“Ah, I see it,” cried he; “and this explains the meaning of an article I read this morning in the 'Evening Post,'—the Government organ,—wherein it is suggested that country gentlemen would be more efficient supporters of the administration if they lent themselves heartily to comprehend the requirements of recent legislation, than by exacting heavy reprisals on their tenants in moments of defeat and disappointment.”
“Well, it is rather hard,” said Martin, with more of energy than he usually spoke in,—“it is hard! They first hounded us on to contest the borough for them, and they now abuse us that we did not make a compromise with the opposite party. And as to measures of severity, you know well I never concurred in them; I never permitted them.”
“But they are mistaken, nevertheless. There are writs in preparation, and executions about to issue over fourteen town-lands. There will be a general clearance of the population at Kyle-a-Noe. You 'll not know a face there when you go back, Martin!”
“Who can say that I 'll ever go back?” said he, mournfully.
“Come, come, I trust you will. I hope to pass some pleasant days with you there ere I die,” said Repton, cheer-ingly. “Indeed, until you are there again, I 'll never go farther west than Athlone on my circuit. I 'd not like to, look at the old place without you!”
Martin nodded as he raised his glass, as if to thank him, and then dropped his head mournfully, and sat without speaking.
“Poor dear Mary!” said he, at last, with a heavy sigh. “Our desertion of her is too bad. It's not keeping the pledge I made to Barry!”
“Well, well, there's nothing easier than the remedy. A week or so will see you settled in some city abroad,—Paris, or Brussels, perhaps. Let her join you; I 'll be her escort. Egad! I'd like the excuse for the excursion,” replied Repton, gayly.
“Ay, Repton,” said the other, pursuing his own thoughts and not heeding the interruption, “and you know what a brother he was. By Jove!” cried he, aloud, “were Barry just to see what we 've done,—how we 've treated the place, the people, his daughter!—were he only to know how I 've kept my word with him—Look, Repton,” added he, grasping the other's arm as he spoke, “there's not as generous a fellow breathing as Barry; this world has not his equal for an act of noble self-devotion and sacrifice. His life!—he 'd not think twice of it if I asked him to give it for me; but if he felt—if he could just awaken to the conviction that he was unfairly dealt with, that when believing he was sacrificing to affection and brotherly love he was made a dupe and a fool of—”
“Be cautious, Martin; speak lower—remember where you are,” said Repton, guardedly.