“Ha!” exclaimed the Boxer, in reply; “why, what is this!  Who have we here?”

Ellen, for it was she, had already thrown back the cloak from her features, and stepped forward between them.

“Well, I am glad it is you,” said the black, “and so may he.  Come, I shall conduct you home.”

He caught her arm as he spoke, and drew her over to his side like an infant.

“Come, my pretty girl, come; I will treat you tenderly, and all I shall ask is a kiss in return.  Here, young fellow,” said he to Lamh Laudher, with a sense of bitter triumph, “I will show you that one black kiss is worth two white ones.”

Heavy, hard, and energetic was the blow which the Dead Boxer received upon the temple, as the reply of Lamh Laudher, and dead was the crash of his tremendous body on the earth.  Ellen looked around her with amazement.

“Come,” said she, seizing her lover’s arm, and dragging him onward:  “gracious heavens!  I hope you haven’t killed him.  Come, John, the time is short, and we must make the most of it.  That villain, as I tould you before, is a villain.  Oh! if you knew it!  John, I have been the manes of your disgrace and suffering, but I am willing to do what I can to remedy that.  In your disgrace, Ellen will be ready, in four days from this, to become your wife.  John, come to meet me no more.  I will send that villain’s innocent wife to your aunt Alley’s, where you now live’.  I didn’t expect to see you myself; but I got an opportunity, and besides she was too unwell to bring my message, which was to let you know what I now tell you.”

John, ere he replied, looked behind him at the Dead Boxer, and appeared as if struck with some sudden thought.

“He is movin’,” said he, “an’ on this night I don’t wish to meet him again; but—­yes, Ellen, yes—­God bless you for the words you’ve said; but how could you for one minute doubt me about the robbery?”

“I did not, John—­I did not; and if I did, think of your own words at our meetin’ in the Quarry; it was a small suspicion, though—­no more.  No, no; at heart I never doubted you.”

“Ellen,” said John, “hear me.  You never will become my wife till my disgrace is wiped away.  I love you too well ever to see you blush for your husband.  My mind’s made up—­so say no more.  Ay, an’ I tell you that to live three months in this state would break my heart.”

“Poor John!” she exclaimed, as they separated, and the words were followed by a gush of tears, “I know that there is not one of them, in either of the factions, so noble in heart and thought as you are.”

“Ill prove that soon, Ellen; but never till my name is fair and clear, an’ without spot, can you be my wife.  Good night, dearest; in every thing but that I’ll be guided by you.”

They then separated, and immediately the Dead Boxer, like a drunken man, went tottering, rather crest-fallen, towards the inn.  On reaching his own room, his rage appeared quite ungovernable; he stormed, stamped, and raved on reflecting that any one was able to knock him down.  He called for brandy and water, with a curse to the waiter, swore deeply between every sip, and, ultimately dispatched another messenger for Nell M’Collum.