“But, mother, you ain’t wishing poor Anty wasn’t here?”

“Indeed, but I do; everything to give and nothin to get—­that’s not the way I have managed to live.  But it’s not that altogether, neither.  I’m not begrudging Anty anything for herself; but that I’d be dhriven to let that blagguard of a brother of hers into the house, and that as a frind like, is what I didn’t think I’d ever have put upon me!”

Barry made his appearance about an hour after the time at which they had begun to expect him; and as soon as Meg saw him, one of them flew upstairs, to tell Anty and give her her tonic.  Barry had made himself quite a dandy to do honour to the occasion of paying probably a parting visit to his sister, whom he had driven out of her own house to die at the inn.  He had on his new blue frock-coat, and a buff waistcoat with gilt buttons, over which his watch-chain was gracefully arranged.  His pantaloons were strapped clown very tightly over his polished boots; a shining new silk hat was on one side of his head; and in his hand he was dangling an ebony cane.  In spite, however, of all these gaudy trappings, he could not muster up an easy air; and, as he knocked, he had that look proverbially attributed to dogs who are going to be hung.

Sally opened the door for him, and the widow, who had come out from the shop, made him a low courtesy in the passage.

“Oh—­ah—­yes—­Mrs Kelly, I believe?” said Barry.

“Yes, Mr Lynch, that’s my name; glory be to God!”

“My sister, Miss Lynch, is still staying here, I believe?”

“Why, drat it, man; wasn’t Dr Colligan with you less than an hour ago, telling you you must come here, av you wanted to see her?”

“You’ll oblige me by sending up the servant to tell Miss Lynch I’m here.”

“Walk up here a minute, and I’ll do that errand for you myself.—­Well,” continued she, muttering to herself “for him to ax av she war staying here, as though he didn’t know it!  There niver was his ditto for desait, maneness and divilry!”

A minute or two after the widow had left him, Barry found himself by his sister’s bed-side, but never had he found himself in a position for which he was less fitted, or which was less easy to him.  He assumed, however, a long and solemn face, and crawling up to the bed-side, told his sister, in a whining voice, that he was very glad to see her.

“Sit down, Barry, sit down,” said Anty, stretching out her thin pale hand, and taking hold of her brother’s.

Barry did as he was told, and sat down.  “I’m so glad to see you, Barry,” said she:  “I’m so very glad to see you once more—­” and then after a pause, “and it’ll be the last time, Barry, for I’m dying.”

Barry told her he didn’t think she was, for he didn’t know when he’d seen her looking better.

“Yes, I am, Barry:  Doctor Colligan has said as much; and I should know it well enough myself, even if he’d never said a word.  We’re friends now, are we not?—­Everything’s forgiven and forgotten, isn’t it, Barry?”