"G.o.d's a just G.o.d," replied Hanlon--"the murderer deserves his punishment, an' I hope will meet it."

"There is little doubt of it," said the pedlar, "the hand of G.o.d is in it all."

"That's more than I see, or can at the present time, then," replied Hanlon. "Why should my aunt stay away so long?--but I dare say the truth is, she is either sick or dead, an' if that's the case, what's all you have said or done worth? You see it's but a chance still."

"Trust in G.o.d," replied the pedlar, "that's all either of us can do or say now. There's the coffin. I'm tould they're goin' to bury him, and to have the greatest funeral that ever was in the counthry; but, G.o.d knows, there's funerals enough in the neighborhood widout their making a show of themselves wid this."

"There's no truth in that report either," said Hanlon. "I was speakin'

to Jerry Sullivan this mornin', an' I have it from him that they intend to bury him as quietly as they can. He's much changed from what he was--Jerry is--an' doesn't wish to have the old man hanged at all, if he can prevent it."

"Hanged or not, Charley, I must go on with my pet.i.tion to d.i.c.k o' the Grange. Of course I have no chance, but maybe the Lord put something good into Travers's heart, when he bid me bring it to him; at any rate it can do no harm."

"Nor any earthly good," replied the other. "The farm is this minute the property of Darby Skinadre, an' to my knowledge Master d.i.c.k has a good hundred pounds in his pocket for befriendin' the meal-monger."

"Still an' all, Charley, I'll go to the father, if it was only bekaise the agent wishes it; I promised I would, an' who knows at any rate but he may do something for the poor Daltons himself, when he finds that the villain that robbed and ruined them won't."

"So far you may be right," said Hanlon, "an' as you say, if it does no good it can do no harm; but for my part, I can scarcely think of anything but my poor aunt. What, in G.o.d's name, except sickness or death, can keep her away, I don't know."

"Put your trust in G.o.d, man--that's my advice to you."

"And a good one it is," replied the other, "if we could only follow it up as we ought. Every one here wondhers at the change that's come over me--I that was so light and airy, and so fond of every divarsion that was to be had, am now as grave as a parson; but indeed no wondher, for ever since that awful night at the Grey Stone--since both nights indeed--I'm not the same man, an' feel as if there was a weight come over me that nothing will remove, unless we trace the murdher, an' I hardly know what to say about it, now that my aunt isn't forthcommin'"

"Trust in G.o.d, I tell you, for as you live, truth will come to light yet."

The conversation took various changes as they proceeded, until they reached the Grange, where the first person they met was Jemmy Branigan, who addressed his old enemy, the pedlar, in that peculiarly dry and ironical tone which he was often in the habit of using when he wished to disguise a friendly act in an ungracious garb--a method of granting favors, by the way, to which he was proverbially addicted. In fact, a surly answer from Jemmy was as frequently indicative of his intention to serve you with his master as it was otherwise; but so adroitly did he disguise his sentiments, that no earthly penetration could develop them until proved by the result. Jemmy, besides, liked the pedlar at heart for his open, honest scurrility--a quality which he latterly found extremely beneficial to himself, inasmuch as now that, increasing infirmity had incapacitated his master from delivering much of the alternate abuse that took place between them, he experienced great relief every moment from a fresh breathing with his rather eccentric opponent.

"Jemmy," said Hanlon, "is the master in the office?"

"Is he in the office?--Who wants him?" and as he put the query he accompanied it by a look of ineffable contempt at the pedlar.

"Your friend, the pedlar, wants him; and so now," added Hanlon, "I leave you both to fight it out between you."

"You're comin' wid your pet.i.tion, an' a purty object you are, goin' to look afther a farm for a man that'll be hanged, (may G.o.d forbid--this day, amin!" he exclaimed in an under-tone which the other could not hear): "an' what can you expect but to get kicked out or put in' the stocks for attemptin' to take a farm over another man's head."

"What other man's head?--n.o.body has it yet."

"Ay, has there--a very daicent respectable man has it, by name one Darby Skinadre. (May he never warm his hungry nose in the same farm, the miserable keowt that he is this day," he added in another soliloquy, which escaped the pedlar): "a very honest man is Darby Skinadre, so you may save yourself the trouble, I say."

"At any rate there's no harm in tryin'--worse than fail we can't, an' if we succeed it'll be good to come in for anything from the ould scoundrel, before the devil gets him."

Jemmy gave him a look.

"Why, what have you to say against the ould boy? Sure it's not casting reflections on your own masther you'd be."

"Oh, not at all," replied the pedlar, "especially when I'm expectin' a favor from one of his sarvints. Throth he'll soon by all accounts have his hook in the ould Clip o' the! Grange--an' afther that some of his friends will soon folly him. I wouldn't be mainin' one Jemmy Branigan.

