"To be sure," replied the other, "an' the house where they did live when they wor as themselves, full, an' warm, an' daicent; an' it is a hard case on them, G.o.d knows, to be turned out like beggars from a farm that they spent hundreds on, and to be forced to see the landlord, ould d.i.c.k o' the Grange, now settin' it at a higher rent and putting into his own pocket the money they had laid out upon improvin' it an' makin' it valuable for him and his; troth, it's open robbery an' nothin' else."

"It in a hard case upon them, as every body allows," said Mave, "but it's over now, and can't be helped. Good-bye, Nelly, an' G.o.d bless you; an' G.o.d bless you too," she added, addressing the strange woman, whose hand she shook and pressed. "You are a great deal oulder than I am, an' as I said, every one may read care an' sorrow upon your face. Mine doesn't show it yet, I know, but for all that the heart within me is full of both, an' no likelihood of its ever bein' otherwise with me."

As she spoke, the tears again gushed down her cheeks; but she checked her grief by an effort, and after a second hurried good-bye, she proceeded on her way home.

"That seems a mild girl," said the strange woman, "as she is a lovely creature to look at."

"She's better than she looks," returned the prophet's wife, "an' that's a great deal to say for her."

"That's but truth," replied the stranger, "and I believe it; for indeed she has goodness in her face."

"She has and in her heart," replied Nelly; "no wondher, indeed, that every one calls her the _Gra Gal_, for it's she that well deserves it. I You are bound for Condy Dalton's, then?" she added, inquiringly. "I am," said the other. "I think you must be a stranger in the country, otherwise I'd know your face," continued Nelly--"but maybe you're a relation of theirs."

"I am a stranger," said the other; "but no relation."

"The Daltons," proceeded Nelly, "are daicent people,--but hot and hasty, as the savin' is. It's the blow before the word wid them always."

"Ah, tut they say," returned her companion, "that a hasty heart was never a bad one."

"Many a piece o' nonsense they say as well as that," rejoined Nelly; "I know them that 'ud put a knife into your heart hastily enough--ay, an' give you a hasty death, into the bargain. They'll first break your head--cut you to the skull, and then, indeed, they'll give you a plaisther. That was ever an' always the carrecther of the same Daltons; an', if all accounts be thrue, the hand of G.o.d is upon them, an' will be upon them till the b.l.o.o.d.y deed is brought to light."

"How is that?" inquired the other, with intense interest, whilst her eyes became riveted upon Nelly's hard features.

"Why, a murdher that was committed betther than twenty years ago in this neighborhood."

"A murdher!" exclaimed the stranger. "Where?--when?--how?"

"I can tell you where, an' I can tell you when," replied Nelly; "but there I must stop--for unless I was at the committin' of it, you might know very well I couldn't tell you how."

"Where then?" she asked, and whilst she did so, it was by a considerable effort that she struggled to prevent her agitation from being noticed by the prophet's wife.

"Why, near the Grey Stone at the crossroads of Mallybenagh--that's the where!"

"An' now for the when?" asked the stranger, who almost panted with anxiety as she spoke.

"Let me see," replied Nelly, "fourteen and six makes twenty, an' two before that or nearly--I mane the year of the rebellion, Why it's not all out two-and-twenty years, I think."

"Aisey," said the other, "I'm but very weak an' feeble--will you jist wait till I rest a minute upon this green bank by the road."

"What ails you?" asked Nelly. "You look as if you got suddenly ill."

"I did get a little--but it'll soon pa.s.s away," she answered--"thrue enough," she added in a low voice, and as if in a soliloquy; "G.o.d is a just Judge--he is--he is! Well, but--oh, I'll soon get better--well, but listen, what became of the murdhered man?--was the body ever got?"

"n.o.body knows that--the body was never got--that is to say n.o.body knows where it's now lyin', snug enough too."

"Ha!" thought the stranger, eying her furtively--"snug enough!--there's more knowledge where that came from. What do you mane by snug enough?"

she asked abruptly.

"Mane!" replied the other, who at once perceived the force of the unguarded expression she had used;--"mane, why what could I mane, but that whoever did the deed, hid the body where very few would be likely to find it."

Her companion now stood up, and approaching the prophet's wife, raised her hand, and said in a tone that was both startling and emphatic--

"I met you this day as you may think, by accident; but take my word for it, and, as sure as we must both account for our acts, it was the hand o' G.o.d that brought us together. I now look into your face, and I tell you that I see guilt and throuble there--ay, an' the dark work of a conscience that's gnawin' your heart both night and day."

Whilst speaking, she held her face within about a foot of Nelly's, into which she looked with an expression so searching and dreadful in its penetration, that the other shrunk back, and felt for a moment as if subdued by a superior spirit. It was, however, only for a moment; the sense of her subjection pa.s.sed away, and she resumed that hard and imperturbable manner, for which she had been all her life so remarkable, unless, like Etna and Vesuvius, she burst out of this seeming coldness into fire and pa.s.sion. There, however, they stood looking sternly into each others' faces, as if each felt anxious that the other should quail before her gaze--the stranger, in order that her impressions might be confirmed, and the prophet's wife, that she should, by the force of her strong will, fling off those traces of inquietude which she knew very well were often too legible in her countenance.

