“Am I to pay you anything, sir?” she asked, rising.
“No, my dear, I will take no money from you; but if you wish to save Mr. Woodward from danger, you will enable the soldiers to, arrest Shawn-na-Middogue. Even you, yourself, are not safe so long as he is at large.”
She then took her leave in silence.
It is not to be supposed that among the crowd that was assembled around the inn door there were not a number of waggish characters, who felt strongly inclined to have, if possible, a hearty laugh at the great conjurer. No matter what state of society may exist, or what state of feeling may prevail, there will always be found a class of persons who are exceptions to the general rule. Whilst the people were chatting in wonder and admiration, not without awe and fear, concerning the extraordinary knowledge and power of the conjurer, a character peculiar to all times and all ages made his appearance, and soon joined them. This was one of those circulating, unsettled vagabonds, whom, like scum, society, whether agitated or not, is always sure to throw on the surface. The comical miscreant no sooner made his appearance than, like Liston, when coming on the stage, he was greeted with a general roar of laughter.
“So,” said he, “you have a conjurer above. But wait a while; by the powdhers o' delf Rantin' Rody's the boy will try his mettle. If he can look farther than his nose, I'm the lad will find it out. If he doesn't say I'll be hanged, he knows nothing about his business. I have myself half-a-dozen hangmen engaged to let me down aisy; it's a death I've a great fancy for, and, plaise God, I'm workin' honestly to desarve it. Which of you has a cow to steal? for, by the sweets o' rosin, I'm low in cash, and want a thrifle to support nather; for nather, my boys, must be supported, and it was never my intintion to die for want o' my vittles; aitin' and drinkin' is not very pleasant to most people, I know, but I was born wid a fancy for both.”
“Rantin' Rody, in airnest, will you go up and have your fortune tould?”
“But wait,” he proceeded; “wait, I say,—wait,—I have it.” And as he said so he went at the top of his speed down the street, and disappeared in Sol Donnel's cabin.
“By this and by that,” said one of them, “Rtn'tin' Rody will take spunk out of him, if it's in him.”
“I think he had better have notin' to do wid him,” said an old woman, “for fraid he'd rise the devil—Lord guard us! Sure it's the same man that was in this very town the night he was riz before, and that the bonfire for Suil Balor (the eye of Balor, or the Evil Eye) Woodward was drowned by a shower of blood. Troth I wouldn't be in the same Woodward's coat for the wealth o' the world. As for Rantin' Rody, let him take care of himself. It's never safe to sport wid edged tools, and he'll be apt to find it so, if he attempts to put his tricks upon the conjurer.”
In the meantime, while that gentleman was seated above stairs, a female, tall, slim, and considerably advanced in years, entered the room and took her seat. Her face was thin, and red in complexion, especially about the point of a rather long nose, where the color appeared to be considerably deeper in hue.