“Speak what you like,” said he—“I'll curb myself. Only, if you wish your daughter to go in, you had better leave the way and let her pass.”
Mave—for such was her name—with trembling limbs, burning blushes and palpitating heart, then passed from the shady angle where they stood; but ere she did, one quick and lightning glance was bestowed upon her lover, which, brief though it was, he felt as a sufficient consolation for the enmity of her father.
The prophet had not yet spoken; nor indeed had time been given him to do so, had he been inclined. He looked on, however, with' surprise, which soon assumed the appearance, as well as the reality, of some malignant satisfaction which he could not conceal.
He eyed Dalton with a grin of peculiar bitterness.
“Well,” said he, “it's the general opinion that if any one knows or can tell what the future may bring about, I can; an', if my knowledge doesn't desave me, Dalton, I think, while you're before me, that I'm lookin' at a man that was never born to be drowned at any rate. I prophecy that, die when you may, you'll live to see your own funeral.”
“If you're wise,” replied the young man, “you'll not provoke me now Jerry Sullivan may say what he wishes—he's safe, an he knows why; but I warn you, Donnel Dhu, to take no liberty with me; I'll not bear it.
“Troth, I don't blame Jerry Sullivan,” rejoined the prophet. “Of coorse no man would wish to have a son-in-law hanged. It's in the prophecy that you'll go to the surgeons yet.”
“Did you foresee in your prophecies this mornin' that you'd get yourself well drubbed before night?” asked Dalton, bristling up.
“No,” said the other; “my prophecy seen no one able to do it.”
“You and your prophecy are liars, then,” retorted the other: “an' in the doom you're kind enough to give me, don't be too sure but you meant yourself. There's more of murdher an' the gallows in your face than there is in mine. That's all I'll say, Donnel. Anything else you'll get from me will be a blow; so take care of yourself.”