“It’s enough for you to know,” said Bryan, “that whoever told it to me I don’t believe it.”

“I certainly have a right to know,” returned Hycy; “but as the matter is false, and every way unfounded, I’ll not press you upon it—­all I can say to satisfy you is, what I have said already—­that I entertain no ill will or unfriendly feeling towards you, and, consequently, can have no earthly intention of doing you an injury even if I could, although at the present moment I don’t see how, even if I was willing.”

“You have nothing particular that you’d wish to say to me?”

“No:  devil a syllable.”

“Nor a proposal of any kind to make me?”

Hycy pulled up his horse.

“Bryan, my good friend, let me look at you,” he exclaimed.  “Is it right to have you at large?  My word and honor I’m beginning to fear that there’s something wrong with your upper works.”

“Never mind,” replied Bryan, laughing, “I’m satisfied—­the thing’s a mistake—­so there’s my hand to you, Hycy.  I’ve no suspicion of the kind against you and it’s all right.”

“What proposal, in heaven’s name, could I have to make to you?” exclaimed Hycy..

“There now,” continued Bryan, “that’ll do; didn’t I say I was satisfied?  Move on, now and overtake your friend—­by the way he’s a fine horseman, they say?”

“Very few better,” said Hycy; “but some there are—­and one I know—­ha! ha! ha!  Good-bye, Bryan, and don’t be made a fool of for nothing.”

Bryan nodded and laughed, and Hycy dashed on to overtake his friend Clinton.

M’Mahon’s way home lay by Gerald Cavanagh’s house, near which as he approached he saw Nanny Peety in close conversation with Kate Hogan.  The circumstance, knowing their relationship as he did, made no impression whatsoever upon him, nor would he have bestowed a thought upon it, had he been left to his own will in the matter.  The women separated ere he had come within three hundred yards of them; Kate, who had evidently been convoying her niece a part of the way, having returned in the direction of Cavanagh’s, leaving Nanny to pursue her journey home, by which she necessarily met M’Mahon.

“Well, Nanny,” said the latter, “how are you?”

“Faix, very well, I thank you, Bryan; how are all the family in Carriglass?”

“Barring my mother, they’re all well, Nanny.  I was glad to hear you got so good a place, an’ I’m still betther plaised to see you look so well—­for it’s a proof that you feel comfortable in it.”

“Why I can’t complain,” she replied; “but you know there’s no one widout their throubles.”

“Troubles, Nanny,” said Bryan, with surprise; “why surely, Nanny, barrin’ it’s love, I don’t see what trouble you can have.”

“Well, and may be it is,” said the girl, smiling.

“Oh, in that case,” replied Bryan, “I grant you’re to be pitied; poor thing, you look so ill and pale upon it, too.  An’ what is it like, Nanny—­this same love that’s on you?”