Whelan; and though he soon after removed to where he then was, she followed him, and took up her residence on the mountain, where, as she was a stranger, and had no apparent means of living, a report of her communion with evil spirits was soon spread abroad.  This she rather encouraged than otherwise, by the advice of the men whom she fixed on as the completers of her revenge, and by such means the lights and nightly noises were placed to the account of anything but their real cause.

She had endured many griefs, and many mortifications, from her reputation as a witch, but met every thing in that way with patience, as the dream of her soul was revenge, and that dream by such means alone could be realized.  However, when on the very point of its completion, one of those sudden and mysterious changes which often takes place in the human mind made her waver in her purpose; and the child of her intended victim having behaved so tenderly and so kindly when all the rest hooted at and tormented her, made her fervently wish that she could turn the fierce men around her from that fell purpose which she herself had nourished till it grew into a fixed, and, she dreaded, an unalterable determination.

“Hadn’t yez betther wait,” she tremblingly began, scarcely knowing what she was about to propose—­“another night ’ill do as well for Whelan.”

“How’s this,” interrupted one of them, “Nanny, you growing lukewarm!—­you proposin’ another night—­are you beginnin’ to be afeard we’ll be hindhered from payin’ him off, or are you repentin’ yer former anxious desire?”

“No—­no!” hastily answered she, dreading lest they should discover her feelings, as she well knew that many amongst them had revenge to be gratified as well as herself; “I don’t repine as regards him, bud—­bud—­his daughter—­poor little Manny—­the purty goolden-haired child!—­I wouldn’t like any thing ‘ud harm her, an’ I’m afeard ov her bein’ hurted—­that’s all.”

“He did not feel so six years ago,” said a deep voice at her elbow, “whin yer only son was sint off from home an’ counthry through his manes!”

Nanny started, she knew not why, at the tones of the speaker, and turned round to look closer at him; but his back was towards her, and a large loose coat prevented all recognition of his person; besides, bringing an occasional newly enrolled stranger there, was a common circumstance, so she soon forgot the momentary surprise she had met in her anxiety about their intention.

“He is a brute—­his heart is harder nor steel, an’ he must be punished,” said another, whose bent brow and flashing black eye spoke of malignity and crime.

“But his child—­his poor little Minny!” exclaimed Nanny, “sure you wouldn’t injure her—­she hasn’t deserved id at yer hands—­she has done nothin’, but is a sweet an’ kind-hearted crathur.  Oh! iv you had seen her whin I was in the village, an’ the boys were hootin’ an’ peltin’ me, an’ no one interfered to protect the hated