“No, sir—­not at all—–­I will make Cavanough call upon you.”

“I don’t understand this,” replied the uncle, rubbing behind his ear; “I don’t perceive; but pray what interest have you in the matter?”

“Upon my honor, uncle, none in life, unless an anxiety to serve poor M’Mahon.  The world is down upon him about that vote which, considering all the circumstances, was more creditable to him than otherwise.  I know, however, that in consequence of the estrangement between him and Miss Cavanagh, he is bent on emigrating.  It is that fact which presses upon him most.  Now will you oblige me in this, uncle?”

“Let Cavanagh call upon me,” he replied, “and if I can say anything to soften the old fellow, perhaps I will.”

“Thank you, uncle—­thank you—­I shall not forget this kindness.”

“Well, then,” said his uncle, “I am going down to Fethertonge on a certain matter of business, you understand, and—­let me see—­why, if Cavanagh calls on me tomorrow about eleven, I shall see him at all events.”

Young Clinton felt surprised and grieved at what his uncle had just hinted to him; but on the other hand, he felt considerably elated at the prospect of being able to bring about a reconciliation between these two families, and with this excellent motive in view he went to Cavanagh, with whom he had a private conversation.  Having been made aware by M’Mahon himself of Cavanagh’s prejudice against him, and the predilections of himself and his wife for an alliance into Burke’s family, he merely told him that his uncle would be glad to see him the next day about eleven o’clock, upon which the other promised to attend to that gentleman.

Old Clinton, on his way to Fethertonge’s, met that worthy individual riding into Ballymacan.

“I was going down to you,” said he; “but where are you bound for?”

“Into town,” replied the agent; “have you any objection to ride that way?”

“None in the world; it is just the same to me.  Well, how are matters proceeding?”

“Not by any means well,” replied the other, “I begin to feel something like alarm.  I wish we had those M’Mahons out of the country.  Vanston has paid that d—­d goose Chevydale a visit, and I fear that unless the Ahadarra man and his father, and the whole crew of them, soon leave the country, we shall break down in our object.”

“Do you tell me so?” said the gauger, starting; “by Jove, it is well I know this in time.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Why,” continued.  Clinton, “I was about to take a foolish step to-morrow morning, for the express purpose, I believe, of keeping him, and probably the whole family in the country.”

He then detailed the conversation that he had with his nephew, upon which Fethertonge convinced him that there was more in the wind with respect to that step, than either he or his nephew, who he assured him was made a cat’s paw of in the business, suspected.  “That’s a deep move,” said the agent, “but we shall defeat them, notwithstanding.  Everything, however, depends upon their leaving the country before Chevydale happens to come at the real state of the case; still, it will go hard or we shall baffle both him and them yet.”