to sun and storm.  By a closer inspection one might detect upon their hard angular outline, a character of cruelty and intrepidity.  Though her large cheek-bones stood widely asunder, yet her gray piercing eyes were very near each other; her nose was short and sadly disfigured by a scar that ran tranversely across it, and her chin, though pointed, was also deficient in length.  Altogether, her whole person had something peculiar and marked about it—­so much so, indeed, that it was impossible to meet her without feeling she was a female of no ordinary character and habits.

Lamh Laudher had been, as we have said, advancing slowly along the craggy road which led towards the town, when she issued from an adjoining cabin and approached him.  The moment he noticed her he stood still, as if to let her pass and uttered one single exclamation of chagrin and anger.

“Ma shaughth milia mollach ort, a calliagh! My seven thousand curses on you for an old hag,” said he, and haying thus given vent to his indignation at her appearance, he began to retrace his steps as if unwilling to meet her.

“The son of your father needn’t lay the curse upon us so bitterly all out, Lamh Laudher!” she exclaimed, pacing at the same time with vigorous steps until she overtook him.

The young man looked at her maimed features, and as if struck by some sudden recollection, appeared to feel regret for the hasty malediction he had uttered against her.  “Nell M’Collum,” said he, “the word was rash; and the curse did not come from my heart.  But, Nell, who is there that doesn’t curse you when they meet you?  Isn’t it well known that to meet you is another name for falling in wid bad luck?  For my part I’d go fifty miles about rather than cross you, if I was bent on any business that my heart ’ud be in, or that I cared any thing about.”

“And who brought the bad luck upon me first?” asked the woman.  “Wasn’t it the husband of the mother that bore you?  Wasn’t it his hand that disfigured me as you see, when I was widin a week of bein’ dacently married?  Your father, Lamh Laudher was the man that blasted my name, and made it bitther upon tongue of them that mintions it.”

“And that was because he wouldn’t see one wid the blood of Lamh Laudher in his veins married to a woman that he had reason to think—­I don’t like to my it, Nelly—­but you know it is said that there was darkness, and guilt, too, about the disappearin’ of your child.  You never cleared that up, but swore revenge night and day against my father, for only preventin’ you from bein’ the ruination of his cousin.  Many a time, too, since that, has asked you in my own hearing what became of the boy.”