In the hotel yard he found a car already prepared for a journey; and, on giving his order for a similar vehicle for his own use, was informed, by the disinterested ostler, that the horse then being harnessed, was to take Mr Daly, the attorney, to Tuam [20], and that probably that gentleman would not object to join him, Martin, in the conveyance. Martin, thinking it preferable to pay fourpence rather than sixpence a mile for his jaunt, acquiesced in this arrangement, and, as he had a sort of speaking acquaintance with Mr Daly, whom he rightly imagined would not despise the economy which actuated himself, he had his carpet-bag put into the well of the car, and, placing himself on it, he proceeded to the attorney's door.
He soon made the necessary explanation to Mr Daly, who made no objection to the proposal; and he also throwing a somewhat diminutive carpet-bag into the same well, placed himself alongside of our friend, and they proceeded on their journey, with the most amicable feelings towards each other.
They little guessed, either the one or the other, as they commenced talking on the now all-absorbing subject of the great trial, that they were going to Dunmore for the express object—though not with the expressed purpose, of opposing each other—that Daly was to be employed to suggest any legal means for robbing Martin of a wife, and Anty of her property; and that Martin was going home with the fixed determination of effecting a wedding, to prevent which his companion was, in consideration of liberal payment, to use all his ingenuity and energy.
When they had discussed O'Connel and his companions, and their chances of liberation for four or five miles, and when Martin had warmly expressed his assurance that no jury could convict the saviours of their country, and Daly had given utterance to his legal opinion that saltpetre couldn't save them from two years in Newgate, Martin asked his companion whether he was going beyond Dunmore that night?
"No, indeed, then," replied Daly; "I have a client there now—a thing I never had in that part of the country before yesterday."
"We'll have you at the inn, then, I suppose, Mr Daly?"
"Faith, you won't, for I shall dine on velvet. My new client is one of the right sort, that can feed as well as fee a lawyer. I've got my dinner, and bed tonight, whatever else I may get."
"There's not many of that sort in Dunmore thin; any way, there weren't when I left it, a week since. Whose house are you going to, Mr Daly, av' it's not impertinent asking?"
"Barry Lynch's."
"Barry Lynch's!" re-echoed Martin; "the divil you are! I wonder what's in the wind with him now. I thought Blake always did his business?"
"The devil a know I know, so I can't tell you; and if I did, I shouldn't, you may be sure. But a man that's just come to his property always wants a lawyer; and many a one, besides Barry Lynch, ain't satisfied without two."
"Well, any way, I wish you joy of your new client. I'm not over fond of him myself, I'll own; but then there were always rasons why he and I shouldn't pull well together. Barry's always been a dale too high for me, since he was at school with the young lord. Well, good evening, Mr Daly. Never mind time car coming down the street, as you're at your friend's gate," and Martin took his bag on his arm, and walked down to the inn.
Though Martin couldn't guess, as he walked quickly down the street, what Barry Lynch could want with young Daly, who was beginning to be known as a clever, though not over-scrupulous practitioner, he felt a presentiment that it must have some reference to Anty and himself, and this made him rather uncomfortable. Could Barry have heard of his engagement? Had Anty repented of her bargain, during his short absence? Had that old reptile Moylan, played him false, and spoilt his game? "That must be it," said Martin to himself, "and it's odd but I'll be even with the schamer, yet; only she's so asy frightened!—Av' she'd the laist pluck in life, it's little I'd care for Moylan or Barry either."
This little soliloquy brought him to the inn door. Some of the tribe of loungers who were always hanging about the door, and whom in her hatred of idleness the widow would one day rout from the place, and, in her charity, feed the next, had seen Martin coming down the street, and had given intelligence in the kitchen. As he walked in, therefore, at the open door, Meg and Jane were ready to receive him in the passage. Their looks were big with some important news. Martin soon saw that they had something to tell.
"Well, girls," he said, as he chucked his bag and coat to Sally, "for heaven's sake get me something to ate, for I'm starved. What's the news at Dunmore?"
"It's you should have the news thin," said one, "and you just from Dublin."
"There's lots of news there, then; I'll tell you when I've got my dinner. How's the ould lady?" and he stepped on, as if to pass by them, upstairs.
"Stop a moment, Martin," said Meg; "don't be in a hurry; there's some one there."
"Who's there? is it a stranger?"
"Why, then, it is, and it isn't," said Jane.
"But you don't ask afther the young lady!" said her sister.
"May I be hanged thin, av' I know what the two of ye are afther! Is there people in both the rooms? Come, girls, av' ye've anything to tell, why don't you out wid it and have done? I suppose I can go into the bed-room, at any rate?"
"Aisy, Martin, and I'll tell you. Anty's in the parlour."
"In the parlour upstairs?" said he; "the deuce she is! And what brought her here? Did she quarrel with Barry, Meg?" added he, in a whisper.
"Indeed she did, out and out," said Meg.
"Oh, he used her horrible!" said Jane.
"He'll hear all about that by and by," said Meg. "Come up and see her now, Martin."
"But does mother know she's here?"
"Why, it was she brought her here! She fetched her down from the house, yesterday, before we was up."
Thus assured that Anty had not been smuggled upstairs, her lover, or suitor as he might perhaps be more confidently called, proceeded to visit her. If he wished her to believe that his first impulse, on hearing of her being in the house, had been to throw himself at her feet, it would have been well that this conversation should have been carried on out of her hearing. But Anty was not an exigent mistress, and was perfectly contented that as much of her recent history as possible should be explained before Martin presented himself.
Martin went slowly upstairs, and paused a moment at the door, as if he was a little afraid of commencing the interview; he looked round to his sisters, and made a sign to them to come in with him, and then, quickly pushing open the unfastened door, walked briskly up to Anty and shook hands with her.
"I hope you're very well, Anty," said he; "seeing you here is what I didn't expect, but I'm very glad you've come down."
"Thank ye, Martin," replied she; "it was very good of your mother, fetching me. She's been the best friend I've had many a day."
"Begad, it's a fine thing to see you and the ould lady pull so well together. It was yesterday you came here?"
"Yesterday morning. I was so glad to come! I don't know what they'd been saying to Barry; but the night before last he got drinking, and then he was very bad to me, and tried to frighten me, and so, you see, I come down to your mother till we could be friends again."
Anty's apology for being at the inn, was perhaps unnecessary; but, with the feeling so natural to a woman, she was half afraid that Martin would fancy she had run after him, and she therefore thought it as well to tell him that it was only a temporary measure. Poor Anty! At the moment she said so, she trembled at the very idea of putting herself again in her brother's power.
"Frinds, indeed!" said Meg; "how can you iver be frinds with the like of him? What nonsense you talk, Anty! Why, Martin, he was like to murdher her!—he raised his fist to her, and knocked her down—and, afther that, swore to her he'd kill her outright