at once—­’what do you want? an’ what has brought you from the country?’ I then spoke to him about the new lease; an’ he said to Fethertonge, ’prepare M’Mahon’s lease, Fothertonge;—­you shall have a new lease, M’Mahon.  You are an honest man, and your family have been so for many a long year upon our property.  As my health is unsartin,’ he said, turning to Mr. Fethertonge, ’I take Mr. Fethertonge here to witness, that in case anything should happen me I give you my promise for a renewal—­an’ not only in my name alone, but in my son’s; an’ I now lave it upon him to fulfil my intentions an’ my words, if I should not live to see it done myself.  Mr. Fethertonge here has brought me papers to sign, but I am not able to hould a pen, or if I was I’d give you a written promise; but you have my solemn word, I fear my dyin’ word, in Mr. Fethertonge’s presence—­that you shall have a lease of your farm at the ould rint.  It is such tenants as you we want, M’Mahon, an’ that we ought to encourage on our property.  Fethertonge, do you in the mane time see that a lease is prepared for M’Mahon; an’ see, at all events, that my wishes shall be carried into effect.’  Sich was his last words to me, but he was a corpse on the next day but one afterwards.”

“It’s jist as good,” they exclaimed with one voice; “for what is betther, or what can be betther than the word of an Irish gentleman?”

“What ought to be betther, at all events?” said Bryan.  “Well, father, so far everything is right, for there is no doubt but his son will fulfil his words—­Mr. Fethertonge himself isn’t the thing; but I don’t see why he should be our enemy.  We always stood well with the ould man, an’ I hope will with the son.  Come, mother, move the bottle again—­there’s another round in it still; an’ as everything looks so well and our mind is aisy, we’ll see it to the bottom.”

The conversation was again resumed, questions were once more asked concerning the sights and sounds of Dublin, of which one would imagine they could scarcely ever hear enough, until the evening was tolerably far advanced, when the neighbors withdrew to their respective homes, and left M’Mahon and his family altogether to themselves.

Peety, now that the joy and gratulation for the return of their father had somewhat subsided, lost no time in delivering Hycy Burke’s communication into the hands of Bryan.  The latter, on opening it, started with surprise not inferior to that with which Kathleen Cavanagh had perused the missive addressed to her.  Nor was this all.  The letter received by Bryan, as if the matter had been actually designed by the writer, produced the selfsame symptoms of deep resentment upon him that the mild and gentle Kathleen Cavanagh experienced on the perusal of her own.  His face became flushed and his eye blazed with indignation as he went through its contents; after which he once more looked at the superscription, and notwithstanding the vehement passion into which it had thrown him, he was ultimately obliged to laugh.