This straight-forward inquiry sent the blood all rushing from the girl's heart; her head became giddy; she could not utter a single word. proportion as M'Govern grew courageous, the grow as white as a sheet every time we spake girl became timid and nervous, evidently o' them that's suspected ov informin'?" anxious to repel his advances, yet unwilling to speak her mind out abruptly. Pale and silent she would let him talk to her, sometimes raising her eyes to his face, with a look of sorrow and pity that might have touched a colder heart than his, but rarely answering him, except in a flurried, confused way, that puzzled Peggy considerably. The most curious part of the matter was, that Bat did not appear offended with Weeny, he that used formerly to be so shy in talking to her. " Now, if Bat had comed into a fortune," thought Peggy; "I could make somethin' of him growin' so bould, an Weeny so stand-off; but as it is, I can't come to a right notion them at all." One evening while the young people were sitting in her cabin, Jane Mullins and her husband, the blacksmith, entered, and the conversation as usual turned upon the magiclike success of the revenue men in discovering stills during the past six weeks. "There never was the like known afore," said Peter Mullins; "the ouldest man about the place says so. Some blames one, an' some another; but more thinks Granny Dunn's as likely a body to carry stories as any bein' in the counthry. Ye see she's in an' out ov every house, an' she hears what's goin' on in all places; an' don't ye think, Peggy Cross, that she'd do for a good spy ?" The color faded away from Weeny's cheek, till she looked ghastly white, as Mullins spoke; but no one observed her, as she sat in the shade, except the ever-watchful Peggy. Bat's eyes were resting on the ground. "Let no one belie Granny Dunn!" said Peggy, stoutly "Come, Weeny, you're not sayin' any thin'; what's your opinion ov the informin'? "Mine?" asked Weeny, starting and trembling; "it's my certain belief Granny Dunn has no call in it," she added in a faint tone. Peggy gave a very searching look at the girl as she spoke, and a curious idea flashed through her brain; she turned her eyes on M'Govern, and he, too, looked paler than usual, with an uneasy expression of face. When the rest of her guests had departed, Peggy was determined to speak with Weeny alone, and so she commenced, "Now, Weeny, nobody a'most can decaive me, an' more especially yourself, for I know every turn o' your face, and its plain to me that yer mind isn't aisy regardin' the stillhuntin'. I don't wondler one bit at that, seein' yer father's so much consarned in the poteen business, an' he must have a dale on his mind; but will ye tell me, child, why ye "Weeny, asthore," continued Peggy, in a tone at once grave and sorrowful; "I've known ye, an' felt a frendship for ye, since I seen ye scarce bigger than a doll in the nurse's arms in the big house beyant, an' I'd expect a thrue answer from ye to whatever I'd ax ye. Do ye know anybody that's consarned in the informin'? for if ye do, tell it out, an' don't disgrace the father that owns ye by havin' any call to such a mane savage." Silently, the girl stood before her inquisitress, every nerve quivering, her breath coming and going in a gasping way that shocked Peggy; while she continued: "I don't say it's a right thing to go again' the law; I have a heavy bathred to the mention o' poteen; but still I've a pity in my heart for the crathurs that's sthrivin' to keep their families together by such work,-hard work it is,-sittin' up all night like wild things, an' then havin' to do their day's labor afther all; an' so, I say to ye, Weeny Wafe, if ye know who the man or woman is that's the spy, don't keep it to yourself no longer. Why don't ye spake, child?” Wildly tearing her arm away from the hand that Peggy had laid upon it, Weeny darted to the door. "Stay a minnit, Weeny Wafe!" called out Peggy, looking dark and stern; answer me one thing or another, or never cross yon threshold again!" The girl gave a despairing look over the humble room where she had so often sat, resting her eye for a moment upon the simple pictures hanging on the walls; and then, without uttering a single sentence flung open the door and rushed out. "It's as well!" she cried, as she hurried from the house of her once trusted friend; "it's as well first as last! Soon all must be known, an' I may as well hide myself at onst. Oh! musha, wouldn't I wish I was safe in my grave this night!" The stars were glittering in a cloudless sky as the wretched girl hurried on, she cared not whither. Shrinking from entering the house of any former friend, she dreaded to return to her father's dwelling, where the silence of the rooms and her own superstitious feelings made her fear being alone. She dreaded to meet her father too. In that horrible hour Weeny Wafe would rather have been the lowest peasant at Dring, with a heart free from the load of shame that overwhelmed her, than what she felt herself to be. CHAPTER VII. GRANNY DUNN'S STORY. WEENY had not