Now, though Miss Betty, in the full torrent of her anger, had that much of method in her madness to remember the various details, whose interests were the business of her daily life, and so far made provision for the future of her pet cows and horses and dogs and guinea-fowls, so that if she should ever resolve to return she should find all as she had left it, the short paper of agreement by which she accepted Gill as her tenant was drawn up by her own hand, unaided by a lawyer; and, whether from the intemperate haste of the moment, or an unbounded confidence in Gill’s honesty and fidelity, was not only carelessly expressed, but worded in a way that implied how her trustfulness exonerated her from anything beyond the expression of what she wished for, and what she believed her tenant would strictly perform. Gill’s repeated phrase of ‘Whatever her honour’s ladyship liked’ had followed every sentence as she read the document aloud to him; and the only real puzzle she had was to explain to the poor man’s simple comprehension that she was not making a hard bargain with him, but treating him handsomely and in all confidence.
Shrewd and sharp as the old lady was, versed in the habits of the people, and long trained to suspect a certain air of dulness, by which, when asking the explanation of a point, they watch, with a native casuistry, to see what flaw or chink may open an equivocal meaning or intention, she was thoroughly convinced by the simple and unreasoning concurrence this humble man gave to every proviso, and the hearty assurance he always gave ‘that her honour knew what was best. God reward and keep her long in the way to do it!’—with all this, Miss O’Shea had not accomplished the first stage of her journey to Dublin, when Peter Gill was seated in the office of Pat McEvoy, the attorney at Moate—smart practitioner, who had done more to foster litigation between tenant and landlord than all the ‘grievances’ that ever were placarded by the press.
‘When did you get this, Peter?’ said the attorney, as he looked about, unable to find a date.
‘This morning, sir, just before she started.’
‘You’ll have to come before the magistrate and make an oath of the date, and, by my conscience, it’s worth the trouble.’
‘Why, sir, what’s in it?’ cried Peter eagerly.
‘I’m no lawyer if she hasn’t given you a clear possession of the place, subject to certain trusts, and even for the non-performance of these there is no penalty attached. When Councillor Holmes comes down at the assizes, I’ll lay a case before him, and I’ll wager a trifle, Peter, you will turn out to be an estated gentleman.’
‘Blood alive!’ was all Peter could utter.
Though the conversation that ensued occupied more than an hour, it is not necessary that we should repeat what occurred, nor state more than the fact that Peter went home fully assured that if O’Shea’s Barn was not his own indisputably, it would be very hard to dispossess him, and that, at all events, the occupation was secure to him for the present. The importance that the law always attaches to possession Mr. McEvoy took care to impress on Gill’s mind, and he fully convinced him that a forcible seizure of the premises was far more to be apprehended than the slower process of a suit and a verdict.
It was about the third week after this opinion had been given, when young O’Shea walked over from Kilgobbin Castle to the Barn, intending to see his aunt and take his farewell of her.