“Father of mercy!” thought Mave, “how will she live—­how can she live here?  An’ is she to die in this miserable way in a Christian land?”

Sarah lay groaning with pain, and then raving in delirium.

“I won’t break my promise, father, but I’ll break my heart; an’ I can’t even give her warning.  Ah, but it’s treachery, an’ I hate that.  No, no; I’ll have no hand in it—­manage it your own way!”

“Dear Sarah, don’t you know me?” said Mave tenderly.  “Look at me—­I am Mave Sullivan, your friend that loves you.”

“Who is that?” Sarah asked, starting a little.  “I never had anyone to take care o’ me—­nor a mother; many a time—­often—­often—­the whole world—­some one to love me.  Oh, a dhrink!  Is there no one to give me a dhrink?  I’m burning, I’m burning!  Mave Sullivan, have pity on me—­I heard some one name her—­I’ll die without you give me a dhrink!”

Mave hastily fetched some water, and in the course of two or three days Sarah’s situation, thanks to the attention of Mave and her neighbours, was changed for the better, and she was conveyed home to the Prophet’s cabin on a litter—­only to die in a few days.

It was the knowledge of what she owed Mave that forced Sarah to frustrate her father’s plot for Mave’s ruin.

The robbery was no more successful than the abduction, for Roddy Duncan withdrew from it, and Donnel M’Gowan learnt that the house to be plundered was well guarded.

IV.—­An Amazing Witness

The court was crowded when Cornelius Dalton was put to the bar charged with the wilful murder of Bartholomew Sullivan, by striking him on the head with a walking stick, and when the old man stood up all eyes were turned on him.  It was clear that there was an admission of guilt in his face, for instead of appearing erect and independent, he looked around with an expression of remorse and sorrow, and it was with difficulty that he was prevailed upon to plead “not guilty.”

The first witness called was Jeremiah Sullivan, who deposed that at one of the Christmas markets in 1798 he was present when an altercation took place between his late brother Bartle and the prisoner.  They were both drinking, and their friends separated them.  He never saw his brother alive afterwards.  He then deposed to the finding of his brother’s coat and hat, crushed and torn.

The next witness was Roddy Duncan, who deposed that on the night in question he was passing on a car and saw a man drag something heavy, like a sack.  He then called out was that Condy Dalton?  And the reply was, “It is, unfortunately!” upon which he wished him good-night.

Next came the Prophet.  He said he was on his way through Glendhu, when he came to a lonely spot where he found the body of Bartholomew Sullivan, and beside it a grave dug two feet deep.  He then caught a glimpse of the prisoner, Condy Dalton, among the bushes, with a spade in his hand.  He shouted out and, getting no answer, was glad to get off safe.