean that she has done more mischief to the property than five-and-forty years' good management will ever repair, Now don't be angry, Simmy; keep your temper, and draw your chair back again to the table. I 'm not going to say one word against her intentions; but when I see the waste of thousands of pounds on useless improvements, elegant roads that lead nowhere, bridges that nobody will ever pass, and harbors without boats, not to say the habits of dependence the people have got by finding everything done for them. I tell you again, ten years more of Miss Mary's rule will finish the estate.” [Illustration: 130] “I don't believe a word of it!” blurted out Simmy, boldly. “I saw her yesterday coming out of a cabin, where she passed above an hour, nursing typhus fever and cholera. The cloak she took off the door--for she left it there to dry--was still soaked with rain; her wet hair hung down her shoulders, and as she stood bridling her own pony,--for there was not a living soul to help her--” “She 'd have made an elegant picture,” broke in Scanlan, with a laugh. “But that's exactly the fault of us in Ireland,--we are all picturesque; I wish we were prosperous! But come, Simmy, finish your wine; it's not worth disputing about. If all I hear about matters be true, there will be very little left of Cro' Martin when the debts are paid.” “What! do you mean to say that they 're in difficulty?” “Far worse; the stories that reach me call it--ruin!” Simmy drew his chair closer to the table, and in a whisper scarcely breathed, said, “That chap's not asleep, Maurice.” “I know it,” whispered the other; and added, aloud, “Many a fellow that thinks he has the first charge on the property will soon discover his mistake; there are mortgages of more than eighty years' standing on the estate. You've had a great sleep, sir,” said he, addressing Merl, who now yawned and opened his eyes; “I hope our talking did n't disturb you?” “Not in the least,” said Merl, rising and stretching his legs. “I'm all right now, and quite fresh for anything.” “Let me introduce Mr. Crow to you, sir,--a native artist that we 're all proud of.” “That's exactly what you are not then,” said Crow; “nor would you be if I deserved it. You 'd rather gain a cause at the Quarter Sessions, or take in a friend about a horse, than be the man that painted the Madonna at Florence.” “He's cross this evening,--cross and ill-humored,” said Scanlan, laughing. “Maybe he 'll be better tempered when we have tea.” “I was just going to ask for it,” said Merl, as he arranged his whiskers, and performed a small impromptu toilet before the glass, while Simmy issued forth to give the necessary orders. “We 'll have tea, and a rubber of dummy afterwards,” said Scanlan, “if you've no objection.” “Whatever you like,--I 'm quite at your disposal,” replied Merl, who now seated himself with an air of bland amiability, ready, according to the amount of the stake, to win pounds or lose sixpences.