The family at Castle Connor consisted of the father, mother, two daughters, and three sons. The latter were manly, warm-hearted youths, quick-tempered and quick-witted, first rate horsemen, masters of all field sports, but not very polished in their manners. They had never been to any school, but were brought up at home, under the care of a tutor, whom they managed just as they pleased, and who found himself in too snug a berth at Castle Connor, to venture to make it less agreeable by complaints that his pupils too often preferred sporting to Latin. He (Mr. Moriarty) was at Christmas time always absent, enjoying the holidays at his own home, so the youths were then left entirely to their own devices, which generally led them to play tricks of all kinds upon the rest of the household.
Directly they saw Max, they (as Major said) “twigged him at once,” and came to the conclusion that he was fair game for fun. He soon adopted a patronizing manner to Dennis Connor, most aggravating to that high-spirited youth, who cast about in his very fertile mind as to how he might, once for all, humble the self-conceit of his lofty cousin; and finding that his father was to be away from home for a day or two, he laid his plans accordingly. They were standing together in the drawing-room, waiting for dinner, when he turned abruptly to Max, and asked him if he had seen the dungeons of Castle Connor?
“The dungeons! no. I never knew there were any.”
Mrs. Connor did not appear to know it either, for she looked up in astonishment, but a look from her son silenced her.
“Don’t say anything now,” said Dennis, mysteriously; “I’ll tell you all about it after dinner.”
After dinner, accordingly, Dennis took him aside, and told him that he never mentioned the dungeons before his father or mother, for “fact is,” said he, “they are a great source of annoyance and discomfort to them, and all of us. Dark deeds have been done down there, in the times of the fights between the O’Connors and the Condons. Weird sounds come from them in the night time, especially on certain nights, when one Con Condon, the headless, is said to come to look for his head, which centuries ago was taken from him by our ancestor, Modha O’Connor, who married a daughter of Oilioll Olum,[3] King of Munster. Oilioll had carried off a beautiful lady, Modweena Condon, but somehow she contrived to escape from the place where he had locked her up, and seeing him sleeping, she in revenge bit off his ear while he slept, whereon Oilioll, roused by the pain, seized a spear, and thrust it through her with such force that he flattened the point against a stone in the wall. Drawing forth the spear, regardless of his victim’s agonies, he tried to straighten the point with his teeth, but it had been poisoned, and from that moment his teeth became jet black. I only tell you this in case you should notice the dark colour of father’s teeth, for the blackness still runs in the family; but, as I was saying, Modha O’Connor took the Condon prisoner, brought him to his castle here, shut him up in the dungeon, and coolly cut off his head. When the clan heard of it, they assembled in great force, stormed the castle, broke into the dungeons, and found the body of their chief, but nowhere could they find his head. The body was buried with all funeral honours, when the earth fell over it, wild unearthly voices sang the Dahtan Da mort, Augustha Cadine; but the spirit of Con can never rest easy until the head is found. The circumstance I have told you occurred in the second century, so, of course, the head must now be a skull, but though we have, generation after generation, sought for it, it has never been found. Well, some time ago an old crone passed this way (she was for all the world like a banshee), and, pointing up at the house, she said she would come again soon after the arrival of a certain youth, of whom it has been predicted that he alone can find Con Condon’s head. They say she has been seen about the place to-day. Have you seen her, Major?”
“Look!” said Minor. “Isn’t there something dark sitting under the great arbutus tree? Yes; surely there is. Look, Max.”
Max looked, and while he did so, the moon, breaking through a cloud, lighted up the carriage drive in front of the house; while its rays, falling upon an arbutus tree, distinctly revealed a dark figure crouched beside it. It seemed to be a very old woman, sitting, Irish fashion, with her chin resting on her knees, while she rocked herself to and fro, and crooned out a wailing Irish keen. Her face (which was very dark coloured) was turned towards the boys, and her large features and long grey hair gave her a very uncanny appearance. Seeing Dennis, she beckoned to him. “Come with me, Max,” said he; “I’m awfully frightened.” “I’ll go, too,” said Harry. “And I.” “And I.” So they all stepped through the open window, and were soon standing round the old crone.
“Save ye,” said Dennis.