“No use in life,” reiterated he solemnly; “she's a real naygur, and would, not trust Father Luke with a week's snuff, and he's dealt there for sneeshin these thirty years.”
“A weel, a weel,” said M'Nab in a low harsh voice; “the world's growing waur and waur. Ye maun e'en gie her a shilling, and mind ye get nae bad bawbees in change; she suld gie ye twelve for saxpence.”
Kerry took the money without a word in reply; he was foiled in the plan of his own devising, and with many a self-uttered sarcasm on the old Scotchman, he descended the stairs once more.
“Is Master Herbert worse?” said the cook, as the old huntsman entered the kitchen.
“Begorra he must be bad entirely, when ould Archy would give a shilling to cure him. See here, he's sending me for lemons down to Mary's.”
Kerry rung the coin upon the table as if to test its genuiness, and muttered to himself—
“'Tis a good one, devil a lie in it.”
'"There's the bell again; musha, how he rings it.”
This time the voice of Sir Archy was heard in loud tones summoning Kerry to his assistance, for Herbert had become suddenly worse, and the old man was unable to prevent him rising from his bed and rushing from the room.
The wild and excited tones of the youth were mixed with the deeper utterings of the old man, who exerted all his efforts to calm and restrain him as Kerry reached the spot. By his aid the boy was conveyed back to his bed, where, exhausted by his own struggles, he lay without speaking or moving for some hours.