And while she spoke, her small hand gradually caught that of Mrs.

Dalton, as a proof that she would not withhold the embrace on that account. Mrs. Dalton returned her pressure, and at the same moment kissed the fair girl's lips, who sobbed a moment or two in her arms, where she threw herself. The other again invoked a blessing upon her head, and walked out, having wiped a few tears from her pale cheeks.

The miser looked upon this exhibition of feeling with some surprise; but as his was not a heart susceptible of the impressions it was calculated to produce, he only said in a tone of indifference:

"Well, to be sure now, Mave, I didn't expect to see you shakin' hands wid and kissin' Condy Dalton's wife, at any rate, considerin' all that has happened atween the families. However, it's good to be forgivin'; I hope it is; indeed I know that; for it comes almost to a feelin' in myself. Well, _achora_, what am I to do for you?"

"Will you let me speak to you inside a minute?" she asked.

"Will I? Why, then, to be sure I will; an' who knows but it's my daughter-in-law I might have you yet, _avillish!_ Yourself and Darby's jist about an age. Come inside, _ahagur_."

Their dialogue was not of very long duration. Skinadre, on returning to the scales, weighed two equal portions of oatmeal, for one of which Mave paid him.

"I will either come or send for this," she said laying her hand on the one for which she had paid. "If I send any one, I'll give the token I mentioned."

"Very well, a suchar--very well," he replied; "it's for n.o.body livin'

but yourself I'd do it; but sure, now that I must begin to coort you for Darby, it won't be aisy to refuse you for anything in raison."

"Mind, then," she observed, as she seized one of the portions, in order to proceed home; "mind," said she, laying her hand upon that which she was leaving behind her; "mind it's for this one I have paid you."

"Very well, achora, it makes no difference; sure a kiss o' them red, purty lips o' yours to Darby will pay the inthrest for all."

Two other females now made their appearance, one with whom our readers are already acquainted. This was no other than the prophet's wife, who had for her companion a woman whom neither she herself nor any one present knew.

"Mave Sullivan, darlin'," exclaimed the former, "I'm glad to see you.

Are you goin' home, now?"

"I am, Nelly," replied Mave, "jist on my step."

"Well, thin, if you stop a minute or two, I'll be part o' the way wid you. I have somethin' to mention as we go along."

"Very well, then," replied Mave; "make as much haste as you can, Nelly, for I'm in a hurry;" and an expression of melancholy settled upon her countenance as she spoke.

The stranger was a tall thin woman, much about the age and height of the prophet's 'wife, but neither so l.u.s.ty nor so vigorous in appearance, She was but indifferently dressed, and though her features had evidently been handsome in her younger days, yet there was now a thin, shrewish expression about the nose, and a sharpness about the compressed lips, and those curves which bounded in her mouth, that betokened much firmness if not obstinancy in her character, joined to a look which might as well be considered an indication of trial and suffering, as of a temper naturally none of the best.

On hearing Mave Sullivan's name mentioned, she started, and looked at her keenly, and for a considerable time; after which she asked for a drink of water, which she got in the kitchen, where she sat, as it seemed to rest a little.

Nelly, in the meantime, put her hand in a red, three-cornered pocket that hung by her side, and pulling out a piece of writing, presented it to the meal man. That worthy gentleman, on casting his eye over it, read as follows:

"Dear Skinadre: Give Daniel M'Gowan, otherwise the Black Prophet, any quant.i.ty of meal necessary for his own family, which please charge, (and you know why,) to your friend,

"d.i.c.k o' the Grange, Jun."

Skinadre's face, on perusing this doc.u.ment, was that of a man who felt himself pulled in different directions by something at once mortifying and pleasant. He smiled at first, then bit his lips, winked one eye, then another; looked at the prophet's wife with complacency, but immediately checked himself, and began to look keen and peevish. This, however, appeared to be an error on the other side; and the consequence was, that, after some comical alterations, his countenance settled down into its usual expression.

"Troth," said he, "that same d.i.c.k o' the Grange, as he calls himself, is a quare young gintleman; as much male as you want--a quare, mad--your family's small, I think?"

"But sharp an' active," she replied, with a hard smile, as of one who cared not for the mirth she made, "as far as we go."

"Ay," said he, abruptly, "divil a much--G.o.d pardon me for swearin'--ever they wor for good that had a large appet.i.te. It's a bad sign of either man or woman. There never was a villain hanged yet that didn't ait more to his last breakfast than ever he did at a meal in his life before.

How-an-ever, one may as well have a friend; so I suppose, we must give you a thrifle."

