from the top of Carrigmōr. It's not lucky, that's what it isn't. Did ye never hear of the poor girl that done that same? and did ye never see the grave down in the chapel yard? - the one wid writin' on the stone, and a ship drawed out on it?" "I know that one. Well?" Well, then, ye know enough. And there's no call to be talkin' of graves. But don't you be watchin' any more from that place where yerself was standin' when I called ye. And now maybe ye'll heed what I'm afther tellin' ye; and maybe ye won't," she added, with deep prevision, as she turned back to her work, heaving a great sigh before stooping again to it. "Mauriade, I'm sure you're very tired, and you've gathered plenty of wrack already. Come and sit down! I want to hear about that girl." "Oh ay, Miss O'Nale, ye're aye willin' to hear, but ye're none so willin' to mind. And what for would I lave gatherin' the wrack? How much land will that cover, do y'e think? not the grazin' of a sputterick [snipe]. And the poor girl, what for would I be tellin' of her just to make divarsion? and she maybe not yet at rest in her grave." And she muttered something low to herself: a prayer for the dead. So I waited. Then, “Mauriade,” I said, “you | know I wasn't going to make diversion of it. And you are tired, so you might just as well rest now, and work on again afterwards. And you might give me a piece of that dulse, please, that you've gathered." Mauriade brought the red dulse, shining wet out of the water, and was quite agree. able again with the pleasure of doing a civility. So we sat down to share it, and presently I got her to tell the story. I. WELL, it was a great while ago, dear; when there were more people in the glens than there is now, be rason the 'Mericas wasn't known or thought on. And this poor girl I was spakin' of, she was a year younger nor me, and her name was the same, Mauriade M'Veagh; but no kin to me at all, forbye the name. Sure, it's yer self knows we're all M'Veaghs and M'Cormicks in this glen, barrin' them that's come from the Scotch Isles, and those are MacNales and MacSporrans mostly. Well, this girl Mauriade, she wasn't just like others; she never laughed out free like a girl, and if she smiled at you, it wasn't straight in your face, but as if she saw something over your shoulder like, and that makes a body fearsome. Then her hair was red-colored; and ye know them that has red hair and fair faces can see spirits; that's well known. Her face was fair too, and white, and her mouth was set; never did I see two lips shut that firm and close; yet they'd tremble too whiles, for nothing at all. Then she would go away often, and bide in the lonesomest places, and that's not wholesome. (Do ye mind me, Miss Moira?) And she had no other young girl for a friend, ne'er a one; they weren't fond of her. Indeed I thought she would thravel her lone through life, and I never was more surprised than when they tould me Randal MacNale was courtin' Mauriade. "Och now! that 'ud be the quare day!" says I. "A wee curious crayther like that, when he might have Kate M'Cormick, and two fine heifers for the askin'! She's a fine girl, that Kate, and I know he stole her handkerchief the last blessed Easter that was, comin' home from chapel, so he did. And to do it on a holiday, sure that was near as good as a promise! Well, Randal's a fule sort of lad, to be comin' after Mauriade, when he's well looked on in a better quarter. Dear, dear, but that's the quare day!" says I. Well, thrue enough, Randal was courtin' her; and as for Kate, he took no more thought of Kate than if she was one of last year's birds that had sung to him. Och, but Randal was a fine bhoy entirely! I'll hould ye he was the heartiest lad ye'd meet in a month of Sundays, and as brave a look wid him, and his head and shoulders higher than any o' them, barrin' Long Charlie the herd's. Sure, I spoke to him meself, and more I couldn't do. Randal," says I, "(namin' no names, do ye mind me ?), ye're takin' a new road. Do ye think to find fortune at the end of it? "Ay, there or thereabouts," says he. "She doesn't lie that way, Randal MacNale," says I. 66 Troth, I'm thinkin' she does, though," says he. And that was all I could get out of him, which it bate all for contrairiness. For what more could I say in dacency, widout he'd first name the girl he was after? And that was just what he wouldn't do, but laughed in me face, as quiet as ye plaze, and went off wid him. thravel yer own road," says I to meself, "and