And, still speaking, the old man fumbled in his pockets and produced a large pile of papers, which he strove to push into Mr. Barton’s hand, alluding all the while to the losses he had sustained.  Two pigs had died on him, and he had lost a fine mare and foal.  His loquacity was, however, cut short by a sturdy, middle-aged peasant standing next him.

‘And I, too, yer honour, am payin’ five-and-twenty shillin’s for the same flooded land.  Yer honour can come down any day and see it.  It is not worth, to me, more than fifteen shillings an acre at the bare outside.  But it could be drained, for there is a fall into the marin stream betwixt your honour’s property and the Miss Brennans’.  It wouldn’t cost more than forty pound, and the Miss Brennans will pay half if yer honour will pay the other.’

Mr. Barton listened patiently to those peasant-like digressions, while Mrs. Barton listened patiently to the Captain’s fervid declarations of love.  He had begun by telling her of the anguish it had caused him to have been denied, and three times running, admittance to Brookfield.  One whole night he had lain awake wondering what he had done to offend them.  Mrs. Barton could imagine how he had suffered, for she, he ventured to say, must have long since guessed what were his feelings for her daughter.

’We were very sorry to have been out, and it is so unusual that we should be,’ said Mrs. Barton, leaning forward her face insinuatingly.  ’But you were speaking of Olive.  We say here that there is no one like le beau capitaine, no one so handsome, no one so nice, no one so gallant, and—­and—­’ here Mrs. Barton laughed merrily, for she thought the bitterness of life might be so cunningly wrapped up in sweet compliments that both could be taken together, like sugared-medicine—­in one child-like gulp.  ’There is, of course, no one I should prefer to le beau capitaine—­there is no one to whom I would confide my Olive more willingly; but, then, one must look to other things; one cannot live entirely on love, even if it be the love of a beau capitaine.’

Nevertheless, the man’s face darkened.  The eyebrows contracted, the straight white nose seemed to grow straighter, and he twirled his moustache angrily.

’I am aware, my dear Mrs. Barton, that I cannot give your daughter the position I should like to, but I am not as poor as you seem to imagine.  Independent of my pay I have a thousand a year; Miss Barton has, if I be not mistaken, some money of her own; and, as I shall get my majority within the next five years, I may say that we shall begin life upon something more than fifteen hundred a year.’

’It is true that I have led you to believe that Olive has money, but Irish money can be no longer counted upon.  Were Mr. Barton to create a charge on his property, how would it be possible for him to guarantee the payment of the interest in such times as the present?  We are living on the brink of a precipice.  We do not know what is, and what is not, our own.  The Land League is ruining us, and the Government will not put it down; this year the tenants may pay at twenty per cent. reduction, but next year they may refuse to pay at all.  Look out there:  you see they are making their own terms with Mr. Barton.’