long quitted Peggy's house when the door-latch was lifted, and Granny Dunn walked silently in. For some time Peggy was so much absorbed in her own thoughts, that she neither addressed the old woman nor observed that a cloud of more than usual heaviness hung upon her brow. "There ill be quare work to-night, I'm thinkin'," said Granny after a lengthened silence. in Shinrone berrin ground, an' the man him self along o' them; but it isn't o' that I'm thinkin' now; nor o' the agony o' death; nor o' the hardship I've gone through them years back; but ov a heavy sin I committed, Peggy, that priest nor mass mayn't be able to blot away in the sight o' God. "What was it, Granny?" asked Peggy. "Maybe ye couldn't help it; many's the one takes a bit to ate now an' again, but it dosen't signify." "It wasn't a bit to ate I took at all; I never stole as much as 'id blind yer eye from man or woman; the crime I spake ov was far worse." "Where?" asked Peggy, starting round. "No matter, it won't be without dasarvin'." "Well, Granny, there's no use in droppin' Peggy's countenance assumed a grave cast hints that way, unless ye spake out plain,"-her thoughts reverted to the still-hunts. said Peggy, a little impatiently. Maybe not," resumed the old woman with provoking coolness; "but ill news comes time enough." Ye mightn't be makin' a body unaisy, then," said Peggy, who, being in an irritable humor, spoke a little sharply. "Don't snap at me, Peggy Cross," said Granny, rather more mildly than usual; "don't let us part bad frinds, for. this is the last night I'll ever ax a lodgin' in yer house." Why, what's goin' to happen?" asked Peggy, still unmollified. 66 66 D'ye mind, Peggy, how I've got my hearin' wondherful this night?" resumed the wanderer; "ay, an' I've an appetite, that 'id ate all afore me if I'd get it. Well, them's all signs o' the grave. I know the grip o' death's on me. "How's that, Granny, agra?" demanded Peggy, her tone becoming once again kind. "I'm four score an' five years ov age last Hollentide," continued Granny; "an' it's time for me to be off-so, plase the Lord, I'll thravel back to my own counthry, an' lay my bones with my people that's berrid there. The morra I'm intendin' to lave Dring, never to see it more." "Oh, with the help o' God, Granny, we'll have ye back in the spring," said Peggy cheerily. The old woman shook her head. "What's this you done, Granny?" she asked, in an agitated tone. "I wronged a dyin' woman, Peggy," replied Granny, in a low voice. "Who was she?" 66 Mary Wafe, Para Bawn's wife." "In what way? ?" "You're a discreet woman, Peggy Cross," said Granny, clasping her hands round her knees, and lowering her head till her chin rested on her bosom; "an' I know ye never spake of what's tould ye in the wrong place; an' along o' that you've a friendship for Weeny Wafe, that 'ill keep you from givin' her a fret too sudden. So what I'm goin' to tell ye now ye may keep to yerself, till ye see fit to spake ov it-maybe when I'm in my grave. Listen a while then. When I first began beggin', there wasn't one as good to me as Mary Wafe-she an' I kem a'most from the one part o' the counthry, an' I used to know her when she was a child, an' that made her trust me more than anybody else about Dringnot a grief or a thought 'id cross her heart, but what she'd tell it to me; an' when the husband 'id thrate her like a ruffin, as he was, the sorra one 'id know it but me, if I chanced to be about the place. Afther the child was born, I'd bring her charms, an' one thing or another for it, till she thought there was nobody like me; but faith the man himself couldn't bear the sight o' me; an' he used of "The daisies 'ill be peepin' over me then, ten to say I'd be the manes ov killin' the inPeggy.' " A long silence ensued. "I heerd the skreel o' the banshee last night over the whin bushes beyant Killogan," resumed Granny; "an' I knew it kem to warn me to go back to my people's counthry. Three an' twenty years ago I left it to beg the worl', an' I never seen a sight ov it since." "There isn't many belongin' to ye alive in it now then, I warrant, Granny," said Peggy, looking compassionately at her aged guest. "Not one then; ten childre's lyin' together fant. Well, Peggy, what d'ye think, but one time, when I was on my thravels, a good piece off, one summer's mornin', just nineteen years ago last June, I kem to a lonesome spot, for all the worl' like a place there 'id be fairies-an' it not above four o'clock-an' what did I see, but a wee infant, hangin' by its clothes to a thorny bush, over a brave sthrame o' water. I scrambled down till I got at it; an' when I tuk it up, I seen the life was in it, though that was all. Though I knew I might get into throuble by it, I couldn't find it in my heart to lave it there, so I car ried it away with me, and sthrove to put hate in it, till it began to stir an' move the wee hands-but there wasn't a house any place nearer than a mile, or more, an' I tuk it on till I kem to the nearest town, an' then I found I got far more charity, for the sake o' the infant, than ever I got afore. 