Oh, dear no--but it's a sure case that's the Black Boy's intention to take the whole family by instalments, an' wid respect to the sarvints to place them in their ould situations. Faith you'll have a warm berth of it, Jemmy, an' well you desarve it."

"Why then you circulating vagabone," replied Jemmy; "if you wern't a close friend to him, you'd not know his intentions so well. Don't let out on yourself, man alive, unless you have the face to be proud of your acquaintance, which in throth is more than anyone, barrin' the same set, could be of you."

"Well, well," retorted the pedlar, "sure blood alive, as we're all of the same connection, let us not quarrel now, but sarve another if we can. Go an' tell the old blackguard I want to see him about business."

"Will I tell him you're itchy about the houghs?--eh? However, the thruth is, that they,"--and he pointed to the stocks--"might be justice, but no novelty to you. The iron gathers is an ornament you often wore, an' will again, plase goodness."

"Throth, and. your ornament is one you'll never wear a second time--the hemp collar will grace your neck yet; but never mind, you're leadin' the life to desarve it. See now if I can spake a word wid your masther for a poor family."

"Why, then, to avoid your tongue, I may as well tell you that himself, Masther Richard, and Darby Skinadre's in the office; an' if you can use the same blackguard tongue as well in a good cause as you can in a bad one, it would be well for the poor crayturs. Go in now, an'," he added in another soliloquy, "may the Lord prosper his virtuous endayvors, the vagabone; although all hope o' that's past, I doubt; for hasn't Skinadre the promise, and Masther Richard the bribe? However, who can tell?---so G.o.d prosper the vagabone, I say again."

The pedlar, on entering, found old Henderson sitting in an arm-chair, with one of his legs, as usual, bandaged and stretched out before him on another chair. He seemed much worn and debilitated, and altogether had the appearance of a man whose life was not worth a single week's purchase. Skinadre was about taking leave of his patron, the son, who had been speaking to him as the pedlar entered.

"Don't be unaisy, Darby," he said. "We can't give you a lease for about a week or fortnight; but the agent is now here, an' we must first take out new leases ourselves. As soon as we do you shall have yours."

"If you only knew, your honor, the sc.r.a.pin' I had in these hard times, to get together that hundhre--"

"Hush--there," said the other, clapping his hand, with an air of ridicule and contempt upon the miser's mouth; "that will do now; be off, and depend upon----mum, you understand mo! Ha, ha, ha!--that's not a bad move, father," he added; "however, I think we must give him the farm."

The pedlar had been standing in the middle of the floor, when young d.i.c.k, turning round suddenly, asked him with a frown, occasioned by the fact of his having overheard this short dialogue, what he wanted.

"G.o.d save you honors, gintlemen," said the pedlar, in a loud straightforward voice. "I'm glad to see your honor looking so well,"

he added, turning to the father; "it's fresh an' young your gettin', sir!--glory be to G.o.d!"

"Who is this fellow, d.i.c.k? Do you think I look better, my man?"

"Says Jemmy Branigan to me afore I came in," proceeded the pedlar,--"he's a thrue friend o' mine, your honor, Jemmy is, an' 'ud go to the well o' the world's end to sarve me--says he, you'll be delighted, Harry, to see the masther look so fresh an' well."

"And the cursed old hypocrite is just after telling me, d.i.c.k, to prepare for a long journey; adding, for my consolation, that it won't be a troublesome one, as it will be all down hill."

"Why," replied the son, "he has given you that information for the ten thousandth time, to my own knowledge. What does this man want? What's your business, my good fellow?"

"Beggin' your pardon, sir," replied the pedlar, "will you allow me to ask you one question; were you ever in the forty-seventh foot? Oh, bedad, it must be him to a sartinty," he added, as if to himself. "No,"

replied d.i.c.k; "why so?"

"Take care, your honor," said the pedlar, smiling roguishly;--"take care now, your honor, if it wasn't you--"

"What are you speaking about--what do you mean?" asked the young man.

The pedlar went over to him, and said, in a low voice, looking cautiously at the father, as if he didn't wish that he should hear him--

"It was surely your honor took away Lord Handicap's daughter when you wor an ensign--the handsome ensign, as they called you in the forty-seventh? Eh? faix I knew you the minute I looked at you."

"Ha, ha, ha! Do you know what, father? He says I'm the handsome ensign of the forty-seventh, that took away Lord Handicap's daughter."

"The greatest beauty in all England," added the pedlar; "an' I knew him at wanst, your honor."

"Well, d.i.c.k, that's a compliment, at any rate," replied the father.

"Were you ever in the forty-seventh?" asked the son, smiling.

"Ah, ah!" returned the pedlar, with a knowing wink, "behave yourself, captain; I'm not so soft as all that comes to; but sure as I have a favor to ax from his honor, your father, I'm glad to have your a.s.sistance. Faix, by all accounts you pleaded your own cause well, at any rate; and I hope you'll give me a lift now wid his honor here."