“No apprehension, sir, sartinly; but you know yourself, Mr. Fethertonge, that to a man like me, that’s layin’ out and expendin’ money every day upon Adaharra farm, and my father the same way upon Carriglass—­I say, to a man like me, to be layin’ out his money, when you know yourself that if the present landlord should refuse to carry his father’s dying words into effect—­or, as you said this minute yourself, sir, if some enemy should turn you against me, amn’t I and my father and the whole family liable to be put out, notwithstanding all the improvements we’ve made, and the money we’ve spent in makin’ them?”

“Bryan,” said Fethertonge, after a pause, “every word you say is unfortunately too true—­too true—­and such things, are a disgrace to the country; indeed, I believe, they seldom occur in any country but this.  Will it in the mean time satisfy you when I state that, if old Mr. Chevydale’s intentions are not carried into effect by his son, I shall forthwith resign my agency?”

Bryan’s conscience, generous as he was, notwithstanding his suspicions, smote him deeply on hearing this determination so unequivocally expressed.  Indeed the whole tenor of their dialogue, taken in at one view—­especially Fethertonge’s intention of speaking to Tom M’Mahon upon the mysterious subject of Bryan’s suspected delinquencies against the law—­so thoroughly satisfied him of the injustice he had rendered Fethertonge, that he was for a time silent.

At length he replied—­“That, sir, is more than we could expect; but at any rate there’s one thing I’m now sartin of—­that, if we’re disappointed, you won’t be the cause of it.”

“Yes; but of course you must put disappointment out of the question.  The landlord, will, without any doubt, grant the leases—­I am satisfied of that; indeed, there can be no doubt about it.  By the way, I am anxious to see Ahadarra and to ascertain the extent to which you have carried your improvements.  Clinton and I will probably take a ride up there some day soon; and in the meantime do you keep improving, M’Mahon, for that’s the secret of all success—­leave the rest to me.  How is your father?”

“Never was better, sir, I’m thankful to you.”

“And your grandfather? how does he bear up?”

“Faith, sir, wonderfully, considering his age.”

“He must be very old now?”

“He’s ninety-four, sir, and that’s a long age sure enough; but I’m sorry to say that my mother’s health isn’t so well.”

“Why, what is the matter with her?  I’m sorry to hear this.”

“Indeed we can’t say; she’s very poorly—­her appetite is gone—­she has a cough, an’ she doesn’t get her rest at night.”

“Why don’t you get medical advice?”

“So we did, sir.  Dr. Sexton’s attendin’ her; but I don’t think somehow that he has a good opinion of her.”

“Sexton’s a skilful man, and I don’t think she could be in better hands; however, Bryan, I shall feel obliged if you will send down occasionally to let me know how she gets on—­once a week or so.”