“So, then, according to the record,” said Massingbred, holding up the book, “there is an end of the 'Martins of Cro' Martin'?”
“That's it, sir, in one word.”
“It is too shocking—too horrible to believe,” said Mas-singbred, with more of sincerity than his manner usually displayed. “Eh, Scanlan,—is it not so?” added he, as waiting in vain for some show of concurrence.
“I believe, however,” said the other, “it's the history of every great family's downfall: small liabilities growing in secrecy to become heavy charges, severe pressure exerted by those out of whose pockets came eventually the loans to meet the difficulties,—shrewdness and rapacity on one side, folly and wastefulness on the other.”
“Ay, ay; but who ever heard of a whole estate disposed of for less than two years of its rental?”
“That's exactly the case, sir,” said he, in the same calm tone as before; “and what makes matters worse, we have little time to look out for expedients. Magennis will put us on our title at the new trial next assizes. Merl will take fright at the insecurity of his claim, and dispose of it,—Heaven knows to whom,—perhaps to that very league now formed to raise litigation against all the old tenures.”
“Stop, stop, Scanlan! There is quite enough difficulty before us, without conjuring up new complications,” cried Massingbred. “Have you anything to suggest? What ought to be done here?”
Scanlan was silent, and leaning his head on his hand seemed lost in thought.
“Come, Scanlan, you 've thought over all this ere now. Tell me, man, what do you advise?”
Scanlan was silent.