d high spirits in you was nothing
else than the reckless devilment of a man that only thought of himself.
You could afford to be--at least to look--light-hearted, for you cared
for nobody. You squandered your little property, and you'd have made away
with the few acres that belonged to your ancestors, if the law would
have let you. As for the way you brought up your children, that lazy boy
below-stairs, that never did a hand's turn, is proof enough, and poor
Kitty, just because she wasn't like the rest of you, how she's treated!'

'How is that: what is my cruelty there?' cried he.

'Don't try to make yourself out worse than you are,' said she sternly, 'and
pretend that you don't know the wrong you done her.'

'May I never--if I understand what you mean.'

'Maybe you thought it was no business of yours to provide for your own
child. Maybe you had a notion that it was enough that she had her food and
a roof over her while you were here, and that somehow--anyhow--she'd get
on, as they call it, when you were in the other place. Mathew Kearney, I'll
say nothing so cruel to you as your own conscience is saying this minute;
or maybe, with that light heart that makes your friends so fond of you,
you never bothered yourself about her at all, and that's the way it come
about.'

'What came about? I want to know _that_.'

'First and foremost, I don't think the law will let you. I don't believe
you can charge your estate against the entail. I have a note there to ask
McKeown's opinion, and if I'm right, I'll set apart a sum in my will to
contest it in the Queen's Bench. I tell you this to your face, Mathew
Kearney, and I'm going where I can tell it to somebody better than a
hard-hearted, cruel old man.'

'What is it that I want to do, and that the law won't let me?' asked he, in
the most imploring accents.

'At least twelve honest men will decide it.'

'Decide what! in the name of the saints?' cried he.

'Don't be profane; don't parade your unbelieving notions to a poor old
woman on her death-bed. You may want to leave your daughter a beggar, and
your son little better, but you have no right to disturb my last moments
with your terrible blasphemies.'

'I'm fairly bothered now,' cried he, as his two arms dropped powerlessly to
his sides. 'So help me, if I know whether I'm awake or in a dream.'

'It's an excuse won't serve you where you'll be soon going, and I warn you,
don't trust it.'

'Have a little pity on me, Miss