that these ideas became most vivid before his eyes, and seemed like golden dreams, the accomplishment of which he could hardly wish for.  And, at last, as the fumes of the spirit gave him courage, other and more horrible images would rise to his imagination, and the drops of sweat would stand on his brow as he would invent schemes by which, were he so inclined, he could accelerate, without detection, the event for which he so ardently longed.  With such thoughts would he turn into bed; and though in the morning he would try to dispel the ideas in which he had indulged overnight, they still left their impression on his mind;—­they added bitterness to his hatred—­and made him look on himself as a man injured by his father and sister, and think that he owed it to himself to redress his injuries by some extraordinary means.

It was whilst Barry Lynch was giving way to such thoughts as these, and vainly endeavouring to make up his mind as to what he would do, that Martin made his offer to Anty.  To tell the truth, it was Martin’s sister Meg who had made the first overture; and, as Anty had not rejected it with any great disdain, but had rather shown a disposition to talk about it as a thing just possible, Martin had repeated it in person, and had reiterated it, till Anty had at last taught herself to look upon it as a likely and desirable circumstance.  Martin had behaved openly and honourably with regard to the money part of the business; telling his contemplated bride that it was, of course, her fortune which had first induced him to think of her; but adding, that he would also value her and love her for herself, if she would allow him.  He described to her the sort of settlement he should propose, and ended by recommending an early day for the wedding.

Anty had sense enough to be pleased at his straightforward and honest manner; and, though she did not say much to himself, she said a great deal in his praise to Meg, which all found its way to Martin’s ears.  But still, he could not get over the difficulty which he had described to Lord Ballindine.  Anty wanted to wait till her brother should go out of the country, and Martin was afraid that he would not go; and things were in this state when he started for Dublin.

The village of Dunmore has nothing about it which can especially recommend it to the reader.  It has none of those beauties of nature which have taught Irishmen to consider their country as the “first flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea”.  It is a dirty, ragged little town, standing in a very poor part of the country, with nothing about it to induce the traveller to go out of his beaten track.  It is on no high road, and is blessed with no adventitious circumstances to add to its prosperity.