“Be said by me, mother, and fetch Anty in here.  Mr Daly won’t expect, I suppose, but what you should stay and hear what it is he has to say?”

“Both you and your mother are welcome to hear all that I have to say to the lady,” said Daly; for he felt that it would be impossible for him to see Anty alone.

The widow unwillingly got up to fetch her guest.  When she got to the door, she turned round, and said, “And is there a notice, as you calls it, to be sarved on Miss Lynch?”

“Not a line, Mrs Kelly; not a line, on my honour.  I only want her to hear a few words that I’m commissioned by her brother to say to her.”

“And you’re not going to give her any paper—­nor nothing of that sort at all?”

“Not a word, Mrs Kelly.”

“Ah, mother,” said Martin, “Mr Daly couldn’t hurt her, av’ he war wishing, and he’s not.  Go and bring her in.”

The widow went out, and in a few minutes returned, bringing Anty with her, trembling from head to foot.  The poor young woman had not exactly heard what had passed between the attorney and the mother and her son, but she knew very well that his visit had reference to her, and that it was in some way connected with her brother.  She had, therefore, been in a great state of alarm since Meg and Jane had left her alone.  When Mrs Kelly came into the little room where she was sitting, and told her that Mr Daly had come to Dunmore on purpose to see her, her first impulse was to declare that she wouldn’t go to him; and had she done so, the widow would not have pressed her.  But she hesitated, for she didn’t like to refuse to do anything which her friend asked her; and when Mrs Kelly said, “Martin says as how the man can’t hurt you, Anty, so you’d betther jist hear what it is he has to say,” she felt that she had no loophole of escape, and got up to comply.

“But mind, Anty,” whispered the cautious widow, as her hand was on the parlour door, “becase this Daly is wanting to speak to you, that’s no rason you should be wanting to spake to him; so, if you’ll be said by me, you’ll jist hould your tongue, and let him say on.”

Fully determined to comply with this prudent advice, Anty followed the old woman, and, curtseying at Daly without looking at him, sat herself down in the middle of the old sofa, with her hands crossed before her.

“Anty,” said Martin, making great haste to speak, before Daly could commence, and then checking himself as he remembered that he shouldn’t have ventured on the familiarity of calling her by her Christian name in Daly’s presence—­“Miss Lynch, I mane—­as Mr Daly here has come all the way from Tuam on purpose to spake to you, it wouldn’t perhaps be manners in you to let him go back without hearing him.  But remember, whatever your brother says, or whatever Mr Daly says for him—­and it’s all—­one you’re still your own mistress, free to act and to spake, to come and to go; and that neither the one nor the other can hurt you, or mother, or me, nor anybody belonging to us.”