“Into town,” replied the agent; “have you any objection to ride that way?”
“None in the world; it is just the same to me. Well, how are matters proceeding?”
“Not by any means well,” replied the other, “I begin to feel something like alarm. I wish we had those M'Mahons out of the country. Vanston has paid that d—d goose Chevydale a visit, and I fear that unless the Ahadarra man and his father, and the whole crew of them, soon leave the country, we shall break down in our object.”
“Do you tell me so?” said the gauger, starting; “by Jove, it is well I know this in time.”
“I don't understand.”
“Why,” continued. Clinton, “I was about to take a foolish step to-morrow morning, for the express purpose, I believe, of keeping him, and probably the whole family in the country.”
He then detailed the conversation that he had with his nephew, upon which Fethertonge convinced him that there was more in the wind with respect to that step, than either he or his nephew, who he assured him was made a cat's paw of in the business, suspected. “That's a deep move,” said the agent, “but we shall defeat them, notwithstanding. Everything, however, depends upon their leaving the country before Chevydale happens to come at the real state of the case; still, it will go hard or we shall baffle both him and them yet.”
Whether Clinton Was sure that the step urged upon him by his nephew was the result of a generous regard for M'Mahon, or that the former was made a mere tool for ultimate purposes, in the hands of the Ahadarra man, as he called him it is not easy to determine. Be this as it may, when the hour of eleven came the next morning, he was prepared to set his nephew's generosity aside, and act upon Fethertonge's theory of doing everything in his power to get the whole connection out of the country, “Ha,” he exclaimed, “I now understand what Harry meant with respect to their emigration—'It is that fact which presses upon him most.' Oh ho! is it so, indeed! Very good, Mr. M'Mahon—we shall act accordingly.”
Gerald Cavanaugh had been made acquainted by his wife on the day before with the partial revival of his daughter's affection for Bryan M'Mahon, as well as with the enthusiastic defense of him made by Finigan, two circumstances which gave him much concern and anxiety. On his return, however, from Clinton's, his family observed that there was something of a satisfactory expression mingled up with a good deal of grave thought in his face. The truth is, if the worthy man thought for a moment that the ultimate loss of M'Mahon would have seriously injured her peace of mind, he would have bitterly regretted it, and perhaps encourage a reconciliation. This was a result, however, that he could scarcely comprehend. That she might fret and pine for a few months or so was the worst he could calculate upon, and of course he took it for granted, that the moment her affection for one was effaced, another might step in, without any great risk of disappointment.
“Well, Gerald,” said his wife, “what did Ganger Clinton want with you?”