As Edward stood in the open doorway, the first object which met his eye was the coffin—and it is impossible to say how much at that moment the sight shocked him; he shuddered involuntarily, yet could not withdraw his eyes from the revolting object; and the pallor with which his previous mental anxiety had invested his cheek increased as he looked on this last tenement of mortality. “Am I to see nothing but the evidences of death's doing this night?” was the mental question which shot through Edward's over-wrought brain, and he grew livid at the thought. He looked more like one raised from the grave than a living being, and a wild glare in his eyes rendered his appearance still more unearthly. He felt that shame which men always experience in allowing their feelings to overcome them; and by a great effort he mastered his emotion and spoke, but the voice partook of the strong nervous excitement under which he laboured, and was hollow and broken, and seemed more like that which one might fancy to proceed from the jaws of a sepulchre than one of flesh and blood. Beaten by the storm, too, his hair hung in wet flakes over his face and added to his wild appearance, so that the men all started up at the first glimpse they caught of him, and huddled themselves together in the farthest corner of the building, from whence they eyed him with evident alarm.
Edward thought some whisky might check the feeling of faintness which overcame him; and though he deemed it probable he had broken in upon the nocturnal revel of desperate and lawless men, he nevertheless asked them to give him some; but instead of displaying that alacrity so universal in Ireland, of sharing the “creature” with a new-comer, the men only pointed to the bottle which stood beside the fire, and drew closer together.
Edward's desire for the stimulant was so great, that he scarcely noticed the singular want of courtesy on the part of the men; and seizing the bottle (for there was no glass), he put it to his lips, and quaffed a hearty dram of the spirit before he spoke.
“I must ask for shelter and assistance here,” said Edward. “My horse, I fear, has slipped his shoulder—”
Before he could utter another word, a simultaneous roar of terror burst from the group; they fancied the ghost of Jimmy Barlow was before them, and made a simultaneous rush from the barn; and when they saw the horse at the door, another yell escaped them, as they fled with increased speed and terror. Edward stood in amazement as the men rushed from his presence; he followed to the gate to recall them; they were gone; he could only hear their yells in the distance. The circumstance seemed quite unaccountable; and as he stood lost in vain surmises as to the cause of the strange occurrence, a low neigh of recognition from the horse reminded him of the animal's wants, and he led him into the barn, where, from the plenty of straw which lay around, he shook down a litter where the maimed animal might rest.
He then paced up and down the barn, lost in wonder at the conduct of those whom he found there, and whom his presence had so suddenly expelled; and ever as he walked towards the fire, the coffin caught his eye. As a fitful blaze occasionally arose, it flashed upon the plate, which brightly reflected the flame, and Edward was irresistibly drawn, despite his original impression of horror at the object, to approach and read the inscription. The shield bore the name of “O'Grady,” and Edward recoiled from the coffin with a shudder, and inwardly asked, was he in his waking senses? He had but an hour ago seen his adversary laid in his grave, yet here was his coffin again before him, as if to harrow up his soul anew. Was it real, or a mockery? Was he the sport of a dream, or was there some dreadful curse fallen upon him that he should be for ever haunted by the victim of his arm, and the call of vengeance for blood be ever upon his track? He breathed short and hard, and the smoky atmosphere in which he was enveloped rendered respiration still more difficult. As through this oppressive vapour, which seemed only fit for the nether world, he saw the coffin-plate flash back the flame, his imagination accumulated horror on horror; and when the blaze sank, and but the bright red of the fire was reflected, it seemed to him to burn, as it were, with a spot of blood, and he could support the scene no longer, but rushed from the barn in a state of mind bordering on frenzy.
It was about an hour afterwards, near midnight, that the old barn was in flames; most likely some of the straw near the fire, in the confusion of the breaking up of the party, had been scattered within range of ignition, and caused the accident. The flames were seen for miles round the country, and the shattered walls of the ruined mansion-house were illuminated brightly by the glare of the consuming barn, which in the morning added its own blackened and reeking ruin to the desolation, and crowds of persons congregated to the spot for many days after. The charred planks of the coffin were dragged from amongst the ruin; and as the roof in falling in had dragged a large portion of the wall along with it, the stones which had filled the coffin could not be distinguished from those of the fallen building, therefore much wonder arose that no vestige of the bones of the corpse it was supposed to contain should be discovered. Wonder increased to horror as the strange fact was promulgated, and in the ready credulity of a superstitious people, the terrible belief became general, that his sable majesty had made off with O'Grady and the party watching him; for as the Dublin bailiffs never stopped till they got back to town, and were never seen again in the country, it was most natural to suppose that the devil had made a haul of them at the same time. In a few days rumour added the spectral appearance of Jim Barlow to the tale, which only deepened its mysterious horror; and though, after some time, the true story was promulgated by those who knew the real state of the case, yet the truth never gained ground, and was considered but a clever sham, attempted by the family to prevent so dreadful a story from attaching to their house; and tradition perpetuates to this hour the belief that the devil flew away with O'Grady.
Lone and shunned as the hill was where the ruined house stood, it became more lone and shunned than ever, and the boldest heart in the whole country-side would quail to be in its vicinity, even in the day-time. To such a pitch the panic rose, that an extensive farm which encircled it, and belonged to the old usurer who made the seizure, fell into a profitless state from the impossibility of men being found to work upon it. It was useless even as pasture, for no one could be found to herd cattle upon it; altogether it was a serious loss to the money-grubber; and so far the incident of the burnt barn, and the tradition it gave rise to, acted beneficially in making the inhuman act of warring with the dead recoil upon the merciless old usurer.