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McKeon was allowed to get the answers, spoken below her breath, and in whispers. "Did she know Captain Ussher was dead?" "She did." "Did she know that it was her brother who had killed him? Was it her brother Thady?" "Yes, it was." "How did she know it was he who had done it? Did she see him do it?" "No, she didn't see him." "How then did she know it?" "He had told her so afterwards."
McKeon brought her some little comforts from Drumsna, of which she was sadly in want; for there was literally nothing at Ballycloran but what was supplied by the charity of those who pitied them in their misfortunes; and among other things she brought two or three volumes from the library. She was very kind to her, and did and said all in her power that could in any way console the poor girl.
The thirty half-crowns were now collected and handed over to McKeon; the names of the eight horses expected to start scrawled in pencil on the backs of fragments of race-bills; and those, together with the blanks, deposited in the hat, which was carried round by one of the party.
His face is pale, and always thin and sad now thinner and sadder than ever; his eyes wander round the court, and as they at length alight on Father John, who is seated next to Mr. McKeon on the attorneys' benches, a kind of gentle smile softens his features, and shows how great a relief he feels the presence of a friend to be.
McKeon was a very hospitable man, his only failing in that respect being his firm determination and usual practice to make every man that dined with him drunk. He was honest in everything, barring horse-flesh; was a good Catholic, and very fond of his daughters Louey and Lydia.
"Oh, perhaps I'll be telling you, you know, when I come down to confession at Christmas; but indeed I shan't be telling Mrs. McKeon anything about it, to go talking over the counthry."
She was called Diana, and his was the last paper drawn. "Faith, Keegan, you're in luck," said McKeon, "for the mare can't but run well. Pat's been training her since May last. I was over there going to Castlereagh, and I saw Pat at her then." "'Deed, then, Mr. McKeon," said Conner, "maybe she'll beat your own mare, much as you think of her." "Oh!
Oh, yes. I can send Margaret McKeon, my maid. She never talks." The doctor gave no indication of any curiosity as to why no talking made Margaret McKeon a suitable person for this emergency. The world was full of odd things, even such a remote bit of it as lay about Killesky. The place buzzed with gossip.
Supposing, now, she was to speak to Captain Ussher from herself, you know, as your friend do you think he'd love the girl that's to be his wife worse for having a friend that was willing to stand in the place of a mother to her, when she'd none of her own?" "Why, I do think it would look odd, Mrs. McKeon meddling with it."
"Indeed, Fitz, if you're to pay for it yourself, a mouthful of brandy and water wouldn't be a bad thing for I want something more than ordinary afther that work. Ah! Conner, it was the bidding afther that mare of your's that broke my heart entirely why, man, you see, every one wanted her." "Niver mind, Mr. McKeon, niver mind!" said Pat, with his one eye fixed on his punch.
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