Mary Swan the younger hesitated a moment before she executed her mother\'s order, not saying anything, but looking doubtfully up into her mother\'s face. "Go, my dear," said the old woman, "and ask your father to come down. It is no use denying him."

"None in the least," said Mr. Prendergast; and then the daughter went.

For ten minutes the lawyer and the old woman sat alone, during which time the ear of the former was keenly alive to any steps that might be heard on the stairs or above head. Not that he would himself have taken any active measures to prevent Mr. Mollett\'s escape, had such an attempt been made. The woman could be a better witness for him than the man, and there would be no fear of her running. Nevertheless, he was anxious that Mollett should, of his own accord, come into his presence.

"I am sorry to keep you so long waiting, sir," said Mrs. Swan.

"It does not signify. I can easily understand that your husband should wish to reflect a little before he speaks to me. I can forgive that."

"And, sir—"

"Well, Mrs. Mollett?"

"Are you going to do anything to punish him, sir? If a poor woman may venture to speak a word, I would beg you on my bended knees to be merciful to him. If you would forgive him now I think he would live honest, and be sorry for what he has done."

"He has worked terrible evil," said Mr. Prendergast solemnly. "Do you know that he has harassed a poor gentleman into his grave?"

"Heaven be merciful to him!" said the poor woman. "But, sir, was not that his son? Was it not Abraham Mollett who did that? Oh, sir, if you will let a poor wife speak, it is he that has been worse than his father."

Before Mr. Prendergast had made up his mind how he would answer her, he heard the sound of footsteps slowly descending upon the stairs. They were those of a person who stepped heavily and feebly, and it was still a minute before the door was opened.

"Sir," said the woman. "Sir," and as she spoke she looked eagerly into his face—"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us. We should all remember that, sir."

"True, Mrs. Mollett, quite true;" and Mr. Prendergast rose from his chair as the door opened.

It will be remembered that Mr. Prendergast and Matthew Mollett had met once before, in the room usually occupied by Sir Thomas Fitzgerald. On that occasion Mr. Mollett had at any rate entered the chamber with some of the prestige of power about him. He had come to Castle Richmond as the man having the whip hand; and though his courage had certainly fallen somewhat before he left it, nevertheless he had not been so beaten down but what he was able to say a word or two for himself. He had been well in health and decent in appearance, and even as he left the room had hardly realized the absolute ruin which had fallen upon him.

But now he looked as though he had realized it with sufficient clearness. He was lean and sick and pale, and seemed to be ten years older than when Mr. Prendergast had last seen him. He was wrapped in an old dressing-gown, and had a night-cap on his head, and coughed violently before he got himself into his chair. It is hard for any tame domestic animal to know through what fire and water a poor fox is driven as it is hunted from hole to hole and covert to covert. It is a wonderful fact, but no less a fact, that no men work so hard and work for so little pay as scoundrels who strive to live without any work at all, and to feed on the sweat of other men\'s brows. Poor Matthew Mollett had suffered dire misfortune, had encountered very hard lines, betwixt that day on which he stole away from the Kanturk Hotel in South Main Street, Cork, and that other day on which he presented himself, cold and hungry and almost sick to death, at the door of his wife\'s house in Spinny Lane, St. Botolph\'s in the East.

He never showed himself there unless when hard pressed indeed, and then he would skulk in, seeking for shelter and food, and pleading with bated voice his husband right to assistance and comfort. Nor was his plea ever denied him.

On this occasion he had arrived in very bad plight indeed: he had brought away from Cork nothing but what he could carry on his body, and had been forced to pawn what he could pawn in order that he might subsist And then he had been taken with ague, and with the fit strong on him had crawled away to Spinny Lane, and had there been nursed by the mother and daughter whom he had ill used, deserted, and betrayed. "When the devil was sick the devil a monk would be;" and now his wife, credulous as all women are in such matters, believed the devil\'s protestations. A time may perhaps come when even— But stop!—or I may chance to tread on the corns of orthodoxy. What I mean to insinuate is this; that it was on the cards that Mr. Mollett would now at last turn over a new leaf.

"How do you do, Mr. Mollett?" said Mr. Prendergast. "I am sorry to see you looking so poorly."

"Yes, sir. I am poorly enough certainly. I have been very ill since I last had the pleasure of seeing you, sir."

"Ah, yes, that was at Castle Richmond; was it not? Well, you have done the best thing that a man can do; you have come home to your wife and family now that you are ill and require their attendance."

Mr. Mollett looked up at him with a countenance full of unutterable woe and weakness. What was he to say on such a subject in such a company? There sat his wife and daughter, his veritable wife and true-born daughter, on whom he was now dependent, and in whose hands he lay, as a sick man does lie in the hands of women: could he deny them? And there sat the awful Mr. Prendergast, the representative of all that Fitzgerald interest which he had so wronged, and who up to this morning had at any rate believed the story with which he, Mollett, had pushed his fortunes in county Cork. Could he in his presence acknowledge that Lady Fitzgerald had never been his wife? It must be confessed that he was in a sore plight. And then remember his ague!

"You feel yourself tolerably comfortable, I suppose, now that you are with your wife and daughter," continued Mr. Prendergast, most inhumanly.

Mr. Mollett continued to look at him so piteously from beneath his nightcap. "I am better than I was, thank you, sir," said he.

"There is nothing like the bosom of one\'s family for restoring one to health; is there, Mrs. Mollett;—or for keeping one in health?"

"I wish you gentlemen would think so," said she, drily.

"As for me, I never was blessed with a wife. When I am sick I have to trust to hired attendance. In that respect I am not so fortunate as your husband; I am only an old bachelor."

"Oh, ain\'t you, sir?" said Mrs. Mollett; "and perhaps it\'s best so. It ain\'t all married people that are the happiest."

The daughter during this time was sitting intent on her work, not lifting her face from the shirt she was sewing. But an observer might have seen from her forehead and eye that she was not only listening to what was said, but thinking and meditating on the scene before her.

"Well, Mr. Mollett," said Mr. Prendergast, "you at any rate are not an old bachelor." Mr. Mollett still looked piteously at him, but said nothing. It may be thought that in all this Mr. Prendergast was more cruel than necessary, but it must be remembered that it was incumbent on him to bring the poor wretch before him down absolutely on his marrow-bones. Mollett must be made to confess his sin, and own that this woman before him was his real wife; and the time for mercy had not commenced till that had been done.

And then his daughter spoke, seeing how things were going with him. "Father," said she, "this gentleman has called because he has had a letter from Abraham Mollett; and he was speaking about what Abraham has been doing in Ireland."

"Oh dear, oh dear!" said poor Mollett. "The unfortunate young man; that wretched, unfortunate, young man! He will bring me to the grave at last—to the grave at last."

"Come, Mr. Mollett," said Mr. Prendergast, now getting up and standing with his back to the fire, "I do not know that you and I need beat about the bush much longer. I suppose I may speak openly before these ladies as to what has been taking place in county Cork."

"Sir!" said Mr. Mollett, with a look of deprecation about his mouth that ought to have moved the lawyer\'s heart.

"I know nothing about it," said Mrs. Mollett, very stiffly.

"Yes, mother, we do know something about it; and the gentleman may speak out if it so pleases him. It will be better, father, for you that he should do so."

"Very well, my dear," said Mr. Mollett, in the lowest possible voice; "whatever the g............