“Utterly impossible, father,” exclaimed Julia, “there must be a mistake; that quiet and dutiful boy—­their only son—­never could have been concerned in the crime of murder.”

“Well, perhaps not, Judy; but, you silly girl, you talk as if you were in love with him.  Why, child, there is such a system abroad, now that a man can scarcely trust his own brother—­no, nor does a father know, when he sits down to his breakfast in the morning with his own son, whether, as Scripture says, he is not dipping his hand in the dish with a murderer.”

“Mat,” said his wife, “you ought not to be out late at night, nor the boys either.  You know there is a strong feeling against you; and indeed I think you ought not, any of you, ever to go out without, arms about you—­at all events, until the country gets quiet.”

“So I was just saying, Nancy,” replied her husband;—­“hallo! who’s this coming up to the hall-door?—­begad, our old pleasant friend, the Cannie Soogah.  Upon my troth, I’m glad to see him.  Hallo! Cannie!—­Cannie Soogah, my hearty,—­Jolly Pedlar, I say—­this way!  How are you, man?—­have you breakfasted?  Of course not.  Well, go to the kitchen and, if you don’t show good eating, it won’t be for want of materials.”

“God save you, Misther Purcel,” replied the pedlar, in a rich, round brogue; “God save you, young gintlemen.  Oh, thin, Misther Purcel, by my sowl it’s your four quarthers that has a right to be proud of your; family!  And the ladies—­not forgettin’ the misthress herself—­devil the likes of the same two young ladies I see on my whole bait, an’ that’s the country at large, barrin’ the barony of Bedhehusth, where these cruel murdhers is committed; an’ devil a foot I’ll ever set into it till it’s changed for the betther.”

“Well, be off,” said the proctor, “to the kitchen; get your breakfast first, and then we’ll chat to you.”

“I will; but oh, Misther Purcel darlin’, did you hear what happened last night?”

“Is it Murray’s business?”

“What do you call Murray’s business, Misther Purcel?  ’Tis Murray’s murdher, you mane?”

“Certainly, I have heard it all this morning in C------m.”

The pedlar only shook his head, looked upwards, and raising his two hands so as to express amazement, exclaimed—­“Well, well, what is the world goin’ to! troth, I’ll not ate half my breakwist in regard of it!” So saying he slung his huge pack upon his shoulder as if it had been a mere bag of feathers, and took his way round to the kitchen as he had been desired.

The Connie Soogah, for so the people universally termed him, was in person and figure a fine burly specimen of manhood.  His hair was black, as were a pair of large whiskers, that covered the greater portion of his face, and nearly met at his chin.  His arms and limbs were powerfully made, and what is not always the case in muscular men, they betokened great activity as well as unusual strength.  Nobody, for instance, would look without astonishment at the ease with which he swung a pack, that was weighty enough to load an ass, over his shoulder, or the lightness and agility with which he trotted on under it from morning till night, and this during the very severest heat of summer.