sorrow go wid me av I lift a finger again to hinder ye.' "Then For I was fairly disconsairted at him. Now it wasn't a week from that day, and meself sittin' hushin' the child by the "But sorra a one was there to hear, barrin' our two selves," says I. "Musha! who tould ye at all, then?" But the next minute I was feared of her. "I knowed it meself," she said, soft and quiet, without turnin' a look on me; and never seemed angered, like any girl would, to hear of another comin' between So Mauriade came in and set herself herself and her lover, till I up and spoke down on the creepy, right forenenst me; out to her; for I was that feared, it gave and never a word she said. me heart to do it. "Mauriade," says I, Is it the baby ye've come to see, Mau-grippin' the child tight in me arms, 66 mayriade?" says I. "Well, he's just slapin' be ye know many a thing; and maybe finely now, and I wouldn't go for to waken ye're none the better for that, if ye don't him; for he's that onasy whiles that me know what's good for yerself. Though heart's broke wid him." I'm sorry I said to Randal - what ye know of; and begorrah! it's the last time ever I'll spake to a man set on his own way, right or wrong. But this I'm sayin' to you; and if it was the last words I was to spake, the more's the pity they're thrue! Ye'd best give him up, for there's no blessin' on love that's stolen. Randal belongs to Kate, and she sets the whole world by him. Lave him to her." Now it was just for manners again that I said it, seein' he was broad awake, the blessed child! only the minute I seen Mauriade lookin' in, I pulled the little shawl down from me shoulder over his face and hushoo'd him in me arms. For ye know there's some pairs of eyes that childher don't thrive no better by gettin' a look from them; and I knowed plenty that didn't care to have a long look from Mauriade. So when I tould her that, she just smiled the deep way that she had and shifted her sate so as not to look full on us; but still she said nothin'. Then I was feared that maybe I hadn't welcomed her fair, as a woman should; so I signed the blessed cross over the child as soon as her eyes were turned, and then I says, says I, "Sure, this is the first time ye've been nigh the house since Mick and me were married, Mauriade. Ye're such a stranger now!" "No stranger than when we were near neighbors in Corriemeala," says the girl. "When hearts are strange, no matter if houses are far." "And who tould ye my heart was strange to ye, Mauriade?" I said. "Who tould me that ye'd warned Randal MacNale he'd do ill to marry me?" says Mauriade. "I never named yer name to the bhoy," says I and stopped there. "Thrue for you!" says she; "and that's the safest way. But if one look was enough to dhrive a poor girl's lover away forever, there's many a one fit to look it that hasn't got courage to spake the word." "Mauriade," says I, not knowin' what to be at, "if ye're that far gone in love for Randal as to belave every word he says, I'm sorry for ye,” says I. "Sure he never tould me a word of it," says she. “Randal's not the bhoy to tell on a woman. Ay," says Mauriade, whisperin' low. "But he doesn't care for her. It's me he wants.' "The worse for ye both, Mauriade," says I. "How is it that he doesn't care for her, all at once? because ye've put the comether over him. Ye know too many ways, and too many wiles, and too many things intirely. What have ye done to him?" "Nothing, nothing at all! no, nothing! but, weary on it! me heart is sore. Will they always be sayin' I'm wicked? And she fell down on her knees, and wrung her two hands. "Mauriade, what is it ye mean, at all?" I said, and caught her hand. I was sorry for the thing. "Och! yourself knows rightly what I mean, and no need of me telling ye. But maybe I will; for it's the first time any of ye took pity on me, Mrs. M'Veagh. Don't ye know what they say of me thenthat I'm not made like other folk? Aren't they all feared of me, till they make me feared o' meself, whiles? Didn't yourself say this minute that Randal nor no man would have loved me, widout I had worked a spell on him? Sorra one o' me knows how to work a spell, any more than yourself; that's as thrue as the Blessed Virgin hears me spake! Sure, ye know when I entered this door, ye covered the child's wee face, for fear I'd look him harm. And what made ye look, look at me that way when I tould ye I knowed what ye said to Randal? sure, I seen it in yer own face, and the way ye ay, troth did I!” 66 but I knowed it before, | could hould were in it; and there was nothing doin' but fortune-telling, with nuts in the ashes, and apple-skins on the floor, and melted lead spilt in the wather, and dear knows what all. Sure, don't young folks think that Hallow E'en was tould off by the Church for nothing but to find their fortunes by? It's a quare thing to see them; and many's the one I've said to, "Your fortune'll find you soon enough; no need for you to be runnin' half-way to meet it." But ye might as well try to hould a lark from rising, to save it the journey down. They'll all know their fortunes, if they was to die for it. 