“The fellow after all is only a fool,” she observed.  “If he were anything else, or if he had any serious intention of carrying such threats into effect, he most assuredly would not give expression to them, or put you on your guard against them.  No, he is only a fool and not worth thinking about:  let him go.”

They then proceeded to the cabin of poor Widow Cleary, to whom they administered the medicine with their own hands, and to whose children they brought their mother’s orders to attend the house, that they might be relieved with that comfortable food which their destitute circumstances so much required.

On their return home, the relation of the incident which we have just narrated very much amused the family, with the exception of M’Carthy, who expressed himself not quite at ease after having heard English’s threats.  “There is an extraordinary mystery about that man,” he observed; “no one knows or can tell who he is; you can call him a fool, too, but take my word that there never hung mystery about a fool yet; I fear he will be found to be something much worse than a fool.”

“Nonsense,” replied the proctor.  “The fellow is only ridiculous and contemptible; he and his clipped English are not worth thinking of—­let him go to the deuce.”

M’Carthy still shook his head, as if of opinion that they underrated the Buck’s power of injuring them, but the truth was that neither Purcel nor his sons were at all capable of apprehending either fear or danger; they, therefore, very naturally looked upon the denunciations of English with a recklessness that was little less than foolhardy.

During the last few years they had been accustomed to receive threats and written notices of vengeance, which had all ended in nothing, and, in consequence of this impunity, they had become so completely inured to them as to treat them only with laughter and scorn.

It has been already intimated to the reader that M’Carthy was residing, during a short visit to the country, at the house of O’Driscol, the newly-made magistrate.  It was pretty late that evening when he took leave of the Purcels, but as the distance was not far he felt no anxiety at all upon the subject of his journey.  The night, however, was so pitchy dark, that even although well acquainted as he was with the road, he found some difficulty in avoiding the drains and ditches that enclosed it.  At length he had arrived within a couple of hundred yards of O’Driscol’s house, when as he was proceeding along suddenly found himself come unexpectedly against some individual, who was coming from an opposite direction.

“Hillo! who is here?” said the voice, in a kind of whisper.

“A friend,” replied M’Carthy; “who are you?”

“What’s your name?” inquired the strange voice, “and be quick.”

“My name is M’Carthy,” replied our friend; “why do you ask?”

“Come this way,” said the stranger; “you are Francis M’Carthy, I think?”