Donnel Dhu had returned from the assizes, and was sitting, as usual, poring over the fire, when he asked the old woman who nursed Sarahif there had been any persons inquiring for him since nightfall.
“Three or four,” she replied; “but I said you hadn't come home yet; an' divil a one o' them but was all on the same tune, an' bid me to tell you that it was a safe night.”
“Well, I hope it is, Biddy,” he replied, “but not so safe,” he added to himself, “as I could wish it to be. How is Sarah?”
“She's better,” replied the woman, “an' was up to-day for an hour or two; but still she's poorly, and I think her brain isn't right yet.”
“Very likely it isn't,” said the Prophet. “But, Biddy, when were you at Shanco?”
“Not this week past.”
“Well, then, if you like to slip over for an hour or so now, you may, an' I'll take care of Sarah till you come back; only don't be longer.”
“Long life to you, Donnel; throth an' I want to go, if it was only to set the little matthers right for them poor orphans, my grandchildre.”
“Well, then, go,” he replied; “but don't be more than an hour away, mind. I'll take care of Sarah for you till you come back.”
At this moment a tap came to the door, and Donnel, on hearing it, went out, and in a minute or two returned again, saying—