“That would be a long story, sir; enough, if I mention that his ancestors were the ancient owners of the entire estate, which was lost by an act of confiscation in the year forty-five. Some extenuating circumstances, however, induced the Government to confer upon a younger branch of the family a lease of this small tract called Tubberbeg, to distinguish it from Tubbermore, the larger portion; and this lease it is whose expiration, in a few years, induces the present query.”
“Has Mr. Corrigan children?”
“No; his only child, a daughter, is dead, but a granddaughter lives now with the old man.”
“Then what is it he asks? Is it a renewal of the lease, on the former terms?”
“Why, not precisely. I believe he would be willing to-pay more.”
“That's not what I mean,” replied Cashel, reddening; “I ask, what terms as to time, he seeks for. Would it content him to have the land for his own life?”
“Mr. Kennyfeck, you are really very culpable to leave Mr. Cashel to the decision of matters of this kind,—matters in which his kindliness of heart and inexperience will always betray him into a forgetfulness of his own interest. What has Mr. Cashel to think about this old creature's ancestors, who were rebels, it appears, or his daughter, or his granddaughter? Here is a simple question of a farm, which actually makes the demesne worthless, and which, by a singular piece of good fortune, is in Mr. Cashel's power to secure.”
“This is a very correct view, doubtless,” said her meek husband, submissively, “but we should also remember—”
“We have nothing to remember,” interrupted Mrs. Kenny-feck, stoutly; “nothing, save his interests, who, as I have observed, is of too generous a nature to be trusted with such matters.”
“Is there no other farm,—have we nothing on the property he 'd like as well as this?” asked Cashel.