The curiosity to know the exact words the paper contained was meanwhile extreme, and a thousand absurd versions gained currency; for, in the absence of all fact, invention was had recourse to. “Young Darcy is here,—he was seen this morning on the mail,—it was he himself gave the letter.” Such were among the rumors around; while Con Hefferman, coolly tapping his snuff-box, asked one of the lawyers near him, but in a voice plainly audible on either side, “I hope our friend Bagenal Daly is well; have you seen him lately?”
From that moment an indistinct murmur ran through the crowd that it was Daly had come back to “the West” to challenge the bar, and the whole bench, if necessary. Many added that there could no longer be any doubt of the fact, as Mr. Heffernan had seen and spoken to him.
Order was at last restored; but so completely had this new incident absorbed all the interest of the trial, that already the galleries began to thin, and of the great crowd that filled the body of the court, many had taken their departure. The Counsellor arose, agitated and evidently disconcerted, to finish his task: he spoke, indeed, indignantly of the late attempt to coerce the free expression of the advocate “by a brutal threat;” but the theme seemed one he felt no pleasure in dwelling upon, and he once more addressed himself to the facts of the case.
The judge charged briefly; and the jury, without retiring from the box, brought in a verdict for Hickman O'Reilly.
When the judges retired to unrobe, a messenger of the court summoned O'Halloran to their chamber. His absence was very brief; but when he returned his face was paler, and his manner more disturbed than ever, notwithstanding an evident effort to seem at ease and unconcerned. By this time Hickman O'Reilly had arrived in the town, and Heffernan was complimenting the Counsellor on the admirable display of his speech.
“I regret sincerely that the delicate nature of the position in which I stood prevented my hearing you,” said O'Reilly, shaking his hand.
“You have indeed had a great loss,” said Heffernan; “a more brilliant display I never listened to.”
“Well, sir,” interposed the little priest of Curraghglass, who, not altogether to the Counsellor's satisfaction, had now slipped an arm inside of his, “I hope the evil admits of remedy; Mr. O'Halloran intends to address a few words to the people before he leaves the town.”
Whether it was the blank look that suddenly O'Reilly's features assumed, or the sly malice that twinkled in Heffernan's gray eyes, or that his own feelings suggested the course, but the Counsellor hastily whispered a few words in the priest's ear, the only audible portion of which was the conclusion: “Be that as it may, I 'll not do it.”
“I 'm ready now, Mr. O'Reilly,” said he, turning abruptly round.