“Run and see, girl; may-be it’s the docthor back again; only mostly he don’t mind knocking much.”

Nelly went to the door, and opened it to Lord Ballindine, who had left his gig in charge of his servant.  He asked for Martin, who in a short time, joined him in the parlour.

“This is a dangerous place for your lordship, now,” said he:  “the fever is so bad in the house.  Thank God, nobody seems to have taken it yet, but there’s no knowing.”

“Is she still so bad, Martin?”

“Worse than iver, a dale worse; I don’t think It’ll last long, now:  another bout such as this last ’ll about finish it.  But I won’t keep your lordship.  I’ve managed about the money;”—­and the necessary writing was gone through, and the cash was handed to Lord Ballindine.

“You’ve given over all thoughts then, about Lynch’s offer—­eh, Martin?—­I suppose you’ve done with all that, now?”

“Quite done with it, my lord; and done with fortune-hunting too.  I’ve seen enough this last time back to cure me altogether—­at laist, I hope so.”

“She doesn’t mean to make any will, then?”

“Why, she wishes to make one, but I doubt whether she’ll ever be able;” and then Martin gave his landlord an account of all that Anty had said about her will, her wishes as to the property, her desire to leave something to him (Martin) and his sisters:  and last he repeated the strong injunctions which Anty had given him respecting her poor brother, and her assurance, so full of affection, that had she lived she would have done her best to make him happy as her husband.

Lord Ballindine was greatly affected; he warmly shook hands with Martin, told him how highly he thought of his conduct, and begged him to take care that Anty had the gratification of making her will as she had desired to do.  “The fact,” Lord Ballindine said, “of your being named in the will as her executor will give you more control over Barry than anything else could do.”  He then proposed at once to go, himself, to Tuam, and explain to Daly what it was Miss Lynch wished him to do.  This Lord Ballindine did, and the next day the will was completed.

For a week or ten days Anty remained in much the same condition.  After each attack of fever it was expected that she would perish from weakness and exhaustion; but she still held on, and then the fever abated, and Doctor Colligan thought that it was possible she might recover:  she was, however, so dreadfully emaciated and worn out, there was so little vitality left in her, that he would not encourage more than the faintest hope.  Anty herself was too weak either to hope or fear;—­and the women of the family, who from continual attendance knew how very near to death she was, would hardly allow themselves to think that she could recover.