whilst M’Carthy spent his time with the ladies, and endeavored to amuse them as well as ha could.  About twelve o’clock John rode into the town of Lisnagola to bring home a blunderbuss which he had sent the day before, by Mogue Moylan, for the purpose of having it furnished with a new ramrod.  Mogue being engaged in some matters of a pressing nature, John determined to go for it himself, especially as he wanted to lay in a better supply of powder.  Of this Mogue knew nothing.

Mr. Temple soon made his appearance, but, as the pedlar feared, the object of his visit was not attended with success.  He urged all the arguments in his power upon the proctor and his son Alick, to remove instantly, and at once, to Lisnagola, or some other neighboring town, where, for the present, they might be safe.  Instead of listening to the argument of instant removal, they laughed it to scorn.  In the course of the following week, they said, it was their intention to remove; but to think of breaking up their family on a Christmas Eve, with a guest in their house too!—­the thing was out of the question.  A few days made no great difference; and their mind was fixed not to disturb their family or their guest, then.

Soon after Mr. Temple had gone, Julia Purcel met M’Carthy in the hall, and asked him for a moment to the dining-room, in a voice which was tremulous with agitation.

“Alas!  Frank,” she exclaimed, whilst the tears streamed from her eyes, “I feel a weight like that of death upon my heart.  I fear there is some dreadful calamity hanging over this family.”

“Why, my dear Julia,” he replied, wiping the tears from her eyes, “will you suffer yourself to be overcome by a weakness of mind so unworthy of you?  The morning is dark and gloomy, and calculated, apart from such silly anticipations—­pardon me, Julia—­to fill the mind with low spirits.  Cheer up, my dear girl; is not this season, in a peculiar manner, set apart for cheerfulness and enjoyment?  Why, then, will you indulge in this weak and foolish melancholy?”

“I would not feel as I do,” she replied, “but the truth is—­now do not scold me, Frank—­in fact I had an omen of calamity last night!”

“An omen! how is that?” he asked.  “On bidding my papa and John goodnight, as I was going to bed, about eleven o’clock, I saw them both standing below me at the foot of the stairs, in the hall.  I started, and turning again into the drawing-room, where I had just left them, saw that there they certainly stood, without scarcely having had time to change their position.”

“A mere physical illusion, my dear Julia; nothing else.”

“But is it not said,” she added, “that to see the likeness of an individual late at night is an omen of almost immediate death?”

“It has been said so, I admit, my dear Julia, as have fifty thousand follies equally nonsensical.  But to hear you, Julia, talk in this manner! upon my word, I’m surprised at it.”