spare my very life—­don’t annihilate me—­here I am—­you see through me—­heart, spirit, and soul—­body, lungs, and lights—­could I tell you a lie?  No.  Could I deceive you—­such a man as you, that can look through me as if I was a lanthorn, or a pane of glass without a bull’s eye in it.  No! only let me live and I’ll do your bidding.

“Well,” said Val, in a sharp, imperious;one, “you’re punctual for a wonder.”

“God be praised for that,” replied Darby, wiping the top of his nose with the finger and thumb of an old mitten, “heaven be praised that I’m not late.”

“Hold your damned canting, tongue, you knave, what place is this for it?”

“Knave! well I am then.”

“Yes, you know you are—­you are all knaves—­every bailiff is a knave—­ahem—­unless, indeed, one in a thousand.”

“It’s truth, indeed, plaise your honor.”

“Not but there’s worse than you after all, and be damned to you.”

“An’ betther, sir, too, i’ you please, for sure, God help me, I’m not what I ought to be.”

“Well, mend then, why don’t you? for you want it.  Come now, no jaw, I tell you, but answer me what I am about to ask you; not a word now.”

“Well, no then, plaise your honor, I won’t in throth.”

“Did you warn the townland of Ballymackscud?”

“Yis, plaise your honor.”

“Are they ready—­have they the rent?”

“Only some o’ them, sir,—­an other some is axin’ for time, the thieves.”

“Who are asking for time?”

“Why the O’Shaughrans, sir—­hopin’, indeed, that your honor will let them wait till the markets rises, an not be forced to sell the grain whin the prices is so low now that it would ridin them—­but it’s wondherful the onraisonableness of some people.  Says I, ’his honor, Mr. M’Clutchy, is only doin’ his duty; but a betther hearted or a kinder man never bruk the world’s bread than he is to them that desarves it at his hands;’ so, sir, they began to—­but—­well, well, it’s no matther—­I tould them they were wrong—­made it plain to them—­but they wouldn’t be convinced, say what I might.”

“Why, what did they say, were they abusing me—­I suppose so?”

“Och! the poor sowls, sure it was only ignorance and foolishness on their part—­onraisonable cratures all or most of them is.”

“Let me know at once what they said, you knave, or upon my honor and soul I’ll turn you out of the room and bring in Hanlon.”

“Plaise your honor, he wasn’t present—­I left him outside, in regard that I didn’t think he was fit to be trust—­a safe with—­no matther, ’twas for a raison I had.”  He gave a look at M’Clutchy as he spoke, compounded of such far and distant cunning, scarcely perceptible—­and such obvious, yet retreating cowardice, scarcely perceptible also—–­that no language could convey any notion of it.

“Ah!” said Val, “you are a neat lad—­but go on—­what did they say, for I must have it out of you.”