“To-morrow forenoon.”
“And what of Tim if he is caught?” said I.
“Warn him to keep on Fanad. He will be safe there.”
“Let the horse and the passport be ready as soon as it is dark to-night,” said I. “I will be here.”
“Very good. And see here, Gallagher,” said he, “what did you mean when you said just now that I had stolen any one’s land and fortune?”
“What should I mean?” said I. “It’s an old story you’ve got hold of,” said he, “that was disposed of twenty years ago by the clearest proofs. Do you suppose, if you had been what you are foolish enough to imagine, I would have brought you up in my own house, eh? Wouldn’t it have been simpler to drop you in the lough? It was only my esteem for your poor mother, Mary Gallagher, that prevented my letting all the world know what you may as well know now, that Mike Gallagher, your father, was the murderer of my brother.”
“That is a lie,” said I, “and some day I’ll prove it.”
“Ay, do,” said he with a laugh. “It will take a good deal of proof.”
“Not more than Biddy McQuilkin can give,” said I.
He staggered at this like a man shot.