At length he himself came forward, and, after wiping away a few bitter tears from his cheeks, he said—­“Gentlemen, I care little about the money I lost, nor about who took it—­let it go—­as for me, I won’t miss it; but there is one thing that cuts me to the heart—­I’m spakin’ about the misfortune that was brought, or near bein’ brought, upon this honest an’ generous-hearted young man, Bryan M’Mahon, through manes of a black plot that was got up against him—­I’m spakin’ of the Still that was found on his farm of Ahadarra.  That, if my son had act or part in it, is a thousand times worse than the other; as for the takin’ of the money, I don’t care about it, as I said—­nor I won’t prosecute any one for it; but I must have my mind satisfied about the other affair.”

It is not our intention to dwell at any length upon the clear proofs of his treachery and deceit, which were established against him by Harry Clinton, who produced the anonymous letter to his uncle—­brought home to him as it was by his own evidence and that of Nanny Peety.

“There is, however,” said Vanston, “another circumstance affecting the reputation and honesty of Mr. Bryan M’Mahon, which in your presence, Mr. M’Gowan, I am anxious to set at rest.  I have already contradicted it with indignation wherever I have heard it, and I am the more anxious to do so, now, whilst M’Mahon and Burke are present, and because I have been given to understand that you denounced him—­M’Mahon—­with such hostility from the altar, as almost occasioned him to be put to death in the house of God.”

“You are undher a mistake there, Major Vanston, with great respect,” replied the priest.  “It wasn’t I but my senior curate, Father M’Pepper; and he has already been reprimanded by his Bishop.”

“Well,” replied the other, “I am glad to hear it.  However, I, now solemnly declare, as an honest man and an Irish, gentleman, that neither I, nor any one for me, with my knowledge, ever gave or sent any money to Bryan M’Mahon; but perhaps we may ascertain who did.  M’Mahon, have you got the letter about you?”

“I have, sir,” replied Bryan, “and the bank-note, too.”

“You will find the frank and address both in your own handwriting,” said Hycy.  “It was I brought him the letter from the post-office.”

“Show me the letter, if you plaise,” said Nanny, who, after looking first at it and then at Hycy, added, “and it was I gave it this little tear near the corner, and dhrew three scrapes of a pin across the paper, an’ there they are yet; an’ now I can take my oath that it was Mr. Hycy that sent that letther to Bryan M’Mahon—­an’ your Reverence is the very man I showed it to, and that tould me who it was goin’ to, in the street of Ballymacan."’

On a close inspection of the letter it was clearly obvious that, although there appeared at a cursory glance a strong resemblance between the frank and the address, yet the difference was too plain to be mistaken.