Some days after the whole country was in a tumult—­Daly, “the procthor,” was found murdered in the centre of the high road; and there was no clue perceptible, by which the perpetrators of the crime could be discovered.  The very day before, Owen had borrowed the game-keeper’s gun, to go, as he said, to a wild, mountainous part of the country to shoot hares; and from this circumstance, and his not having returned the day after, a strong feeling of suspicion against him was in the minds of most.  In fact, on the very evening that we have represented Ellen sitting in tears, the police had come to the cabin in search of him; and their report to the magistrate was, that he had absconded.  His wife was in a miserable state of mind, and her whole soul was tortured with conflicting emotions.  Owen’s long absence, as well as his borrowing the gun, seemed to bespeak his guilt; and yet, when she recollected the gentleness of his manner, and his hitherto blameless life, she could not deem him so, no matter how circumstances seemed against him.  But then, the harrowing idea that it might be, came in to blast these newly formed hopes, and her state of suspense was one of deep and acute misery.

She was sitting, as we have said, alone; the fire, that had consisted of two or three sods of turf heaped upon the floor, had almost entirely gone out; the stools and bosses were tossed negligently here and there; and the appearance of the entire apartment was quite different from its usual neat and tidy trim.  Her head was bent a little, and her hands were clasped tightly around her knees, while her body was swaying to and fro, as if the agitation of her mind would not allow of its repose.  Her eyes were dry, but red from former weeping; and she was occasionally muttering, “No, he can’t be guilty”—­“Owen commit a murdher!—­It must be an untruth!” and such like expressions.  Gradually, as she thus thought aloud, her motions became more rapid, and her cheeks were no longer dry, while the light that entered through the open door becoming suddenly shaded, she turned round, and raised her tearful eyes to question the intruder.  She sprang eagerly forward, and hung on his neck, (for it was Owen himself,) while she! joyfully exclaimed—­

“Oh, heaven be praised, yer come back at last, to give the lie to all their reports, an’ to prove yer innocence.”

“Ellen, my darlint,” he answered, “I knew you’d be glad to get me back,” and he kissed! again and again her burning lips; “but what do you mane, acushla?—­What reports! do you spake ov, an’ ov what am I accused?”

“Oh, thin, Owen, I’m glad you didn’t even hear ov id; an’ the poliss here searchin’ the house to make you pres’ner.  Shure, avick, Bill Daly, the procthor, that sazed poor Black Bess, was murdhered the very mornin’ you wint to shoot the hares; an’ on account ov yer borryin’ the gun, an’ threatenin’ him the day ov the sale, they said it was you that done id; but I gev thim all the lie, fur I knew you wor innocent.  Now, Owen, ahagur, you look tired, sit down, an’ I’ll get you somethin’ to ate.  Och, bud I’m ’glad that yer returned safe!”