“There,” added his informant, “is the house where Lamh Laudher Oge’s aunt lives, and where he himself has lived since he left his father’s.”

“Ah!” said the black, pausing, “is he within, do you think?”

One of the crowd immediately inquired, and replied to him in affirmative.

“Will any of you,” continued the boxer, “bring me over a half-hundred weight from the market crane?  I will show this fellow what a poor chance he has.  If he is so strong in the arm and active as is reported, I desire he will imitate me.  Let the music stop a moment.”

The crowd was now on tiptoe, and all necks were stretched over the shoulders of those who stood before them, in order to see, if possible, what the feat could be which he intended to perform.  Having received the half-hundred weight from the hands of the man who brought it, he approached the widow’s cottage, and sent in a person to apprize Lamh Laudher of his intention to throw it over the house, and to request that he would witness this proof of his strength.  Lamh Laudher delayed a few minutes, and the Dead Boxer stood in the now silent crowd, awaiting his appearance, when accidentally glancing into the door, he started as if stung by a serpent.  A flash and a glare of his fierce blazing eyes followed.

“Ha! damnation! true as hell!” he exclaimed, “she’s with him!  Ha!—­the Obeah woman was right—­the Obeuh woman was right.  Guilt, guilt, guilt!  Ha!”

With terror and fury upon his huge dark features, he advanced a step or two into the cottage, and in a voice that resembled the under-growl of an enraged bull, said to his wife, for it was she—­“You will never repeat this—­I am aware of you; I know you now!  Fury! prepare yourself; I say so to both.  Ha!” Neither she nor Lamh Laudher had an opportunity of replying to him, for he ran in a mood perfectly savage to the half-hundred weight, which he caught by the ring, whirled it round him two or three times, and, to the amazement of the mob who were crowded about him, flung it over the roof of the cottage.

Lamh Laudher had just left the cabin in time to witness the feat, as well as to observe more closely the terrific being in his full strength and fury, with whom he was to wage battle on the following day.  Those who watched his countenance, observed that it blanched for a moment, and that the color came and went upon his cheek.

“Now, young fellow,” said the Boxer, “get behind the cabin and throw back the weight.”

Lamh Landher hesitated, but was ultimately proceeding to make the attempt, when a voice from the crowd, in tones that were evidently disguised, shouted—­

“Don’t be a fool, young man; husband your strength, for you will want it.”

The Dead Boxer started again—­“Ha!” he exclaimed, after listening acutely, “fury of hell! are you there? ha!  I’ll grasp you yet, though.”

The young man, however, felt the propriety of this friendly caution.  “The person who spoke is right,” said he, “whoever he is.  I will husband, my strength,” and he passed again into the cabin.