“Well, upon my sowl,” observed another, “I can’t blame the Lindsays for feeling so bittherly about it as they do.  May I never see yestherday, if a brother of mine had property, and left it to a stranger instead of to his own—­that is to say, my childre—­I’d take it for granted that he was fizzen down stairs for the same.  It was a shame for the ould sinner to scorn his own relations for a stranger.”

“Well,” said another, “one thing is clear—­that since he did blink them about the property, it couldn’t get into betther hands.  Your master, Tom, is the crame of a good landlord, as far as his property goes, and much good may it do him and his!  I’ll go bail that, as far as Miss Alice herself is consarned, many a hungry mouth, will be filled many a naked back covered, and many a heavy heart made light through the manes of it.”

“Faith,” said a third spokesman, “and that wouldn’t be the case if that skinflint barge of Lindsay’s had got it in her clutches.  At any rate, it’s a shame for her and them to abuse the Goodwins as they do.  If ould Hamilton left it to them surely it wasn’t their fault.”

“Never mind,” said another, “I’ll lay a wager that Mrs. Lindsay’s son—­I mane the step-son that’s now abroad with the uncle—–­will be sent for, and a marriage will follow between him and Miss Goodwin.”

“It maybe so,” replied Tom, “but it’s not very probable.  I know the man that’s likely to walk into the property, and well worthy he is of it.”

“Come, Tom, let us hear who is the lucky youth?”

“Family saicrets,” replied Tom, “is not to be rovaled.  All I can say is, that he is a true gentleman.  Give me another blast o’ the pipe, for I must go home.”

Tom, who was servant to Mr. Goodwin, having now taken his “blast,” wished them good-night; but before he went he took the sorrowing widow’s cold and passive hand in his, and said, whilst the tears stood in his eyes,

“May God in heaven pity you and support your heart, for you are the sorely tried woman this miserable night!”

He then bent his steps to Beech Grove, his master’s residence, the hour being between twelve and one o’clock.

The night, as we have already said, had been calm, but gloomy and oppressive.  Now, however, the wind had sprung up, and, by the time Kennedy commenced his journey home, it was not only tempestuous but increasing in strength and fury every moment.  This, however, was not all;—­the rain came down in torrents, and was battered against his person with such force that in a few moments he was drenched to the skin.  So far, it was wind and rain—­dreadful and tempestuous as they were.  The storm, however, was only half opened.  Distant flashes of lightning and sullen growls of thunder proceeded from the cloud masses to the right, but it was obvious that the thunderings above them were only commencing their deep and terrible pealings.  In a short time they increased in violence