“Barney,” said Woodward, solemnly, “I have a request to make of you, and it is this—­the common report is, that the spirit in question follows our family—­I mean by my mother’s side.  Now I beg, as you expect my good will and countenance, that, for my sake, and out of respect for the family in general, you will never breathe a syllable of what you have seen this night.  It could answer no earthly purpose, and would only send abroad idle and unpleasant rumors throughout the country.  Will you promise this?”

“Of course I promise it,” replied Barney; “what object could I gain by repeatin’ it?”

“None whatsoever.  Well, then, be silent on the subject, and let us reach home as soon as we can.”

It would be difficult to describe honest Barney’s feelings as they went along.  He imagined that he felt Harry’s arm tremble within his, and when he thought of the reports concerning the evil spirit, and its connection with Mrs. Lindsay’s family, his sensations were anything but comfortable.  He tossed and tumbled that night for hours in his bed before he was able to sleep, and when he did sleep the Shan-dhinne-dhuv rendered his dreams feverish and frightful.

Precisely at this period, before Mrs. Lindsay had recovered from her indisposition, and could pay her intended visit to the Goodwins, a circumstance occurred which suggested to Harry Woodward one of the most remorseless and Satanic schemes that ever was concocted in the heart of man.  He was in the habit occasionally of going down to the kitchen to indulge in a smoke and a piece of banter with the servants.  One evening, whilst thus amusing himself, the conversation turned upon the prevailing superstitions of the day.  Ghosts, witches, wizards; astrologers, fairies, leprechauns, and all that could be termed supernatural, or even related to or aided by it, were discussed at considerable length, and with every variety of feeling.  Amongst the rest the Banshee was mentioned—­a spirit of whose peculiar office and character Woodward, in consequence of his long absence from the country, was completely ignorant.

“The Banshee!” he exclaimed; “what kind of a spirit is that?  I have never heard of it.”

“Why, sir,” replied Barney, who was present, “the Banshee—­the Lord prevent us from hearin’ her—­is always the forerunner of death.  She attends only certain families—­principally the ould Milesians, and mostly Catholics, too; although, I believe, it’s well known that she sometimes attends Protestants whose families have been Catholics or Milesians, until the last of the name disappears.  So that, afther all, it seems she’s not over-scrupulous about religion.”

“But what do you mean by attending families?” asked Woodward; “what description of attendance or service does she render them?”

“Indeed, Mr. Harry,” replied Barney, “anything but an agreeable attendance.  By goxty, I believe every family she follows would be very glad to dispense with her attendance if they could.”