“A—­h!  Hold your hand!” cries my master.  “Where in the wide world am I to find hundreds, let alone thousands?”

“There’s but one way,” says Jason.  “Sure, can’t you sell, though at a loss?  Sure, you can sell, and I’ve a purchaser ready for you.”

“Have you so?” says Sir Condy.  Then, colouring up a good deal, he tells Jason of L500 a year he had settled upon my lady, at which Jason was indeed mad; but, with much ado, agreed to a compromise.  “And how much am I going to sell?  The lands of O’Shaughlin’s town, and the lands of”—­just reading to himself—­“oh, murder, Jason!  Surely you won’t put this in—­castle, stables, and appurtenances of Castle Rackrent?”

“Oh, murder!” says I.  “This is too bad, Jason.”

“Why so?” says Jason.  “When it’s all mine, and a great deal more, all lawfully mine, was I to push for it?”

But I took no heed, for I was grieved and sick at heart for my poor master, and couldn’t but speak.

“Here’s the punch,” says Jason, for the door opened.

So my master starts up in his chair, and Jason uncorks the whiskey.  Well, I was in great hopes when I saw him making the punch, and my master taking a glass; but Jason put it back when he saw him going to fill again, saying, “No, Sir Condy; let us settle all before we go deeper into the punch-bowl.  You’ve only to sign,” says Jason, putting the pen to him.

“Take all, and be content,” said my master.  So he signed, and the man who brought the punch witnessed, for I was crying like a child.

So I went out to the street door, and the neighbours’ children left their play to come to see what ailed me; and I told them all.  When they heard Sir Condy was going to leave Castle Rackrent for good and all, they set up such a whillaluh as brought all their parents round the doors in great anger against Jason.  I was frightened, and went back to warn my son.  He grew quite pale and asked Sir Condy what he’d best do.

“I’ll tell you,” says Sir Condy, laughing to see his fright.  “Finish your glass first, then let’s go to the window, and I’ll tell them—­or you shall, if you please—­that I’m going to the lodge for change of air for my health, and by my own desire, for the rest of my days.”

“Do so,” says Jason, who never meant it to be so, but could not refuse at such a time.

So the very next day he sets off to the lodge, and I along with him.  There was great bemoaning all through the town, which I stayed to witness.  He was in his bed, and very low, when I got there, and complained of a great pain about his heart; but I, knowing the nature of him from a boy, took my pipe and began telling him how he was beloved and regretted in the country.  And it did him a great deal of good to hear it.

There was a great horn at the lodge that used to belong to the celebrated Sir Patrick, who was reported to have drunk the full of it without stopping to draw breath, which no other man, afore or since, could do.