When her portion was weighed out, she and Mave Sullivan left this scene of extortion together, followed by the strange woman, who seemed, as it were, to watch their motions, or at least to feel some particular interest in them.

He had again resumed his place at the scales, and was about to proceed in his exactions, when the door opened, and a powerful young man, tall, big boned and broad shouldered, entered the room, leading or rather dragging with him the poor young-woman and her child, who had just left the place in such bitterness and affliction. He was singularly handsome, and of such resolute and manly bearing, that it was impossible not to mark him as a person calculated to impress one with a strong anxiety to know who and what he might be. On this occasion his cheek was blanched and his eye emitted a turbid fire, which could scarcely be determined as that of indignation or illness.

"Is it thrue," he asked, "that you've dared to refuse to this--this--unfor--is it thrue that you've dared to refuse this girl and her starvin' father and mother the meal she wanted? Is this thrue, you hard-hearted ould scoundrel?--bekaise if it is, by the blessed sky above us, I'll pull the wind-pipe out of you, you infernal miser!"

He seized unfortunate Skinadre by the neck, as he spoke, and almost at the same moment forced him to project his tongue about three inches out of his mouth, causing his face at the same time to a.s.sume, by the violence of the act, an expression of such comic distress and terror, as it was difficult to look upon with gravity.

"Is it thrue," he repeated, in a voice of thunder, "that you've dared to do so scoundrelly an act, an' she, the unfortunate creature, famishing wid hunger herself?"

While he spake, he held Skinadre's neck as if in a vice--firm in the same position--and the latter, of course, could do nothing more than turn his ferret eyes round as well as he could, to entreat him to relax his grip.

"Don't choke him, Tom," exclaimed Hacket, who came forward, to interpose; "you'll strangle him; as Heaven's above, you will."

"An' what great crime would that be?" answered the other, relaxing his awful grip of the miser. "Isn't he an' every cursed meal-monger like him a curse and a scourge to the counthry--and hasn't the same counthry curses and scourges enough widhout either him or them? Answer me now,"

he proceeded, turning to Skinadre, "why did you send her away widout the food she wanted?"

"My heart bled for her; but--"

"It's a lie, you born hypocrite--it's a lie--your heart never bled for anything, or anybody."

"But you don't know," replied the miser, "what I lost by--"

"It's a lie, I say," thundered out the gigantic young fellow, once more seizing the unfortunate meal-monger by the throat, when out again went his tongue, like a piece of machinery touched by a spring, and again were the red eyes now almost starting out of his head, turned round, whilst he himself was in a state of suffocation, that rendered his appearance ludicrous beyond description--"it's a lie, I say, for you have neither thruth nor heart--that's what we all know."

"For Heaven's sake, let the man go," said Hacket, "or you'll have his death to answer for "--and as he spoke he attempted to unclasp the young man's grip; "Tom Dalton, I say, let the man go."

Dalton, who was elder brother to the lover of Mave Sullivan, seized Hacket with one of his hands, and spun him like a child to the other end of the room.

"Keep away," he exclaimed, "till I settle wid him--here now, Skinadre, listen to me--you refused my father credit when we wanted it, although you knew we were honest--you refused him credit when we were turned out of our place, although you knew the sickness was among us--well, you know whether we that wor your friends, an'--my father at least--the makin' of you"--and as he spoke, he accompanied every third word by a shake or two, as a kind of running commentary upon what he said; "ay--you did--you knew it well, and I could bear all that; but I can't bear you to turn this unfortunate girl out of your place, widout what she wants, and she's sinkin' wid hunger herself. If she's in distress, 'twas I that brought her to it, an' to shame an' to sorrow too--but I'll set all right for you yet, Margaret dear--an' no one has a betther right to spake for her."

"Tom," said the young woman, with a feeble voice, "for the love of G.o.d let him go or he'll drop."

"Not," replied Dalton, "till he gives you what you come for. Come now,"

he proceeded, addressing the miser, "weigh her. How much will you be able to carry, Margaret?"

"Oh, never mind, now, Tom," she replied, "I don't want any, it's the ould people at home--it's them--it's them."

"Weigh her out," continued the other, furiously; "weigh her out a stone of meal, or by all the lies that ever came from your lips, I'll squeeze the breath out of your body, you deceitful ould hypocrite."

"I will," said the miser, panting, and adjusting his string of a cravat, "I will, Tom; here, I ain't able, weigh it yourself--I'm not--indeed I'm not able," said he, breathless; "an' I was thinkin when you came in of sendin' afther her, bekase, when I heard of the sickness among them, that I mayn't sin, but I found my heart bleedin' inwar--"

[Ill.u.s.tration: PAGE 807-- Tom's clutches were again at his throat]