In Which, While the Harmony Continues in Father Roach’s Front Parlour, a Few Discords are Introduced Elsewhere; and Doctor Toole Arrives in the Morning with a Marvellous Budget of News

The good people who had established themselves in poor Nutter’s domicile did not appear at all disconcerted by the priest’s summons. His knock at the hall-door was attended to with the most consummate assurance by M. M.‘s maid, just as if the premises had belonged to her mistress all her days.

Between this hussy and his reverence, who was in no mood to be trifled with, there occurred in the hall some very pretty sparring, which ended by his being ushered into the parlour, where sat Mistress Matchwell and Dirty Davy, the ‘tea-things’ on the table, and an odour more potent than that of the Chinese aroma circulating agreeably through the chamber.

I need not report the dialogue of the parties, showing how the honest priest maintained, under sore trial, his character for politeness while addressing a lady, and how he indemnified himself in the style in which he ‘discoorsed’ the attorney; how his language fluctuated between the persuasively religious and the horribly profane; and how, at one crisis in the conversation, although he had self-command enough to bow to the matron, he was on the point of cracking the lawyer’s crown with the fine specimen of Irish oak which he carried in his hand, and, in fact, nothing but his prudent respect for that gentleman’s cloth prevented his doing so.

‘But supposin’, Ma’am,’ said his reverence, referring to the astounding allegation of her marriage with Nutter; ‘for the sake of argumint, it should turn out to be so, in coorse you would not like to turn the poor woman out iv doors, without a penny in her pocket, to beg her bread?’

‘Your friend up stairs, Sir, intended playing the lady for the rest of her days,’ answered M. M., with a cat-like demureness, sly and cruel, ‘at my cost and to my sorrow. For twenty long years, or nigh hand it, she has lived with my husband, consuming my substance, and keeping me in penury. What did she allow me all that time?— not so much as that crust — ha! ha!— no, not even allowed my husband to write me a line, or send me a shilling. I suppose she owes me for her maintenance here — in my house, out of my property — fully two thousand pounds. Make money of that, Sir;— and my lawyer advises me to make her pay it.’

‘Or rather to make her account, Ma’am; or you will, if she’s disposed to act fairly, take anything you may be advised, to be reasonable and equitable, Ma’am,’ interposed Dirty Davy.

‘That’s it,’ resumed Madam Mary. ‘I don’t want her four bones. Let her make up one thousand pounds — that’s reason, Sir — and I’ll forgive her the remainder. But if she won’t, then to gaol I’ll send her, and there she may rot for me.’

‘You persave, Sir,’ continued the attorney; ‘your client — I mane your friend — has fixed herself in the character of an agent — all the late gintleman’s money, you see, went through her hands — an agent or a steward to Charles Nutther, desased — an’ a coort iv equity’ll hould her liable to account, ye see; an’ we know well enough what money’s past through her hands annually — an’ whatever she can prove to have been honestly applied, we’ll be quite willin’ to allow; but, you see, we must have the balance!’

‘Balance!’ said the priest, incensed beyond endurance; ‘if you stay balancin’ here, my joker, much longer, you’ll run a raysonable risk of balancin’ by the neck out iv one of them trees before the doore.’

‘So you’re threatenin’ my life, Sir!’ said the attorney, with a sly defiance.

‘You lie like the divil, Sir — savin’ your presence, Ma’am. Don’t you know the differ, Sir, between a threat an’ a warnin’, you bosthoon?’ thundered his reverence.

‘You’re sthrivin’ to provoke me to a brache iv the pace, as the company can testify,’ said Dirty Davy.

‘Ye lie again, you — you fat crature —’tis thryin’ to provoke you to keep the pace I am. Listen to me, the both o’ yez — the leedy up stairs, the misthress iv this house, and widow of poor Charles Nutter — Mrs. Sally Nutther, I say — is well liked in the parish; an’ if they get the wind o’ the word, all I say ‘s this — so sure as you’re found here houldin’ wrongful possession of her house an’ goods, the boys iv Palmerstown, Castleknock, and Chapelizod will pay yez a visit you won’t like, and duck yez in the river, or hang yez together, like a pair of common robbers, as you unquestionably are — not,’ he added, with a sudden sense of legal liability.

‘Who’s that?’ demanded the lynx-eyed lady, who saw Pat Moran cross the door in the shadow of the lobby.

‘That’s Mr. Moran, a most respectable and muscular man, come here to keep possession, Madam, for Mrs. Sally Nutther, our good friend and neighbour, Ma’am,’ replied the priest.

‘As you plase, Sir,’ replied the attorney; ‘you’re tumblin’ yourself and your friend into a nice predicament — as good a consthructive ousther, vi et armis, as my client could possibly desire. Av coorse, Sir, we’ll seek compensation in the regular way for this violent threspass; and we have you criminally, you’ll obsarve, no less than civilly.’

‘Now, look — onderstand me — don’t affect to misteek, av you plase,’ said the priest, not very clear or comfortable, for he had before had one or two brushes with the law, and the recollection was disagreeable: ‘I— Mr. Moran — we’re here, Sir — the both iv us, as you see — pacibly — and — and — all to that — and at the request of Mrs. Sally Nutther — mind that, too — at her special desire — an’ I tell you what’s more — if you make any row here — do you mind — I’ll come down with the magisthrate an’ the soldiers, an’ lave it to them to dale with you accordin’— mind ye — to law an’ equity, civil, human, criminal, an’ divine — an’ make money o’ that, ye — ye — mountain in labour — savin’ your presence, Ma’am.’

‘I thank you — that’ll do, Sir,’ said the lawyer, with a lazy chuckle.

‘I’ll now do myself the honour to make my compliments to Mrs. Sally Nutther,’ said Father Roach, making a solemn bow to Mrs. Matchwell, who, with a shrill sneer, pursued him as he disappeared with —

‘The lady in the bed-room, your reverence?’

Whereat Dirty Davy renewed his wheezy chuckle.

Nothing daunted, the indignant divine stumped resolutely up stairs, and found poor Sally Nutter, to whose room he was joyfully admitted by honest Betty, who knew his soft honest brogue in a panic, the violence of which had almost superseded her grief. So he consoled and fortified the poor lady as well as he could, and when she urged him to remain in the house all night.

‘My dear Ma’am,’ says he, lifting his hand and shaking his head, with closed eyes, ‘you forget my caracter. Why, the house is full iv faymales. My darlin’ Mrs. Nutther, I— I couldn&rsquo............