"You are wrong," said Nelly, "an' have only mistaken my face for a lookin'-gla.s.s. It was your own you saw, all it was your own you wor spaking of--for if ever I saw a face that publishes an ill-spent life on the part of its owner, yours is it."

"Care an' sorrow I have had," replied the other, "an' the sin that causes sorrow, I grant; but there's somethin' that's weighin' down your heart, an' that won't let you rest until you give it up. You needn't deny it, for you can't hide it--hard your eye is, but it's not clear, and I see that it quivers, and is unaisy before mine."

"I said you're mistaken," replied the other; "but even supposin' you wor not, how is it your business whether my mind is aisy or not? You won't have my sins to answer for."

"I know that," said the stranger; "and G.o.d sees my own account will be too long and too heavy, I doubt. I now beg of you, as you hope to meet judgment, to think of what I said. Look into your own heart, and it will tell you whether I am right or whether I am wrong. Consult your husband, and if he has any insight at all into futurity, he must tell you that, unless you clear your conscience, you'll have a hard death-bed of it."

"You're goin' to Condy Dalton's," replied Nelly, with much coolness, but whether a.s.sumed or not it is difficult to say; "look into his face, and try what you can find there. At any rate, report has it that there's blood upon his hand, an' that the downfall of himself and his family is only the vengeance of G.o.d, an' the curse of murdher that's pursuin' him and them."

"Why," inquired the other, eagerly, "was he accused of it?"

"Ay, an' taken up for it; but bekaise the body wasn't found, they could do nothing to him."

"May Heaven a.s.sist me!" exclaimed the stranger, "but this day is----however, G.o.d's will be done, as it will be done! Are you goin'?"

"I'm goin'," replied Nelly; "by crossin' the fields here, I'll save a great deal of ground; and when you get as far as the broken bridge, you'll see a large farm-house widout any smoke from it; about a quarter of a mile or less beyant that you'll find the house you're lookin'

for--the house where Condy Dalton lives."

Having thus directed the stranger, the prophet's wife entered a gap that led into a field, and proceeded on her way homewards, having, ere she parted, glanced at her with a meaning which rendered it extremely difficult to say whether the singular language addressed to her had left behind it any such impression as the speaker wished to produce. Their glances met and dwelt on each other for a short time: the strange woman pointed solemnly towards the sky, and the prophet's wife smiled carelessly; but yet, by a very keen eye, it might have been noticed that, under this natural or affected indifference, there lurked a blank or rather an unquiet expression, such as might intimate that something within her had been moved by the observations of her strange companion.

CHAPTER X. -- The Black Prophet makes a Disclosure.

The latter proceeded on her way home, having marked the miserable hovel of Condy Dalton. At present our readers will accompany us once more to the cabin of Donnel Dhu, the prophet.

His wife, as the reader knows, had been startled into something like remorse, by the incidents which had occurred within the last two days, and especially by the double discovery of the dead body and the Tobacco box. Sarah, her step-daughter, was now grown, and she very reasonably concluded, her residence in the same house with this fiery and violent young female was next to an impossibility.--The woman herself was naturally coa.r.s.e and ignorant; but still there was mixed, up in her character a kind of apathetic or indolent feeling of rect.i.tude or vague humanity, which rendered her liable to occasional visitations of compunction for whatever she did that was wrong. The strongest principle in her, however, was one which is frequently to be found among her cla.s.s--I mean such a lingering impression of religious feeling as is not sufficiently strong to prevent the commission of crime, but yet is capable by its influence to keep the conscience restless and uneasy under its convictions. Whether to cla.s.s this feeling with weakness or with virtue, is indeed difficult; but to whichsoever of them it may belong, of one thing we are certain, that many a mind, rude and hardened by guilt, is weak or virtuous only on this single point. Persons so const.i.tuted are always remarkable for feelings of strong superst.i.tion, and are easily influenced by the occurrence of slight incidents, to which they are certain to attribute a peculiar significance, especially when connected with anything that may occasion them uneasiness for the time, or which may happen to occupy their thoughts, or affect their own welfare or interests.

The reader need not be surprised, therefore, on learning that this woman, with all her apathy of character on the general matters of life, was accessible to the feeling or principle we have just described, nor that the conversation she had just had with the strange woman, both disturbed and alarmed her.

On returning, she found her husband and step-daughter both at home; the latter hacking up some white thorn wood with an old hatchet, for the fire, and the other sitting with his head bent gloomily upon his hand, as if ruminating upon the vicissitudes of a troubled or ill-spent life.

Having deposited her burthen, she sat down, and drawing a long breath, wiped her face with the corner of a blue praskeen which she always wore, and this she did with a serious and stern face, intimating, as it were, that her mind was engaged upon matters of deep interest, whatever they might have been.

"What's that you're doin'?" she inquired of Sarah, in a grave, sharp voice.

"Have you no eyes?" replied the other; "don't you see what I am doin'?"

"Where did you get them white thorns that you're cuttin' up?"