'Deed, and I've been the same meself. Why, then, it's bothered intirely I am," says I. "But let it go, Mauriade, and forget what I said. Maybe ye have as fair a right to Randal as e'er a one o' them. I'll never think ye wish him harm anyway." Well, as I was tellin' ye, there they were, every one settin' pairs of hazel-nuts to roast on the hearth; and every pair was Kathleen and Dan, or Paddy and Bridget, or whoever the talk was on. So, if the "Is it me wish him harm? that 'ud wear out me heart to win him the laste o' good. Listen here, and I'll tell ye, Mrs. M'Veagh. Life is lonesome for me; and that's truth. Ye don't know what such lonesomeness is; it's more than I could tell ye, meself. No friend, nor one in the world belonging to me, barrin' me father; and he as good as none, wid his rantin', ravin' ways, that gets every man in the glen afeared of him. Troth! so I'd be meself, only that he's afeared of me, like the rest o' them. It's be rason they think I know too much. Listen here! did ye never hear what an-nuts burnt steady to an end, and fell to other person was thinkin' of widout their ashes together, that meant faithfulness tellin' ye? Sure, that's what I do. Many's and marriage; but if one was to pop away the time I've tould them their thought on a sudden and lave the other sittin' on, before they could spake it, the more fool then it was, "Och, Dan, I'm sorry for ye, to me, and then they're scared, as if I was but Kat's gone off, and sorra a sign of her wicked! Maybe I am wicked. Och, but left!"- or else, "Biddy, me beauty, I what would I care if they'd let me have doubt ye'll soon have another; but Paddy Randal! sure, he doesn't think it; he MaGill's not the bhoy that'll stick to thinks a dale too well of me, though I've ye." tould him all there was about it, and more And then there was pushin' and crowdtoo. 'Begorrah! there's no knowin' any-in' round the fire, and talkin' politeness till thing,' says he, not one thing more than it was grand to hear. another, mavrone! but if ye want to know what I'm thinkin' of, ye may, and welcome. More be token it's just o' yourself avourneen, most whiles.' That's just the way wid him. Och, Randal's the care lessest bhoy ever ye seen! And now, are ye thinkin' maybe I'd part with Randal? Not for you, nor any woman, then. And that's all I can be tellin'. I'll wish ye good-day." "Wait a bit, Mauriade," says I. "Come back till I spake to ye. Sure, I never knowed how things were, or it's not meself would have bid ye give up the bhoy. Take him, and welcome - for me. And see, dear! never be thinkin' over such things at all. what ye were tellin' me, do ye mind! It's just a sort of onasyness that ye're bothered with; nothin' at all, it is. Good-bye to ye, Mauriade. Here, take the child in your arms before ye go. Och, the wee crather, look at that, now!" II. THE next thing that happened, it was Hallow E'en. And Mick and me were keepin' it that time as if it was the last we'd see. All the neighbors the house "Kathleen mavourneen, is that yourself or your sisther now? Slip in here, anyhow." "It's none of us at all, Mick, if you're axin' to know. And I'll do rightly where I am, too." "See now, Pat! ye're just rampin' round like a mad thing. Remember we're all behind ye here." "Deed, I'll remember where you are, Biddy; and no need to be tellin' me that!" "Be asy, then," says I; "and if ye can't be asy be as asy as ye can! But clear out o' me road, the whole lot o' yez, for I've got the lead here to be melted." And wid that I put a lump of it in a longshanked iron spoon, and held it over the fire till the lead got swimming and darklike. Here, Will," says I, "you first take this key in your other hand, and pour the lead through the right end of it, into this bowl o' wather; there's two long nails, crossed, lyin' in the bottom of it. Hould your head o' one side now, if ye