“Well, thin, ’tis not in Mother Agnes O’Mahony’s shoes I’m wishin’ myself!” she said, upon reflection. “It’s right ye are to build thick new walls to the convint. They’ll be needed, wid that girl inside!” CHAPTER XIX--A BARGAIN WITH THE BURIED MAN. Though by daylight there seemed to lie but a step of space between the ruined Castle of Muirisc and the portal of the Convent of the Hostage’s Tears, it was different under the soft, starlit sky of this April evening. The way was long enough, at all events, for the exchange of many views between Kate and Jerry. “’Tis flat robbery he manes, Jerry,” the girl said, as the revolted twain passed out together under the gateway. “With me safe in the convint, sure he’s free to take everything for his son--me little stepbrother--an’ thin there’s an ind to the O’Mahony’s, here where they’ve been lords of the coast an’ the mountains an’ the castles since before St. Patrick’s time--an’, luk ye! an O’Daly comes on! I’m fit to tear out me eyes to keep them from the sight!” “But, Miss Katie,” put in Jerry, eagerly, “I’ve a thought in me head--egor! The O’Mahony himself put writin’ to paper, statin’ how every blessed thing was to be yours, the day he sailed away. Sure ’twas meself was witness to that same, along wid O’Daly an’ your mother an’ the nuns. To-morrow I’ll have the law on him!” “Ah, Jerry,” the girl sighed and shook her head; “ye’ve a good heart, but it’s only grief ye’ll get tryin’ to match your wits against O’Daly’s. What do _you_ know about papers an’ documents, an’ the like of that, compared wid him? Why, man, he’s an attorney himself! ’T is thim that putts the law on other people--worse luck!” “An’ him that usen’t to have a word for anny-thing but the praises of The O’Mahonys!” exclaimed Jerry, lost once more in surprise at the scope of O’Daly’s ambitions. “I, for one, never thrusted him!” said Kate, with emphasis. “’T was not in nature that anny man could be that humble an’ devoted to a family that wasn’t his own, as he pretinded.” “Weil, I dunno,” began Jerry, hesitatingly; “’t is my belafe he mint honest enough, till that boy o’ his was born. A childless man is wan thing, an’ a father’s another. ’T is that boy that’s turnin’ O’Daly’s head.” Kate’s present mood was intolerant of philosophy. “Faith, Jerry,” she said, with sharpness, “’t is _my_ belafe that if wan was to abuse the divil in your hearin’, you’d say: ‘At anny rate, he has a fine, grand tail.’” Jerry’s round face beamed in the vague starlight with a momentary smile. “Ah, thin, Miss Katie!” he said, in gentle deprecation. Then, as upon a hasty afterthought: “Egor! I’ll talk with Father Jago.” “Ye’ll do nothing of the kind!” Kate commanded.