While attempting, as they went along, to account for the conduct of the peasants, they were met by a female with a head of hair that was nearly blood-red, and whose features were hideously ugly, or rather, we should say, absolutely revolting.  Her brows, which were of the same color as the hair, were knit into a scowl, such as is occasioned by an intense expression of hatred and malignity, yet which was rendered almost frightful by a squint that would have disfigured the features of a demon.  Her coarse hair lay matted together in stiff, wiry waves! on each side of her head, from whence it streamed down her shoulders, which it covered like a cape of scarlet.  As they approached each other, she glanced at them with a look from which they could only infer that she seemed to meditate the murder of each, and yet there was mingled with its malignity a bitter but derisive expression that was perfectly diabolical.

“What a frightful hag!” exclaimed Woodward, addressing his companion; “I never had a perfect conception of the face of an ogress until now!  Did you observe her walrus tusks, as they projected over her misshapen nether lip?  The hag appears to be an impersonation of all that is evil.”

“She may be a very harmless creature for all that,” replied the other; “we are not to judge by appearances.  I know a man who had murder depicted in his countenance, if ever a man had, and yet there lived! not a kinder, more humane, or benevolent creature on earth.  He was as simple, too, as a child, and the most affectionate father! and husband that ever breathed.  These, however, may be exceptions; for most certainly I am of opinion that the countenance may be considered, in general, a very certain index to the character and disposition.  But what is this?—­here are the men returning from their journey, let us question them.”

“Pray,” said Woodward, addressing them, “if it be not impertinent, may I inquire why you ran in such a hurry off the road just now, and hid yourselves behind the ditch?”

“Certainly, sir, you may,” replied one of them; “we wor on our way to the fair of, Knockmore, and we didn’t wish to meet Pugshy Roe.” (Red Peggy).

“But why should you not wish to meet her?”

“Bekaise, sir, she’s unlucky—­unlucky in the three ways—­unlucky to man, unlucky to baste, and unlucky to business.  She overlooks, sir; she has the Evil Eye—­the Lord be about us!”

“The Evil Eye,” repeated Woodward, dryly; “and pray, what harm could her evil eye do you?”

“Why, nothing in the World,” replied the man, naively, “barrin’ to wither us off o’ the earth—­that’s all.”

“Has she been long in this neighborhood?” asked the stranger.

“Too long, your honor.  Sure she overlooked Biddy Nelligan’s child, and it never did good afterwards.”

“And I,” said another, “am indebted to the thief o’ hell for the loss of as good a cow as ever filled a piggin.”