'It isn't losin' I'll be on account ov it, anyhow,' says I to myself-an' I continued to keep it with me, clappin' it on my back, and carryin' it quite convaynient everywhere I went-an' it thrived well. Next time that I kem to Para Bawn's, I showed the little cratur to Mrs. Wafe, for the man himself was a great piece off at a fair, an' she was delighted with it, for it was the purtiest infant ever ye seen-but anyhow I brought her, that time, a bundle ov herbs for her own little one, an' she boiled them up the way she always done, an' gave a taycup full o' the medicine to her own child -when, glory on us! the poor wee thing tuk the convulsions, and died off in an hour." "Shure that can't be, unless ye brought it to life again," said Peggy, interrupting the narrative. "Wait till ye hear all. Well, then, we knew there must have been poison with the herbs-an' the poor mother fell to screechin' murther, like one deranged—but faith the most thing she dhreaded was the anger o' the husband when he'd come home- troth it overkem her own grief clane. There wasn't one in the house, but ourselves two, an' seein' her goin' cracked through the room, tearin' her hair, and cryin' out, Oh, I'll lose my life when Pat comes back! what 'ill I do at all!' I ups and says to her at last: Here, Mrs. Wafe, for the love o' marcy, take the foundlin' and lay it in the cradle, and no one 'ill be a whit the wiser, for I'll take the poor wee corpse where it 'ill be berrid safe.' So, faith, the fair terror o' the tyrant that owned her, made her be agreeable, an' she let me lay the foundlin' where her, own child had slept not much more than an hour before; an' I took the corpse and hid it in the chist where she kept her Sunda' clothes, till evenin'." 66 "Granny, that story can't be thruc," said Peggy, shuddering; "it a'most turns me sick." "As thrue as that my own bones 'ill soon lie in Shinrone graveyard," declared Granny, striking her forefinger three times slowly on the palm of her left hand. My own two hands locked the corpse up in the chist, an' when night kem, I tuk it away an' had it berrid, where it 'ill lie till the judgment day." "An' d'ye think I'd b'lieve that any woman 'id do the like with her own child, unless her heart was iron?" asked Peggy. Ye don't know what terror can bring the heart to," said Granny; "ye don't know how a bad husband can desthroy the feelin's of any woman, an' make her lie, an' grow as mane as the black slave in the islands beyant the says; he's the greatest curse undher God's sky! The unfortunate woman's head was a'most turned anyhow, an' she raved, an' ranted, an' jumped to the top o' the bed like mad, till I had to hould her down with fair force; an' all the time I darn't let any one into the room; but afther a couple ov days she went off into a kind ov stupor-though the fear o' the man never left her heart-au' she'd moan ahead like one in rale agony. All the time, I attended both her an' the livin' infant in the cradle, an' I dhressed it in the dead child's clothes-thinkin' to myself, that shure if I was the manes of killin' one child, I saved the life of another. When Para Bawn kem home, the sorra much he cared about his wife bein' so ill, but he was cracked entirely to get a sight o' the child; but I'd always baffle him one way or another, puttin' the blame on the oddity o' the mother, till he never laid eyes on it for a month, and more; an' then, all at wonst, Mrs. Wafe kem to the point o' death, an' when she was near departin', she tould me she wanted to see the husband; but, guessin' what she wanted with him, I didn't do her biddin', Peggy, asthore, but decaived her, when the very dew o' death was over her face, an' never brought Para Bawn to her till the breath was all but gone, an' the rattle growin' wake in her throat.' Peggy covered her face with her hands, for some minutes unable to utter a word, while the old woman continued: "So Para Bawn never knew that his child was dead, an' the foundlin' lived as his daughter, under his roof, from that day to this." "Granny, ye done wrong!" at last exclaimed Peggy, indignation coloring her sallow cheek. "What's to come ov Weeny when she hears the truth-if the truth's in it at all? It's not possible to allow such decaivin' to go on. Oh! poor child, it 'id be betther if ye had left her to perish among the rocks, where ye picked her up!" "Stay, Peggy," said Granny, extending her long arm till her hand touched Peggy's shoulder; "maybe Weeny 'ill thank God y'it, that she isn't Para Bawn's child; whisper." Peggy bent her head till it was on a level with Granny's face, and then the old woman spoke a few words in her ear which made her turn pale and utter a faint "My God!" Para Bawn sat alone in his dreary home, with black beetles crawling up the kitchen walls, and crickets chirping by the hearth. The fire was smouldering, the air damp and chill, a gale was blowing from the northi, and a hollow moaning swept down the narrow staircase leading from the rooms above. Wafe felt a strange nervousness that night—a pre sentiment of evil was over him-and