don't want to be scalded; and may it show luck!" ye So Will took and poured it, all splittherin', into the water, wid the steam rising off it; and then the cry was for Mauriade to come and tell his fortune. "See here, Mauriade; what's the manin' o' this? Here's a quare little divil wid a raggedy tail to him, for all the world like a scarecrow in the corn. What is it, at all?” "It manes that that's all you'll ever be good for, to frighten the crows, Will," says Phalim; more be token ye haven't the wit to come in when it rains!" "Och ! don't you be talkin' now, Phalimy Shone. Head o' wit drowned eel.' Come on, Mauriade, it's you I'm wantin'." But Mauriade shook her head. "I've tould the last fortune ever I'll tell, Will. Let some one else thry." They all turned round to stare at her, as if she was deminted; and then every one o' them looked at each other, for Mauriade's face was too much for them intirely-all but Will; and he was that set on havin' his fortune tould that he up and axed agin, like a fool. "An' who else is to thry, barrin' yerself, Mauriade? Sure no one else knows what you know. Wasn't you born on Hallow E'en, when the sperrits are abroad? and does 't that make ye "Hould yer bletherin', Will!" says Randal, and growled at him like a dog. "Here! hand me up them splitthers o' lead." And he shoved them into the fire again, and melted them down the same as before; while the girls were all shiverin' round, by reason that sperrits had been named. Now," says Randal, wid a shout, "I'll thry me own fortune. Who's afeared?" And he spilt the lead hissing into the wather. Troth, the next thing we knowed he was houldin' up a little wee anchor, as plain an anchor as plain could be. Randal swore an oath when he see'd it. "Be the head o' St. Pathrick! that's what I was lookin' for. The sea has been callin' me this while past, and to sea I'll go!" Every man in the room cheered him. Och, the fools that men are ! they'll cheer for anything in this wide world if it's only like to cost a life. But faix! Randal was a fine lad, though. He throwed up his head, and lifted a sigh for joy, and caught his breath have to laugh. You'd thought it was a weddin' he was goin' to; and instead o' that My heart! the sight o' Mauriade. May I never be forgiven, but I thought she was fair distracted! Standin' back agin' the wall she was, lanin' her head agin' it, as if she could hardly stand, and both her eyes starin' wide at Randal. Holy Vargin, what a stare! her face as white as a stone, and the eyes shinin' out of it fixed, as if they'd never shut again. And she lifted one finger and pointed. Mercy all! I shut my own eyes then. The voices in the room begun to sound all far-away and dizzy, and the floor was slippin' from undher me when Mick cries out, "Come on, bhoys! and light up the candles, for the girls to be leppin' over them. Sure that's the fun o' the world! Was it? thinks I. Am I crazy, or dhramin', or what? has none o' them seen? And I looked round, and Mauriade was gone; gone intirely! And all o' them were busy lightin' up the candles, and laughin' over it. Wan, two, three twelve candles, set in a row on the floor, one for ache month in the year, beginnin' wid November; and every girl was to lep through the whole row, back and forwards, one afther another; and if she put out one candle wid her foot, or the tail of her skirt, wirrasthru but that 'ud be the month when some throuble was comin' on her, and she'd be to take warnin', and watch herself through it. Well, on came the girls, by one and one, to thry their luck; and to it they went, leppin', and laughin', and losin' their breath; while the bhoys, standin' back to lave them room, cried out on them to lep clare, and hurried and flurried them, more than enough. "Come on then, Biddy alannah! it's yerself can do it! Be the hole o' me coat, she's over them all." "Bhoys-a-bhoys! there's leppin' for ye!" "Look at little Molly now, av ye'd see a nate pair of ankles." "Hould yer whisht! Paddy MaGill, ye're the plague o' me life!" says Molly; and wid that she leps higher than ever, and down goes October, rowlin' on the floor. "Never mind it, darlin'! ye can't change the luck. Look at Kathleen, how she's goin'." "Watch yerself, Kat! and ye'll do rightly." "Look at Harryet. Begorrah! they're leppin' beautiful, just like hens !" "Och! me heart's broke, leppin'. me sit down, girls!" says Harryet. Let "Troth girls are quare craythers intirely! What's to hindher them bringin' their two feet over