“Ballydorery, Knockshaughlin, and Cushaglin, is the townlands, and the mountain is Slieve-na-vick, sir.”
“Owen Connor, Owen Connor,” said the clerk, repeating the name three or four times over. “Oh, I remember; there has been no rent paid on your farm for some years.''
“You're right there, sir,” said Owen; “the landlord, God be good to him! tould my poor father—”
“Well, well, I have nothing to do with that—step inside—Mr. Lucas will speak to you himself;—shew this man inside, Luffey;” and the grim bailiff led the way into the back parlour, where two gentlemen were standing with their backs to the fire, chatting; they were both young and good-looking, and, to Owen's eyes, as unlike agents as could be. .
“Well, what does this honest fellow want?—no abatement, I hope; a fellow with as good a coat as you have, can't be very ill off.”
“True for you, yer honor, and I am not,” said Owen in reply to the speaker, who seemed a few years younger than the other. “I was bid spake to yer honor about the little place I have up the mountains, and that Mr. Leslie gave my father rent-free—”
“Oh, you are the man from Maam, an't you?”
“The same, sir; Owen Connor.”
“That's the mountain I told you of, Major,” said Lucas in a whisper; then, turning to Owen, resumed: “Well, I wished to see you very much, and speak to you. I've heard the story about your getting the land rent-free, and all that; but I find no mention of the matter in the books of the estate; there is not the slightest note nor memorandum that I can see, on the subject; and except your own word—which of course, as far as it goes, is all very well—I have nothing in your favour.”
While these words were being spoken, Owen went through a thousand tortures; and many a deep conflicting passion warred within him. “Well, sir,” said he at last, with a heavily drawn sigh, “well, sir, with God's blessin', I'll do my best; and whatever your honour says is fair, I'll thry and pay it: I suppose I'm undher rent since March last?”