“What are you, asking for her?--canna you answer a straightforred question, man?” reiterated Sir Archy, in a voice there was no mistaking. “Twenty guineas, then,” replied Lanty, in a tone of defiance; “and if ye offer me pounds I won't take it.” Sir Archy made no answer; but turning to the old cabinet, he unlocked one of the small doors, and drew forth a long leather pouch, curiously embroidered with silver; from this he took ten guineas in gold, and laid them leisurely on the table. The horse dealer eyed them askance, but without the slightest sign of having noticed them. “I'm no goin' to buy your beast, Mr. Lawler,” said the old man, slowly; “I'm just goin' merely to buy your ain good sense and justice. You say the powney is worth twenty guineas.” “As sure as I stand here. I wouldn't--” “Weel, weel, I'm content. There's half the money; tak' it, but never let's hear anither word about her here: bring her awa wi' ye; sell or shoot her, do what ye please wi' her; but, mind me, man”--here, his voice became full, strong, and commanding--“tak' care that ye meddle not wi' that young callant, Herbert. Dinna fill his head wi' ranting thoughts of dogs and horses. Let there be one of the house wi' a soul above a scullion or a groom. Ye have brought ruin enough here; you can spare the boy, I trow: there, sir, tak' your money.” For a second or two, Lanty seemed undecided whether to reject or accept a proposal so humiliating in its terms; and when at length he acceded, it was rather from his dread of the consequences of refusal, than from any satisfaction the bargain gave him. “I'm afraid, Sir Archibald,” said he, half timidly, “I'm afraid you don't understand me well.” “I'm afraid I do,” rejoined the old man, with a bitter smile on his lip; “but it's better we should understand each other. Good night.” “Well, good night to you, any how,” said Lanty, with a slight sigh, as he dropped the money into his pocket, and left the room. “I have bought the scoundrel cheap!” muttered Sir Archy, as the door closed. “Begorra, I thought he was twice as knowing!” was Lanty's reflection, as he entered his own chamber. CHAPTER IV. KERRY O'LEARY. Lanty Lawler was stirring the first in the house. The late sitting of the preceding evening, and the deep potations he had indulged in, left little trace of weariness on his well-accustomed frame. Few contracts were ratified in those days without the solemnity of a drinking bout, and the habits of the O'Donoghue household were none of the most abstemious. All was still and silent then as the horse-dealer descended the stairs, and took the path towards the stable, where he had left his hackney the night before. It was Lanty's intention to take possession of his new purchase, and set out on his journey before the others were stirring; and with this object he wended his way across the weed-grown garden, and into the wide and dreary court-yard of the building.