He took a seat remote from his guests, with difficulty pronouncing the ordinary words of “God save ye, genteels,” which they bluffly and heartily answered.  His glances towards them were also few; yet enough to inform him that they conversed together like friends, pledging healths and shaking hands.  The tall sailor abruptly asked him how far it was, by the short cut, to a village where they proposed to pass the night—­Kilbroggan?—­Jeremiah started on his seat, and his wife, after a glance and a grumble at him, was obliged to speak for her husband.  They finished their beer; paid for it; put up half a loaf and a cut of bad watery cheese, saying that they might feel more hungry a few miles on than they now did; and then they arose to leave the cabin.  Jeremiah glanced in great trouble around.  His wife had fortunately disappeared; he snatched up his old hat, and with more energy than he could himself remember, ran forward to be a short way on the road before them.  They soon approached him; and then, obeying a conscientious impulse, Jeremiah saluted the smaller of the two, and requested to speak with him apart.  The sailor, in evident surprise, assented.  Jer vaguely cautioned him against going any farther that night, as it would be quite dark by the time he should get to the mountain pass, on the by-road to Kilbroggan.  His warning was made light of.  He grew more earnest, asserting, what was not the fact, that it was “a bad road,” meaning one infested by robbers.  Still the bluff tar paid no attention, and was turning away.  “Oh, sir; oh, stop, sir,” resumed Jeremiah, taking great courage, “I have a thing to tell you;” and he rehearsed his dream, averring that in it he had distinctly seen the present object of his solicitude set upon and slain by his colossal companion.  The listener paused a moment; first looking at Jer, and then at the ground, very gravely:  but the next moment he burst into a loud, and Jeremiah thought, frightful laugh, and walked rapidly to overtake his shipmate.  Jeremiah, much oppressed, returned home.

Towards dawn, next morning, the publican awoke in an ominous panic, and aroused his wife to listen to a loud knocking, and a clamor of voices at their door.  She insisted that there was no such thing, and scolded him for disturbing her sleep.  A renewal of the noise, however, convinced even her incredulity, and showed that Jeremiah was right for the first time in his life, at least.  Both arose, and hastened to answer the summons.

When they unbarred the front door, a gentleman, surrounded by a crowd of people of the village, stood before it.  He had discovered on the by-road through the hills from Kilbroggan, a dead body, weltering in its gore, and wearing sailor’s clothes; had ridden on in alarm; had raised the village; and some of its population, recollecting to have seen Mrs. Mulcahy’s visitors of the previous evening, now brought him to her house to hear what she could say on the subject.