"Then thou art Sathanas!" he cried, with astonishment; "how knowest thou me?"
"It matters not. I know thee," she replied, in a tone of mystery. "That youth goes with thee?" she added, inquiringly.
"He does!"
"See, then, that he is well treated, and receives not ill at thy hands. Remember, once thou hadst a son!"
"Who art thou, i'the name of all the saints, woman?"
"It matters not. When thou thinkest of thy poor boy's bones, gibbeted for sharing thy guilt o'er the gate of Cork, the winds whistling through them with a sad wail, look kindly on this youth, and take him to thy heart, as if he were thine own flesh and blood!"
"I will do it," he said, with emotion.
"Swear it."
"I swear it!"
"'Tis well. One question I have to ask thee, and truly answer it."