“But I murdered you—­and that was because my brother said he would do it—­an’ I got afraid, John, that he might do you harm, an’ afraid to tell you too—­an’—­an’ so you promise me you won’t fight the Dead Boxer?  Thank God! thank God! then your blood will not be upon me!”

“Aunt, she’s lost,” he exclaimed; “the brain of my colleen dhas is turned!”

“John, won’t you save me from the Dead Boxer?  There’s nobody able to do it but you, Lamh Laudher Oge!”

“Aunt, aunt, my girl’s destroyed,” said John, “her heart’s broke!  Ellen!”

“But to-morrow, John—­to-morrow—­sure yo’ won’t fight him to-morrow?—­if you do—­if you do he’ll kill you—­an’ ’twas I that—­that”——­

O’Rorke had not thought of raising her from the posture in which she addressed him, so completely had he been overcome by the frantic vehemence of her manner.  He now snatched her up, and placed her in the little arm-chair alluded to; but she had scarcely been seated in it, when her hands became clenched, her head sank, and the heavy burthen of her sorrows was forgotten in a long fit of insensibility.

Lamh Laudher’s distraction and alarm prevented him from rendering her much assistance; but the aunt was more cool, and succeeded with considerable difficulty in restoring her to life.  The tears burst in thick showers from her eyelids, she drew her breath vehemently and rapidly, and, after looking wildly around her, indulged in that natural grief which relieves the heart by tears.  In a short time she became composed, and was able to talk collectedly and rationally.

This, indeed, was the severest trial that Lamh Laudher had yet sustained.  With all the force of an affection as strong and tender as it was enduring and disinterested, she urged him to relinquish his determination to meet the Dead Boxer on the following day.  John soothed her, chid her, and even bantered her, as a cowardly girl, unworthy of being the sister of Meehaul Neil, but to her, as well as to all others who had attempted to change his purpose, he was immovable.  No; the sense of his disgrace had sunk too deep into his heart, and the random allusions just made by Ellen herself to the Dead Boxer’s villainy, but the more inflamed his resentment against him.

On finding his resolution irrevocable, she communicated to him in a whisper the message which the stranger had sent him.  Lamh Laudher, after having heard it, raised his arm rapidly, and his eye gleamed with something like the exultation of a man who has discovered a secret that he had been intensely anxious to learn.  Ellen could now delay no longer, and their separation resembled that of persons who never expected to meet again.  If Lamh Laudher could at this moment have affected even a show of cheerfulness, in spite of Ellen’s depression it would have given her great relief.  Still, on her part, their parting was a scene of agony and distress which no description could reach, and on his, it was sorrowful and tender; for neither felt certain that they would ever behold each other in life again.