"You were talkin" about the murdher of one Sullivan."
"We were," replied Dalton; "but I"ll thank you to say nothing further about it; it"s disagreeable to both of us--distressin" to both of us."
"I don"t understand that," said the old pedlar; "how can it be so to either of you, if you"re not consarned in it one way or other?"
"We are, then," said Dalton, with warmth; "the man that was killed was this girl"s uncle, and the man that was supposed to take his life is my father. Maybe you understand me now?"
The blood left the cheeks of the old man, who staggered over to the ledge whereon they sat, and placed himself beside them.
"G.o.d of Heaven!" said he, with astonishment, "can this be thrue?"
"Now that you know what you do know," said Dalton, "we"ll thank you to drop the subject."
"Well, I will," said he; "but first, for Heaven"s sake, answer me a question or two. What"s your name, avick?"
"Condy Dalton."
"Ay, Condy Dalton!--the Lord be about us! An" Sullivan--Sullivan was the name of the man that was murdhered, you say?"
"Yes, Bartley Sullivan--G.o.d rest him!"
"An" whisper--tell me--G.o.d presarve us!--was there anything done to your father, avick? What was done to him?"
"Why, he was taken up on suspicion soon afther it happened; but--but--there was nothing done: they had no proof against him, an" he was let go again."
"Is your father alive still?"
"He is livin"," replied Dalton; "but come--pa.s.s on, ould man," he added, bitterly; "I"ll give you no more information."
"Well, thank you, dear," said the pedlar; "I ax your pardon for givin"
you pain--an" the colleen here--ay, you"re a Sullivan, then--an" a purty but sorrowful lookin" crature your are, G.o.d knows. Poor things! G.o.d pity you both an" grant you a betther fate than what appears to be before you! for I did hear a thrifle of your discoorse."
There was something singularly benevolent and kind in the old pedlar"s voice, as he uttered the last words, and he had not gone many perches from the stone, when Dalton"s heart relented as he reflected on his harsh and unfriendly demeanor towards him.
"That is a good ould man," he observed, "and I am now sorry that I spoke to him so roughly--there was kindness in his voice and in his eye as he looked upon us."
"There was," replied Mave, "and I think him a good ould man too. I don"t think he would harm any one."
"Dear Mave," said Dalton, "I must now get home as soon as I can; I don"t feel so well as I was--there is a chill upon me, and I"m afeared I won"t have a comfortable night."
"And I can do nothing for you!" added Mave, her eyes filling with tears.
"I didn"t thank you for that lock of hair you sent me by Donnel Dhu," he added. "It is here upon my heart, and I needn"t say that if anything had happened me, or if anything should happen me, it an" that heart must go to dust together."
"You are too much cast down," she replied, her tears flowing fast, "an"
it can"t surely be otherwise; but, dear Con, let us hope for better days--an" put our trust in G.o.d"s goodness."
"Farewell, dear Mave," he replied, "an may G.o.d bless and presarve you till I see you again!"
"An" may He send down aid to you all," she added, "an" give consolation to your breakin" hearts!"
An embrace, long, tender, and mournful, accompanied their words, after which they separated in sorrow and in tears, and with but little hope of happiness on the path of life that lay before them.
CHAPTER XIX. -- Hanlon Secures the Tobacco-box.--Strange Scene at Midnight.
The hour so mysteriously appointed by Red Rody for the delivery of the Tobacco-box to Hanlon, was fast approaching, and the night though by no means so stormy as that which we have described on the occasion of that person"s first visit to the Grey Stone, was nevertheless dark and rainy, with an occasional slight gust of wind, that uttered a dreary and melancholy moan, as it swept over the hedges. Hanlon, whose fear of supernatural appearances had not been diminished by what he had heard there before as well as on his way home, now felt alarmed at every gust of wind that went past him. He hurried on, however, and kept his nerves as firmly set as his terrors would allow him, until he got upon the plain old road which led directly to the appointed place. The remarkable interest which he had felt at an earlier stage of the circ.u.mstances that compose our narrative, was beginning to cool a little, when it was revived by his recent conversation with Red Rody concerning the Black Prophet, and the palpable contradictions in which he detected that person, with reference to the period when the Prophet came to reside in the neighborhood. His anxiety therefore, about the Tobacco-box began, as he approached the Grey Stone, to balance his fears; so that by the time he arrived there, he found himself cooler and firmer a good deal than when he first crossed the dark fields from home. Hanlon, in fact, had learned a good deal of the Prophet"s real character, from several of those who had never been duped by his impostures; and the fact of ascertaining that the very article so essential to the completion of his purpose, had been found in the Prophet"s house or possession, gave a fresh and still more powerful impulse to his determinations. The night, we have already observed, was dark, and the heavy gloom which covered the sky was dismal and monotonous. Several flashes of lightning, it is true, had shot out from the impervious ma.s.ses of black clouds, that lay against each other overhead. These, however, only added terror to the depression which such a night and such a sky were calculated to occasion.
"I trust," thought Hanlon, as he approached the stone, "that there will be no disappointment, and that I won"t have my journey on sich a dark and dismal night for nothing. How this red ruffian can have any authority over a girl like Sarah, is a puzzle that I can"t make out."
It was just as these thoughts occurred to him that he arrived at the Stone, where he stood anxiously waiting and listening, and repeating his pater noster, as well as he could, for several minutes, but without hearing or seeing any one.
"I might have known," thought he, "that the rascal could bring about nothing of the kind, an" I am only a fool for heedin" him at all."
At this moment, however, he heard the noise of a light, quick footstep approaching, and almost immediately afterwards Sarah joined him.
"Well, I am glad you are come," said he, "for G.o.d knows when I thought of our last stand here, I was anything but comfortable."
"Why," replied Sarah, "what wor you afeard of? I hate a cowardly man, an" you are cowardly."
"Not where mere flesh and blood is consarned," he replied; "I"m afeard of neither man nor woman--but I wouldn"t like to meet a ghost or spirit, may the Lord presarve us!"
"Why, now? What harm could a ghost or spirit do you? Did you ever hear that they laid hands on or killed any one?"
"No; but for all that, it"s well known that several persons have died of fright, in consequence."
"Ay, of cowardliness; but it wasn"t the ghost killed them. Sure the poor ghost only comes to get relief for itself--to have ma.s.ses said; or, maybe, to do justice to some one that is wronged in this world. There"s Jimmy Beatty, an" he lay three weeks of fright from seein" a ghost, an"
it turned out when all was known, that the ghost was nothing more or less than Tom Martin"s white-faced cow--ha! ha! ha!"
"At any rate, let us change the subject," said Hanlon; "you heard yourself the last night we wor here, what I"ll never forget."
"We heard some noise like a groan, an" that was all; but who could tell what it was, or who cares either?"
"I, for one, do; but, dear Sarah, have you the box?"
"Why does your voice tremble that way for? Is it fear? bekaise if I thought it was, I wouldn"t scruple much to walk home with" out another word, an" bring the box with me."
"You have it, then?"
"To be sure I have, an" my father an" Nelly is both huntin" the house for it."
"Why, what could your father want with it?"
"How can I tell?--an" only that I promised it to you, I wouldn"t fetch it at all?"
"I thought you had given it up for lost; how did you get it again?"