“Perfectly, Barney; there can be no doubt about it now.  As for my part, I know not what temptation could induce me to enter that haunted house.  I see that I was on dangerous ground when I defied the witch in the hut; but I shall take care to be more cautious in future.”

They then bent their steps homewards, each sufficiently fatigued and exhausted after the sports of the day to require both food and rest.  Woodward went early to bed, but Barney, who was better accustomed to exercise, having dined heartily in the kitchen, could not, for the soul of him, contain within his own bosom the awful and supernatural adventure which had just occurred.  He assumed, as before, a very solemn and oracular air; spoke little, however, but that little was deeply abstracted and mysterious.  It was evident to the whole kitchen that he was brimful of something, and that that something was of more than ordinary importance.

“Well, Barney, had you and Masther Harry a pleasant day’s sport?  I see you have brought home five hares,” said the cook.

“Hum!” groaned Barney; “but no matther; it’s a quare world, Mrs. Malony, and there’s strange things in it.  Heaven bless me!  Heaven bless me, and Heaven bless us all, if it comes to that!  Masther Harry said he’d send me down a couple o’ glasses of------O, here comes Biddy wid them; that’s a girl, Bid—­divil sich a kitchen-maid in Europe!”

Biddy handed him a decanter with about half a pint of stout whiskey in it, a portion of which passed into a goblet, was diluted with water, and drunk off, after which he smacked his lips, but with a melancholy air, and then, looking solemnly and meditatively into the fire, relapsed into silence.

“Did you meet any fairies on your way?” asked Nanse, the housemaid.  For about half a minute Barney did not reply; but at length, looking about him, he started—­

“Eh?  What’s that?  Who spoke to me?”

“Who spoke to you?” replied Nanse.  “Why, I think you’re beside yoursel’—­I did.”

“What did you say, Nanse?  I am beside myself.”

There was now a sudden cessation in all the culinary operations, a general pause, and a rapid congregating around Barney, who still sat looking solemnly into the fire.

“Why, Barney, there’s something strange over you,” said the cook.  “Heaven help the poor boy; sure, it’s a shame to be tormentin’ him this way; but in the name of goodness, Barney, and as you have a sowl to be saved, will you tell us all?  Stand back, Nanse, and don’t be torturin’ the poor lad this way, as I said.”

“Biddy,” said Barney, his mind still wandering, and his eyes still fixed on the fire—­“Biddy, darlin’, will you hand me that de-canther agin; I find I’m not aquil to it.  Heaven presarve us!  Heaven presarve us! that’s it; now hand me the wather, like an angel out of heaven, as you are, Bid.  Ah, glory be to goodness, but that’s refreshin’, especially afther sich a day—­sich a day!  O saints above, look down upon us poor sinners, one and all, men and women, wid pity and compassion this night!  Here; I’m very wake; let me get to bed; is there any pump wather in the kitchen?”