“Confound her,” muttered the brute, between his teeth, as she fell, “for an obstinate, pig-headed fool! What the d––––l shall I do now? Anty, get up!—get up, will you!—What ails you?”—and then again to himself, “the d––––l seize her! What am I to do now?” and he succeeded in dragging her on to the sofa.
The man-servant and the cook although up to this point, they had considered it would be ill manners to interrupt the brother and sister in their family interview, were nevertheless at the door; and though they could see nothing, and did not succeed in hearing much, were not the less fully aware that the conversation was of a somewhat stormy nature on the part of the brother. When they heard the noise which followed the blow, though not exactly knowing what had happened, they became frightened, and began to think something terrible was being done.
“Go in, Terry, avich,” whispered the woman,—“Knock, man, and go in—shure he’s murdhering her!”
“What ’ud he do to me thin, av’ he’d strick a woman, and she his own flesh and blood! He’ll not murdher her—but, faix, he’s afther doing something now! Knock, Biddy, knock, I say, and screech out that you’re afther wanting Miss Anty.”
The woman had more courage than the man—or else more compassion, for, without further parleying, she rapped her knuckles loudly against the door, and, as she did so, Terry sneaked away to the kitchen.
Barry had just succeeded in raising his sister to the sofa as he heard the knock.
“Who’s that?” he called out loudly; “what do you want?”
“Plaze yer honer, Miss Anty’s wanting in the kitchen.”
“She’s busy, and can’t come at present; she’ll be there directly.”
“Is she ill at all, Mr. Barry? God bless you, spake, Miss Anty; in God’s name, spake thin. Ah! Mr. Barry, thin, shure she’d spake av’ she were able.”