so he struction they had created. "Let him live sat, as if watching for something, he knew for God's sake, an' throw me in the flames if not what, with a dull cloud on his face. The ye like!" something came at last near the midnight hour a knock at the outer door- a boy with perspiration standing on his hot browuttering, in the twinkling of an eye, these words "Bat tould ye to run for yer life this very minnit, as fast as you can!" CHAPTER VIII. THE FIRE. "Stand away, Weeny," said Owen Keegan, who, though one of the fiercest there, was yet not ungentle in his tone to the wretched girl; "this isn't any place for you; yer father's escaped, though he didn't desarve it; nobody wants to harm the innocent, so you needn't be afraid, but keep back. Fire the truf-stack boys! whew! there it goes!" And now a broader sheet of flame spread itself through the air, out-houses sharing the common fate, while the shrieks of cattle rose above the din of crashing timber and the hollow roar of the devouring element. But Weeny heard no more; consciousness forsook her, and she sank senseless into the arms of one who was present merely for her sake, lest aught of injury might befall her. MORE than once in her life, when her mind was ill at ease, had Weeny passed the night in the open air, sitting out in wild spots away from human habitation. Strangely brought up, and rarely happy, this young girl had passed a lonely childhood, but never before had she felt such anxiety as had tortured her for Bat M'Govern had refused to take part the last few weeks. The interview which in the revenge thus wreaked upon Para had just occurred between herself and Peggy Bawn, for foul treachery, and he was very Cross awoke feelings of acute misery, and nearly falling a victim himself to the fury of climbing to a steep height, where furze and the enraged band, when his courage alone bramble grew thickly, she sat there for hours, saved him from a violent end. They saw it being at length roused to a sense of her was not cowardice that held him back from imprudence by the heavy tramp of feet be- aiding in the work of destruction when no low; this alarmed her; and her eye having threat of instant death could compel him grown accustomed to the starlight, she sought to alter his determination. His firm words, to discover the cause of the sounds. Lean-" There, boys, ye may shoot me, but I'll never ing over the height, and endeavoring to con- raise a hand to commit murder, or set fire to ceal herself as well as she could, she dimly any man's house," together with his noble beheld a crowd of men hurrying by, all bearing and unflinching eye, struck admiraarmed with weapons of some sort, which they tion into every man. now and then brandished with threats of vengeance. Such sights had of late grown common enough at Dring fights between the still-owners and the police being frequent -but Weeny thought she heard a name shouted out with demoniac rage, that made her tremble. It was the name of Para Bawn. All night the fire raged. The dawn of the The crowd marched swiftly on; their tramp- winter morning found Para Bawn's house a ing dying away in the distance. Then the blackened shell, filled with charred remnants girl arose and stood upright, gazing as far as of rafters, great lumps of cinders, kettles and her eye could penetrate, scarcely breathing saucepans molten into strange shapes by the all the while. How long she stood there she fervor of the flames. But the large turf knew not, the time seemed passing in a dream, stack at the rear of the dwelling was burning when high in the air a tongue of flame shot still. For two days and a night that huge up with sudden fury in the direction of her pile of firing smouldered sullenly on, emitgaze. Another, and another followed, till a ting a dull, oppressive smoke. Turid glare of fire seemed to tint the very sky. O father!" she cried, clasping her hands, as she sprang wildly down the crag, and away, like a frantic creature, towards Para Bawn's house. Soon she arrived within a distant view of the burning mass. Her old home was fast demolishing, and a hoarse roar like the rush of the ocean in a storm, filled all the air. 66 "Save my father, save him!" she shrieked, flinging herself fearlessly among the body of infuriated men, who were watching the de "I knew how it 'id be!" cried Keegan; "the chap thinks too much o' the ruffian's daughter, to turn again' the father. Come lads, lave him alone, maybe we'd all be as foolish if we was in his place;" and so every man's arm was stayed. How was it discovered that Para Bawn himself was the informer, who betrayed the men whom he had beguiled to their destruc tion? Bat M'Govern, by a skill in physiognomy which he possessed in a remarkable degree, had long suspected that Wafe was the traitor, and cach day various little circumstances which would not have attracted any one not on the watch, strengthened his sur mises. Unwilling, however, to bring such a frightful accusation against the father of the 2 が could trust, to warn the wretch to fly, thus saving him from a frightful