"Is it about the property you mane, Barry?"

"What a d----d hypocrite you are! As if you didn't know what I mean!

As for the property, I tell you there'll be little left the way you're going on. And as to that, I'll tell you what I'm going to do; so, mind, I warn you beforehand. You're not able--that is, you're too foolish and weak-headed to manage it yourself; and I mean, as your guardian, to put it into the hands of those that shall manage it for you. I'm not going to see you robbed and duped, and myself destroyed by such fellows as Moylan, and a crew of huxtering blackguards down in Dunmore. And now, tell me at once, what's this I hear about you and the Kellys?"

"What Kellys?" said Anty, blushing deeply, and half beside herself with fear--for Barry's face was very red, and full of fierce anger, and his rough words frightened her.

"What Kellys! Did you ever hear of Martin Kelly? d----d young robber that he is!" Anty blushed still deeper--rose a little way from the sofa, and then sat down again. "Look you here, Anty--I'll have the truth out of you. I'm not going to be bamboozled by such an idiot as you. You got an old man, when he was dying, to make a will that has robbed me of what was my own, and now you think you'll play your own low game; but you're mistaken! You've lived long enough without a husband to do without one now; and I can tell you I'm not going to see my property carried off by such a low, paltry blackguard as Martin Kelly."

"How can he take your property, Barry?" sobbed forth the poor creature, who was, by this time, far gone in tears.

"Then the long and the short of it is, he shan't have what you call yours. Tell me, at once, will you--is it true, that you've promised to marry him?"

Anty replied nothing, but continued sobbing violently.

"Cease your nonsense, you blubbering fool! A precious creature you are to take on yourself to marry any man! Are you going to answer me, Anty?" And he walked away from the fire, and came and stood opposite to her as she sat upon the sofa. "Are you going to answer me or not?" he continued, stamping on the floor.

"I'll not stop here--and be trated this way--Barry--I'm sure--I do all I--I can for you--and you're always--bullying me because father divided the property." And Anty continued sobbing more violently than ever. "I won't stop in the room any more," and she got up to go to the door.

Barry, however, rushed before her, and prevented her. He turned the lock, and put the key in his pocket; and then he caught her arm, as she attempted to get to the bell, and dragged her back to the sofa.

"You're not off so easy as that, I can tell you. Why, d' you think you're to marry whom you please, without even telling me of it? What d'you think the world would say of me, if I were to let such an idiot as you be caught up by the first sharper that tried to rob you of your money? Now, look here," and he sat down beside her, and laid his hand violently on her arm, as he spoke, "you don't go out of this room, alive, until you've given me your solemn promise, and sworn on the cross, that you'll never marry without my consent; and you'll give me that in writing, too."

Anty at first turned very pale when she felt his heavy hand on her arm, and saw his red, glaring eyes so near her own. But when he said she shouldn't leave the room alive, she jumped from the sofa, and shrieked, at the top of her shrill voice,--"Oh, Barry! you'll not murdher me!

shure you wouldn't murdher your own sisther!"

Barry was rather frightened at the noise, and, moreover, the word "murder" quelled him. But when he found, after a moment's pause, that the servants had not heard, or had not heeded his sister, he determined to carry on his game, now that he had proceeded so far. He took, however, a long drink out of his tumbler, to give him fresh courage, and then returned to the charge.

"Who talked of murdering you? But, if you bellow in that way, I'll gag you. It's a great deal I'm asking, indeed--that, when I'm your only guardian, my advice should be asked for before you throw away your money on a low ruffian. You're more fit for a mad-house than to be any man's wife; and, by Heaven, that's where I'll put you, if you don't give me the promise I ask! Will you swear you'll marry no one without my leave?"

Poor Anty shook with fear as she sate, with her eyes fixed on her brother's face. He was nearly drunk now, and she felt that he was so,--and he looked so hot and so fierce--so red and cruel, that she was all but paralysed. Nevertheless, she mustered strength to say,

"Let me go, now, Barry, and, to-morrow, I'll tell you everything--indeed I will--and I'll thry to do all you'd have me; indeed, and indeed, I will! Only do let me go now, for you've frighted me."

"You're likely to be more frighted yet, as you call it! And be tramping along the roads, I suppose, with Martin Kelly, before the morning. No!

I'll have an answer from you, any way. I've a right to that!"

"Oh, Barry!--What is it you want?--Pray let me go--pray, pray, for the love of the blessed Jesus, let me go."

"I'll tell you where you'll go, and that's into Ballinasloe mad-house!

Now, mark me--so help me--I'll set off with you this night, and have you there in the morning--as an idiot as you are, if you won't make the promise I'm telling you!"

By this time Anty's presence of mind had clean left her. Indeed, all the faculties of her reason had vanished; and, as she saw her brother's scowling face so near her own, and heard him threatening to drag her to a mad-house, she put her hands before her eyes, and made one rush to escape from him--to the door--to the window--anywhere to get out of his reach.

Barry was quite drunk now. Had he not been so, even he would hardly have done what he then did. As she endeavoured to rush by him, he raised his fist, and struck her on the face, with all his force. The blow fell upon her hands, as they were crossed over her face; but the force of the blow knocked her down, and she fell upon the floor, senseless, striking the back of her head against the table.

"Confound her," muttered the brute, between his teeth, as she fell, "for an obstinate, pig-headed fool! What the d----l shall I do now?

Anty, get up!--get up, will you!--What ails you?"--and then again to himself, "the d----l seize her! What am I to do now?" and he succeeded in dragging her on to the sofa.

