“Just a penny, your honour! And may the Blessed Virgin be with your honour!”
“Amen,” growled Trench, suddenly showing himself like a devil springing from a holy-water vase.
The old woman drew back thunderstruck.
“Tell me then, Mrs. Finnigan; will you please tell me who authorised you to settle under-tenants on your land?”
“Holy Virgin! Mother of God!” said Mrs. Finnigan, stupefied. Then, at once assuming an amiable expression:
“Eh! is it good Mr. Trench? May God protect him! He’s a sight to cure sore eyes. And I took him for a tourist!”
“I see that,” continued Trench, “and you are not ashamed to beg, although, to my knowledge, you have 500l. in the bank at Kenmare? But you have not answered my question. Who is this under-tenant that you have settled on your land?”
“Oh, Mr. Trench! To accuse us of under-letting our land. Holy Mother of God! Never! It is only a poor man who asked leave to settle there; now we can’t turn him off; and then, taking pity upon him, we engaged him as caretaker, and we are only paid for the land he occupies by his work upon ours, or upon the roads, because my husband has undertaken the care of the roads. Your honour, the poor must help each other, your honour!”
“Ah! Just so. I see how it is,” said Trench. “Drive on, Dick.”