“He shoots well enough, Miss Julia—­when he pulls the trigger the gun goes off; but as for killin’ birds, that my bed may be in heaven but they fly away laughin’ at him.”

“He came with you as far as O’Driscol’s,” she said, at once putting a query in the shape of an assertion, “and I suppose sent some apology to my father and brothers, for not having been here to dinner.”

“Hem! come as far as Mr. O’Driscol’s?” exclaimed Mogue; “troth he’s about the poorest piece o’ goods ever carried a gun—­God help the unhappy woman that’ll get him; for sorra thing he is but a mere excuse for a man.  I left him lyin’ like a half-hung dog, up in the mountains above.”

Julia started, and almost screamed with terror at this account of her lover.  “Gracious heavens, Moylan, what do you mean?” she exclaimed—­“up in the mountains!—­where and how in the mountains?  Is he ill, or does he want aid or assistance?”

“No, Miss Julia; but the truth is, he’s a poor cur of a creature that’s not able to undertake a man’s task at all; he’s lyin’ knocked up in Frank Finnerty’s; moanin’ and groanin’ an’ yowlin’, like a sick hound; I had to carry or drag him over half the mountains; for, from the blessed hour of twelve o’clock this day, he wasn’t able to put a foot undher him, an’ he did nothing but blasphayme’ an’ curse every one he knew; your fathers and brothers, your sisther, and mother, and yourself; he cursed and blasphaymed you all, helther skelther; I could bear all, Miss.  Julia till he came to run you down, an’ ’tis well for him that I hadn’t the gun in my hand when he did it, that’s all; or, that I may never do an ill turn but I’d a’ given him a touch o’ the Moylan blood for your sake—­an’ now, Miss Julia,” he proceeded, “I hope we understand one another.  As for him he’s a pitiful whelp!”

“Are you in jest or earnest?” she inquired, changing her tone.

“That luck may flow on me, but I’m in airnest, Miss Julia—­but no matther for that, don’t you let you spirits down, think of our great family; and remimber that them that was wanst great may be great agin.  Plaise God we’ll have back the forwhitled estates, when we get the Millstone broke, an’ the Mill that ground us banished from the counthry; however, that will come soon; but in the mane time, Miss Julia, I have a saycret to tell you about him.”

“About Mr. M’Carthy?” she asked, sadly puzzled as to the tendency and object of his conversation, but at the same time somewhat awakened to an indistinct interest, respecting this secret concerning her lover.

“Yes, miss; listen hether, Miss Julia; would you believe it that he, Mr. M’Carthy, is sworn, or any way as good as sworn, to take your father’s life away?”

“No, Mogue,” she replied firmly, but with good humor, “not a syllable.”

“Well then,” he proceeded, “if he did not swear to do it in plain words, he did as good.  You won’t braithe a syllable of this, Miss Julia; but listen still—­You know the ruction that’s through, the counthry aginst tides?”