“Your brother conceives this to be his duty,” continued Daly, rather bothered by the manner in which he had to make his communication, “and it is a duty which he is determined to go through with.”

“Duty!” said the widow, with a twist of her nose, and giving almost a whistle through her lips, in a manner which very plainly declared the contempt she felt for Barry’s ideas of duty.

“With this object,” continued Daly, “I have already handed to Martin Kelly a notice of what your brother means to do; and I have another notice prepared in my pocket for his mother.  The next step will be to swear the informations before a magistrate, and get the committals made out; Mrs Kelly and her son will then have to give bail for their appearance at the assizes.”

“And so we can,” said the widow; “betther bail than e’er a Lynch or Daly—­not but what the Dalys is respictable—­betther bail, any way, than e’er a Lynch in Galway could show, either for sessions or ’sizes, by night or by day, winter or summer.”

“Ah, mother! you don’t understhand:  he’s maning that we’re to be tried in the dock, for staling Anty’s money.”

“Faix, but that’d be a good joke!  Isn’t Anty to the fore herself to say who’s robbed her?  Take an ould woman’s advice, Mr Daly, and go back to Tuam:  it ain’t so asy to put salt on the tail of a Dunmore bird.”

“And so I will, Mrs Kelly,” said Daly; “but you must let me finish what I have to tell Miss Lynch.—­This will be a proceeding most disagreeable to your brother’s feelings.”

“Failings, indeed!” muttered the widow; “faix, I b’lieve his chief failing at present’s for sthrong dhrink!”

“—­But he must go on with it, unless you at once lave the inn, return to your own home, and give him your promise that you will never marry Martin Kelly.”

Anty blushed deep crimson over her whole face at the mention of her contemplated marriage; and, to tell the truth, so did Martin.

“Here is the notice,” said Daly, taking the paper out of his pocket; “and the matter now rests with yourself.  If you’ll only tell me that you’ll be guided by your brother on this subject, I’ll burn the notice at once; and I’ll undertake to say that, as far as your property is concerned, your brother will not in the least interfere with you in the management of it.”

“And good rason why, Mr Daly,” said the widow—­“jist becase he can’t.”

“Well, Miss Lynch, am I to tell your brother that you are willing to oblige him in this matter?”

Whatever effect Daly’s threats may have had on the widow and her son, they told strongly upon Anty; for she sat now the picture of misery and indecision.  At last she said:  “Oh, Lord defend me! what am I to do, Mrs Kelly?”

“Do?” said Martin; “why, what should you do—­but just wish Mr Daly good morning, and stay where you are, snug and comfortable?”

“Av’ you war to lave this, Anty, and go up to Dunmore House afther all that’s been said and done, I’d say Barry was right, and that Ballinasloe Asylum was the fitting place for you,” said the widow.