“You ain’t in earnest, are you, about his going to-day?” whispered Frank to the parson.

“I am, and you’ll find he’ll go, too,” said Armstrong.  “It must be to-day—­this very day, Mr Lynch.  Martin Kelly will manage for you about the property.”

“Or you can send for Mr Daly, to meet you at Roscommon,” suggested Martin.

“Thank you for nothing,” said Barry; “you’d better wait till you’re spoken to.  I don’t know what business you have here at all.”

“The business that all honest men have to look after all rogues,” said Mr Armstrong.  “Come, Mr Lynch, you’d better make up your mind to prepare for your journey.”

“Well, I won’t—­and there’s an end of it,” said Barry.  “It’s all nonsense.  You can’t do anything to me:  you said so yourself.  I’m not going to be made a fool of that way—­I’m not going to give up my property and everything.”

“Don’t you know, Mr Lynch,” said the parson, “that if you are kept in jail till April next, as will be your fate if you persist in staying at Dunmore tonight, your creditors will do much more damage to your property, than your own immediate absence will do?  If Mr Daly is your lawyer, send for him, as Martin Kelly suggests.  I’m not afraid that he will recommend you to remain in the country, even should you dare to tell him of the horrid accusation which is brought against you.  But at any rate make up your mind, for if you do stay in Dunmore tonight it shall be in the Bridewell, and your next move shall be to Galway.”

Barry sat silent for a while, trying to think.  The parson was like an incubus upon him, which he was totally unable to shake off.  He knew neither how to resist nor how to give way.  Misty ideas got into his head of escaping to his bed-room and blowing his own brains out.  Different schemes of retaliation and revenge flitted before him, but he could decide on nothing.  There he sat, silent, stupidly gazing at nothing, while Lord Ballindine and Mr Armstrong stood whispering over the fire.

“I’m afraid we’re in the wrong:  I really think we are,” said Frank.

“We must go through with it now, any way,” said the parson.  “Come, Mr Lynch, I will give you five minutes more, and then I go;” and he pulled out his watch, and stood with his back to the fire, looking at it.  Lord Ballindine walked to the window, and Martin Kelly and Doctor Colligan sat in distant parts of the room, with long faces, silent and solemn, breathing heavily.  How long those five minutes appeared to them, and how short to Barry!  The time was not long enough to enable him to come to any decision:  at the end of the five minutes he was still gazing vacantly before him:  he was still turning over in his brain, one after another, the same crowd of undigested schemes.

“The time is out, Mr Lynch:  will you go?” said the parson.

“I’ve no money,” hoarsely croaked Barry.

“If that’s the only difficulty, we’ll raise money for him,” said Frank.