“It's not a fair question,” she replied; “I know he loves another, an' for that raison I'll never breathe it to a mortal.”
“Bekaise,” he added, “if I knew, maybe I might be able to put in a good word for you, now and then, accordin' as I got an opportunity.”
“For me!” she replied indignantly; “what! to beg him get fond o' me! Oh, its wondherful the maneness that's in a'most every one you meet. No,” she proceeded, vehemently; “if he was a king on his throne, sooner than stoop to that, or if he didn't, or couldn't love me on my own account, I'd let the last drop o' my heart's blood out first. Oh, no!—no, no, no—ha! He loves another,” she added, hastily; “he loves another!”
“An' do you know her?” asked Hanlon.
“Do I know her!” she replied; “do I know her! it's I that do; ay, an' I have her in my power, too; an' if I set about it, can prevent a ring from ever goin' on them. Ha! ha! Oh, ay; that divil, Sarah M'Gowan, what a fine character I have got! Well, well, good night, Charley! Maybe it's a folly to have the bad name for nothin'; at laist they say so. Ha! ha! Good-night; I'll go home. Oh, I had like to forgot; Red Body tould me he was spakin' to you about something that he says you can't but understhand yourself; and he desired me to get you, if I could, to join him in it. I said I would, if it was right an' honest; for I have great doubts of it bein' either the one or the other, if it comes from him. He said that it was both; but that it 'ud be a great piece of roguery to have it undone. Now, if it is what he says it is, help him in it, if you can; but if it isn't, have no hand in it. That's all I tould him I would say, an' that's all I do say. Keep out of his saicrets I advise you; an', above all things, avoid everything mane an' dishonest; for, Charley, I have a kind o' likin' for you that I can't explain, although I don't love you as a sweetheart. Good-night again!”
She left him abruptly, and at a rapid pace proceeded back to the Grey Stone, around which she walked, with a view of examining whether or not there might be any cause visible, earthly or otherwise, for the groans which they had heard; but notwithstanding a close and diligent search, she could neither see nor hear anything whatsoever to which they might possibly be ascribed.
She reached home about one o'clock, and after having sat musing for a time over the fire, which was raked for the night—that is, covered over with greeshaugh, or living ashes—she was preparing to sleep in her humble bed, behind a little partition wall about five feet high, at the lower end of the cabin, when her father, who had been moaning, and staring, and uttering abrupt exclamations in his sleep, at length rose up, and began deliberately to dress himself, as if with an intention of going out.
“Father,” said she, “in the name of goodness, where are you goin' at this time o' the night?”
“I'm goin' to the murdhered man's grave,” he replied, “I'm goin' to toll them all how he was murdhered, an' who it was that murdhered him.”
A girl with nerves less firm would have felt a most deadly terror at such language, on perceiving, as Sarah at once did, that her father, whose eyes were shut, was fast asleep at the time. In her, however, it only produced such a high degree of excitement and interest, as might be expected from one of her ardent and excitable temperament, imbued as it was with a good deal of natural romance.