“My son, sir, Connor, my only son, was taken away from his mother an’ me, an’ put into jail yesterday mornin’, an’ he innocent; he was put in, sir, for burnin’ Bodagh Buie O’Brien’s haggard, an’ as God is above me, he as much burnt it as you did.”

“Then you are Fardorougha Donovan,” said the attorney; “I have heard of that outrage; and, to be plain with you, a good deal about yourself.  How, in the name of heaven, can you call yourself a poor man?”

“They belie me, sir, they’re bitther enemies that say I’m otherwise.”

“Be you rich or be you poor, let me tell you that I would not stand in your son’s situation for the wealth of the king’s exchequer.  Sell your last cow; your last coat; your last acre; sell the bed from under you, without loss of time, if you wish to save his life; and I tell you that for this purpose you must employ the best counsel, and plenty of them.  The Assizes commence on this day week, so that you have not a single moment to lose.  Think now whether you love your son or your money best.”

“Saver of earth, amn’t I an unhappy man! every one sayin’ I have money, an’ me has not!  Where would I get it?  Where would a man like me get it?  Instead o’ that, I’m so poor that I see plainly I’ll starve yet; I see it’s before me!  God pity me this day!  But agin, there’s my boy, my boy; oh, God, pity him!  Say what’s the laste, the lowest, the very lowest you could take, for defendin’ him; an’ for pity’s sake, for charity’s sake, for God’s sake, don’t grind a poor, helpless, ould man by extortion.  If you knew the boy—­if you knew him—­oh, afore my God, if you knew him, you wouldn’t be apt to charge a penny; you’d be proud to sarve sich a boy.”

“You wish everything possible to be done for him, of course.”

“Of coorse, of coorse; but widout extravagance; as asy an’ light on a poor man as you can.  You could shorten it, sure, an’ lave out a grate dale that ‘ud be of no use; nu’ half the paper ’ud do; for you might make the clerks write close—­why, very little ’ud be wanted if you wor savin’.”

“I can defend him with one counsel if you wish; but, if anxious to save the boy’s life, you ought to enable your attorney to secure a strong bar of the most eminent lawyers he can engage.”

“An’ what ’ud it cost to hire three or four of them?”

“The whole expenses might amount to between thirty and forty guineas.”

A deep groan of dismay, astonishment, and anguish, was the only reply made to this for some time.

“Oh, heavens above!” he screamed, “what will—­what will become of me!  I’d rather be dead, as I’ll soon be, than hear this, or know it at all.  How could I get it?  I’m as poor as poverty itself!  Oh, couldn’t you feel for the boy, an’ defend him on trust; couldn’t you feel for him?”

“It’s your business to do that,” returned the man of law, coolly.