dangerous position had given him. He had not received any direct
intimation of Anty's state, but had heard through the servants that she
was ill--very ill--dangerously--"not expected," as the country people
call it; and each fresh rumour gave him new hopes, and new life. He
now spurned all idea of connexion with Martin; he would trample on the
Kellys for thinking of such a thing: he would show Daly, when in the
plenitude of his wealth and power, how he despised the lukewarmness
and timidity of his councils. These and other delightful visions were
floating through his imagination; when, all of a sudden, like a blow,
like a thunderbolt, the idea of _a will_ fell as it were upon him with
a ton weight. His heart sunk low within him; he became white, and his
jaw dropped. After all, there were victory and triumph, plunder and
wealth, _his_ wealth, in the very hands of his enemies! Of course the
Kellys would force her to make a will, if she didn't do it of her
own accord; if not, they'd forge one. There was some comfort in that
thought: he could at any rate contest the will, and swear that it was
a forgery.

He swallowed a dram, and went off, almost weeping to Daly.

"Oh, Mr Daly, poor Anty's dying: did you hear, Mr Daly--she's all but
gone?" Yes; Daly had been sorry to hear that Miss Lynch was very ill.
"What shall I do," continued Barry, "if they say that she's left a
will?"

"Go and hear it read. Or, if you don't like to do that yourself, stay
away, and let me hear it."

"But they'll forge one! They'll make out what they please, and when
she's dying, they'll make her put her name to it; or they'll only just