together now, and leppin' clane? instid o' thrailin' one foot forever behind the other, that fashion, for all the world as if they'd got a bone in their leg. Sure it's the nearest way to take a fall." "Don't be axin' conthrairy questions, tell a fortune to-night? nayther tell an Phalim! Maybe they have their rasons for it." other's, nor thry her own," says Harryet again. "Will! who was it tould ye that Mauriade was born of a Hallow E'en "There goes Kate MaCormac, as fit as a fiddle now, and whoop and away! — och, | night?" that varmint July! bad scran to it! - she's down! Are ye hurted, Kate?" "I'm kilt intirely, so I am, ochone! Out o' me road now, till I clare the rest." "There then, divil another's to lep. Bedad, girls! ye're fairly bet, the whole bilin' of yez. Who'd ha' thought ye were that wakely? Hould on a bit, though! Mauriade's not been over yet. Where's Mauriade?" "Mauriade! - if she isn't clane gone intirely !" 66 Mercy on us, this day and night! out all her lone on Hallow E'en!" But before the word was fairly passed, Randal was up and out o' the house, as if the divil was in it; and all of us left starin' after him, like a flock o' sheep. 66 Well," says Mick at last, spakin' quite slow and disturbed, "maybe she's not gone far yet." "And maybe she's gone farder than ever you were in your life, Micky M'Veagh!" says Dan. "I wouldn't put it past her. Maybe she's gone 66 Dan," says 1, "I'll not hear ye say a word agin' that misfortunate crayther, while ye're in this house." "Axin' yer pardon, Mrs. M'Veagh; but troth! I think Randal MacNale's quarely mistook to be follerin' afther the likes o' yon. He's missed a finer girl and a finer fortune, as we all know." "If it's me ye mane, Dan," says Kate MaCormac, "I'd have ye to know that there's nothin' at all to be said about Randal and me. It was free to take or free to lave between us; more be token, if he had axed me fairly, I wouldn't have had him." "No more ye would, Kate! Sure we all knew that," says two or three together, and Dan first. "And as for Mauriade, a girl like that! Well, it's asy_seein' that she's put the comether over Randal MacNale; and who knows where she may lade him yet, wid her deludherin' ways?" "Sure he's actin' onnatural already," say's another. "He never looked on her, nor she on him, this evenin' long- for I minded him; and I ax ye all av that's not a quare way to be fallin' in love?" "Well, there's more ways nor one; and they're all quare," says Mick for the young ones wouldn't answer. "Ay! but did ye mind how she wouldn't "Sure I always knowed it," says Will, "because it's thrue. And that's what makes her the quare crayther she is." "Ay, is she!" says Harryet, noddin' her head. "But I'm thinkin' maybe Randal didn't know that same; for I can tell ye A bang came on the door, as if ten men were battherin' on it. The girls screamed together, fit to lift the roof, and Harryet on top o' them all. Not a man stirred for to open the door; but presently, wid another bang, it was bursted open, and in came Randal - Randal himself, the size o' life, and that misfortunate crayther Mauriade lyin' across his arms in a mortial swoon. He brought her straight to me, and laid her down wid her head in my lap, and then he stood up and glared round on the rest, not one o' them liftin' a finger to help, but standin' starin' at Mauriade. "It's late," says Randal. "If ye're all so kilt wid divarsions, that none o' ye has the strength to stir, then the sooner ye can help ache other home the betther! Ye're not wanted here." Faith though 'twas my own house, I couldn't be angry wid him. And I let them go. III. MAURIADE lay like a stone. Randal had left her wid her head on my knees; for as sure as a man gets consarned about a body, he goes and does the wrong thing wid 'em. But I put her flat on the floor; and the fire-flame made gould in her hair, and the long gould lashes lay on her cheeks. "She's more child nor woman,” I said. I never liked Mauriade so well as that minute. "God bless ye, Mrs. M'Veagh!" says Randal. "Ye're a rale woman.' "And yerself's a rale man, Randal!” says I-"safe to be footherin' round where ye're not wanted, like the rest o' them. Lave Mauriade to me, and go home wid ye." I was rubbin' her hands then, and puttin' wather to her forehead. "She's betther," says I. "See here, Randal, ye must go now. I wouldn't be hard on ye; but it wouldn't do for her. Go when I bid ye, now. Sure ye can trust Mauriade to me." "Well, I will then," says Randal. He |