end. CHAPTER IX. THE JOURNEY AND THE HALTING PLACE. girl he loved, he never breathed a word of his suspicions. Every one was convinced that a spy was among the band, and if they chose to carry on their dangerous practices in defiance of this knowledge they did it at their peril; besides M'Govern had received no actual proof of Wafe's guilt. But what roused THE remainder of that terrible night Weeny the suspicion of Owen Keegan upon the sub- had passed at the Mullins' house in the hamject was a simple occurrence. Para Bawn let, M'Govern having borne her there when and he were at a fair in a town about eight she fainted. Much kindness was shown her miles from Dring, and while standing to- by the blacksmith's wife, whose compassion gether, the gauger's right-hand man, an in- for her was only equalled by her horror of dividual well known to the still-owners, passed, Para Bawn's iniquity. Weeny had long and giving a wink and a knowing nod saluted looked upon herself as degraded by her fathPara Bawn with a familiar "how are you, er's dishonesty, which she had been aware Pat?" Keegan turned his keen eye on the of for some weeks, and the dreadful denoueculprit, and beheld that he never raised his ment which had now taken place was scarcely head, or pretended to see the formidable per- more terrible to her than the feeling of susson who had accosted him, though it was pense she had of late experienced. Even if nearly impossible that such could be the case. her parent's treachery and cruelty were to reWithout pretending to have noticed any main forever unknown to the world, she thing remarkable, Owen said nothing on would have felt that a dark blot rested upon the suject to Wafe, who seemed "thick," as her as the child of such a man; but now Keegan expressed it, for the rest of the day. what was to become of her? How could Determined to sift the affair to the bottom, she bear to be pointed at in scorn as the. Owen employed a ruse. Late that evening daughter of the informer? Where could she he repaired to the gauger's abiding place, run to hide herself from every eye! More and affecting an air of secrecy and confi- than all, how could she show her face in the dence, asked if Pat Wafe had told him that light of day to the lover, who must feel the "boys" were to meet at Killogan Pass ashamed that he ever thought of her? Such that night. "No," said the gauger, prompt- feelings as these racked her mind all the rely," he said the next place would be Cla- mainder of the night. She knew that her ragh." Well, he sent me to tell ye to come father must be ruined; she had long known on to Killogan anyhow," said Keegan, "about that his debts were heavy and his means of one o'clock this night;" and then he went paying them doubtful; now he must be begoff, leaving the gauger without a doubt that gared, and she must endeavor to work for he was an emissary from the right source. her own livelihood, if indeed she could live To Killogan Pass a party of the revenue, on, so humiliated as she was. Before break accordingly marched, with the gauger at their of day she had determined upon a plan for the head, and here they encountered rather more future. When one bitter sacrifice was comthan they bargained for, Keegan having as-pleted, and the neighborhood of her childsembled nearly thirty stout young fellows all hood abandoned forever, she would breathe armed to the teeth, who sprang upon the police from an ambush, succeeded in driving off the men, and capturing the gauger, whom they ducked unmercifully in a stream. They extorted from their prisoner, by threats of a violent death on one hand, and promises of release on the other, the whole history of Wafe's treachery, and the next night it was resolved to wreak vengeance on the informer. Lest a whisper of this determination might reach Wafe, Keegan and his confederates, who were all young and daring, preserved great secrecy, and it was only when Bat M'Govern was called upon to give his aid in the terrible work, about half-an-hour before midnight, that he was made acquainted with the proceedings contemplated. It was intended to burn Para Bawn in his house; but M'Govern defeated this scheme by despatching one of his nephews, whom he knew he 66 more freely. While Mrs. Mullins was yet sleeping, and the hamlet lying in the hush of night, with the stars still beaming in the sky, she arose softly, and left the house. Without a shilling in her pocket, she was determined to commence a journey of many miles, and so she set forth. Long acquainted with remote parts of the country, there was scarcely a glen or nook where the smugglers had been wont to assemble for their nightly work that she did not know; often she had watched them, unperceived, from some wild crag, as they sat round the fires; often she had wished that they could have been warned of the danger threatening them. The direction she now took was eastward, and she walked on rapidly till she had gone so far, that she hoped there was no chance of her meeting any familiar face, when she sat down to rest by the wayside. She had not been |