Those were all proved by witnesses, and although we must admit, that the great body of the evidence was true, in point of fact, yet there was not a word said, of the insolence, threatening language, falsehood, evasion, and defiance, which Purcel and his sons had in general experienced from the people, before they had been forced to have recourse, in matters of tithe, to such harsh proceedings against them.  When the case for Captain Right was about to close, there was a slight stir, and a low indistinct murmur ran through those who thronged the ruin.

“There is another charge still to come,” said the young man who conducted the prosecution; “we pass by the three massacres, and all the blood that was shed in them; and all the sorrow and misery, and affliction that they occasioned—­we pass them by, I say, and to show all here present that we are not like Purcel and his sons, resolved to avail ourselves of any advantage against those we prosecute, I will just confine myself to one case of murder, instead of many—­because you all know, that if they are found guilty upon one count, it will be sufficient for our purpose.  Widow Flanagan, come up and prove your sorrowful case.”

A pale, emaciated woman, whose countenance was the very reflex of affliction and despair, now was assisted to make her way from the further part of the building.  She was dressed in the deepest mourning, with the exception of the ribbons, which were, like the rest, a deep blood-red, as an indication that one of her family had been murdered.

“Widow Flanagan,” said the counsel for Captain Right, “will you have the goodness to state your distressing case?”

“Oh, no, no!” she exclaimed; “I’ll not state it—­I’m beginnin’ to fear what your intentions is this night; and as for me, I’ll not help you, by act or word, to fulfil that fearful intention.  Oh, change it!” she exclaimed; “there has been too much blood shed in the country; too much bad work every way in it.  Call upon God to change your hearts, and go home to your families while your hands isn’t yet stained with blood!  You all know what the law is when it’s let loose upon you, as it ought be, whenever you commit murther, and take away your fellow-crature’s life.  I forgive Purcel and his sons; it was neither him nor them that took my boy’s life, but the sogers—­oh, no!” she exclaimed, “I see what you’re bint on, and why you are sittin’ to try the unfortunate Purcels.  I read it in your black fearful looks, and dark faces—­may God turn your hearts, and forgive you for bringin’ me here this night!  Surely you ought to know that one like me, who suffered so much by the spillin’ of blood, wouldn’t wish to see my fellow-cratures sufferin’ as I am?  Oh, no!  I forgive the Purcels, and why shouldn’t you? an’ the worst prayer I have for them is, that God may forgive them and change their hearts!” Alas! that we should say so, but the truth is, that no charge against Purcel, how bitter and malignant soever it might have been, could have occasioned such a deep-seated and uncontrollable vengeance against the unfortunate family, as the language of this extraordinary and great-minded peasant woman.  There was nothing further said at the moment, every attention was paid to her wishes; in accordance with which a party of men and horses were sent to convey her safely home.