The man-servant and the cook although up to this point, they had considered it would be ill manners to interrupt the brother and sister in their family interview, were nevertheless at the door; and though they could see nothing, and did not succeed in hearing much, were not the less fully aware that the conversation was of a somewhat stormy nature on the part of the brother. When they heard the noise which followed the blow, though not exactly knowing what had happened, they became frightened, and began to think something terrible was being done.

"Go in, Terry, avich," whispered the woman,--"Knock, man, and go in--shure he's murdhering her!"

"What 'ud he do to me thin, av' he'd strick a woman, and she his own flesh and blood! He'll not murdher her--but, faix, he's afther doing something now! Knock, Biddy, knock, I say, and screech out that you're afther wanting Miss Anty."

The woman had more courage than the man--or else more compa.s.sion, for, without further parleying, she rapped her knuckles loudly against the door, and, as she did so, Terry sneaked away to the kitchen.

Barry had just succeeded in raising his sister to the sofa as he heard the knock.

"Who's that?" he called out loudly; "what do you want?"

"Plaze yer honer, Miss Anty's wanting in the kitchen."

"She's busy, and can't come at present; she'll be there directly."

"Is she ill at all, Mr. Barry? G.o.d bless you, spake, Miss Anty; in G.o.d's name, spake thin. Ah! Mr. Barry, thin, shure she'd spake av' she were able."

"Go away, you fool! Your mistress'll be out in a minute." Then, after a moment's consideration, he went and unlocked the door, "or--go in, and see what she wants. She's fainted, I think."

Barry Lynch walked out of the room, and into the garden before the house, to think over what he had done, and what he'd better do for the future, leaving Anty to the care of the frightened woman.

She soon came to herself, and, excepting that her head was bruised in the fall, was not much hurt. The blow, falling on her hands, had neither cut nor marked her; but she was for a long time so flurried that she did not know where she was, and, in answer to all Biddy's tender inquiries as to the cause of her fall, and anathemas as to the master's bad temper, merely said that "she'd get to bed, for her head ached so, she didn't know where she was."

To bed accordingly she went; and glad she was to have escaped alive from that drunken face, which had glared on her for the last half hour.

After wandering about round the house and through the grounds, for above an hour, Barry returned, half sobered, to the room; but, in his present state of mind, he could not go to bed sober. He ordered more hot water, and again sat down alone to drink, and drown the remorse he was beginning to feel for what he had done--or rather, not remorse, but the feeling of fear that every one would know how he had treated Anty, and that they would side with her against him. Whichever way he looked, all was misery and disappointment to him, and his only hope, for the present, was in drink. There he sat, for a long time, with his eyes fixed on the turf, till it was all burnt out, trying to get fresh courage from the spirits he swallowed, and swearing to himself that he would not be beat by a woman.

About one o'clock he seized one of the candles, and staggered up to bed. As he pa.s.sed his sister's door, he opened it and went in. She was fast asleep; her shoes were off, and the bed-clothes were thrown over her, but she was not undressed. He slowly shut the door, and stood, for some moments, looking at her; then, walking to the bed, he took her shoulder, and shook it as gently as his drunkenness would let him. This did not wake her, so he put the candle down on the table, close beside the bed, and, steadying himself against the bedstead, he shook her again and again. "Anty", he whispered, "Anty"; and, at last, she opened her eyes. Directly she saw his face, she closed them again, and buried her own in the clothes; however, he saw that she was awake, and, bending his head, he muttered, loud enough for her to hear, but in a thick, harsh, hurried, drunken voice, "Anty--d'ye hear? If you marry that man, I'll have your life!" and then, leaving the candle behind him, he staggered off into his own room in the dark.

VI. THE ESCAPE

In vain, after that, did Anty try to sleep; turn which way she would, she saw the bloodshot eyes and horrid drunken face of her cruel brother. For a long time she lay, trembling and anxious; fearing she knew not what, and trying to compose herself--trying to make herself think that she had no present cause for fear; but in vain. If she heard a noise, she thought it was her brother's footstep, and when the house was perfectly silent and still, she feared the very silence itself. At last, she crept out of bed, and, taking the candle left by her brother, which had now burned down to the socket, stepped softly down the stairs, to the place where the two maid-servants slept, and, having awakened them, she made Biddy return with her and keep her company for the remainder of the night. She did not quite tell the good-natured girl all that had pa.s.sed; she did not own that her brother had threatened to send her to a madhouse, or that he had sworn to have her life; but she said enough to show that he had shamefully ill-treated her, and to convince Biddy that wherever her mistress might find a home, it would be very unadvisable that she and Barry should continue to live under the same roof.

Early in the morning, "Long afore the break o' day," as the song says, Biddy got up from her hard bed on the floor of her mistress' room, and, seeing that Anty was at last asleep, started to carry into immediate execution the counsels she had given during the night. As she pa.s.sed the head of the stairs, she heard the loud snore of Barry, in his drunken slumber; and, wishing that he might sleep as sound for ever and ever, she crept down to her own domicile, and awakened her comrade.

"Whist, Judy--whist, darlint! Up wid ye, and let me out."

"And what'd you be doing out now?" yawned Judy.

"An arrand of the misthress;--shure, he used her disperate. Faix, it's a wondher he didn't murther her outright!"

"And where are ye going now?"

"Jist down to Dunmore--to the Kellys then, avich. Asy now; I'll be telling you all bye and bye. She must be out of this intirely."

"Is't Miss Anty? Where'd she be going thin out of this?"