He once more touched the bell, and desired Cornelius Dalton and the Pedlar to be sent in.

“Mr. Henderson,” he proceeded, “I will bid you good morning; you certainly look ill.  Skinadre, you may go.  I have sent for Mr. Dalton, Mr. Henderson, to let him know that he shall be reinstated in his farm, and every reasonable allowance made him for the oppression and injustice which he and his respectable family have suffered at—­I will not say whose hands.”

“Travers,” replied Henderson, “your conduct is harsh—­and—­however, I cannot now think of leases—­I am every moment getting worse—­I am very ill—­good-morning.”

He then went.

“An’ am I to lose my hundre pounds, your honor, of my hard earned money, that I squeezed—­”

“Out of the blood and marrow and life of the struggling people, you heartless extortioner!  Begone, sirra; a foot of land upon the property for which I am agent you shall never occupy.  You and your tribe, whether you batten upon the distress of struggling industry in the deceitful Maelstrooms of the metropolis, or in the dirty, dingy shops of a private country village, are each a scorpion curse to the people.  Your very existence is a libel upon the laws by which the rights of civil society are protected.”

“Troth, your honor does me injustice; I never see a case of distress that my heart doesn’t bleed—­”

“With a leech-like propensity to pounce upon it.  Begone!”

The man slunk out.

“Dalton,” he proceeded, when the old man, accompanied by the Pedlar, came in, “I sent for you to say that I am willing you should have your farm again.”

“Sir,” replied the other, “I am thankful and grateful to you for that kindness, but it’s now too late; I am not able to go back upon it; I have neither money nor stock of any kind.  I am deeply and gratefully obliged to you; but I have not a sixpence worth in the world to put on it.  An honest heart, sir, an’ a clear fame, is all that God has left me, blessed be His name.”

“Don’t b’lieve a word of it,” replied the Pedlar.  “Only let your honor give him a good lease, at a raisonable rint, makin’ allowance for his improvements—­”

“Never mind conditions, my good friend,” said the agent, “but proceed; for, if I don’t mistake, you will yourself give him a lift.”

“May be, we’ll find him stock and capital a thrifle, any way,” replied the Pedlar with a knowing wink.  “I haven’t carried the pack all my life for nothing, I hope.”

“I understand,” said the agent to Dalton, “that one of your sons is dead.  I leave town to-day, but I shall be here this day fortnight;—­call then, and we shall have every thing arranged.  Your case was a very hard one, and a very common one; but it was one with which we had nothing to do, and in which, until now, we could not interfere.  I have looked clearly into it, and regret to find that such cases do exist upon Irish property to a painful extent, although I am, glad to find that public opinion, and a more enlightened experience, are every day considerably diminishing the evil.”