“But, is she much hurt, Biddy?”

“Oh! her head’s cut, dreadful, where she fell, ma’am:  and he shuck the very life out of her poor carcase; so he did, Mrs Kelly, the ruffian!”

“Don’t be cursing, I tell you, girl.  And what is it your misthress is wishing to do now?  Did she tell you to come to me?”

“No, ma’am; she didn’t exactly tell me—­only as she war saying that she wouldn’t for anything be staying in the house with Mr Barry; and as she didn’t seem to be knowing where she’d be going, and av’ she be raally going to be married to Mr Martin—­”

“Drat Mr Martin, you fool!  Did she tell you she wanted to come here?”.

“She didn’t quite say as much as that.  To tell the thruth, thin, it wor I that said it, and she didn’t unsay it; so, wid that, I thought I’d come down here the first thing, and av’ you, Mrs Kelly, wor thinking it right, we’d get her out of the house before the masther’s stirring.”

The widow was a prudent woman, and she stood, for some time, considering; for she felt that, if she held out her hand to Anty now, she must stick to her through and through in the battle which there would be between her and her brother; and there might be more plague than profit in that.  But then, again, she was not at all so indifferent as she had appeared to be, to her favourite son’s marrying four hundred a-year.  She was angry at his thinking of such a thing without consulting her; she feared the legal difficulties he must encounter; and she didn’t like the thoughts of its being said that her son had married an old fool, and cozened her out of her money.  But still, four hundred a-year was a great thing; and Anty was a good-tempered tractable young woman, of the right religion, and would not make a bad wife; and, on reconsideration, Mrs Kelly thought the thing wasn’t to be sneezed at.  Then, again, she hated Barry, and, having a high spirit, felt indignant that he should think of preventing her son from marrying his sister, if the two of them chose to do it; and she knew she’d be able, and willing enough, too, to tell him a bit of her mind, if there should be occasion.  And lastly, and most powerfully of all, the woman’s feeling came in to overcome her prudential scruples, and to open her heart and her house to a poor, kindly, innocent creature, ill-treated as Anty Lynch had been.  She was making up her mind what to do, and determining to give battle royal to Barry and all his satellites, on behalf of Anty, when Biddy interrupted her by saying,—­

“I hope I warn’t wrong, ma’am, in coming down and throubling you so arly?  I thought maybe you’d be glad to befrind Miss Anty—­seeing she and Miss Meg, and Miss Jane, is so frindly.”

“No, Biddy;—­for a wondher, you’re right, this morning.  Mr Barry won’t be stirring yet?”

“Divil a stir, ma’am!  The dhrunkenness won’t be off him yet this long while.  And will I go up, and be bringing Miss Anty down, ma’am?”