mentioned might be overlooked an’ forgiven, for the sake of your wife and daughters, but it is for your conduct as a Tithe Proctor that you and your sons must die.  Don’t think to escape me, for it can’t be done.  There is not a day in the week, nor an hour in the day, but I have you at my command.  Be prepared, then, for your fate is sealed; and no earthly power can save you.  There is the sign [three coffins] and the blood that marks my name is from my own veins.  You and your sons must die.

“Captain Terror,

“The Millstone-breaker.”

“Tut,” said Alick, “we have received far worse than this; it has been written by some hedge schoolmaster; as for my part, I despise it.”

“Well, boys, at all events,” proceeded the proctor, “be a little more sparing with the horse-whip.  The scoundrels deserve it to be sure; but at the same time it is not a thing that can be defended.”

“Why, it’s impossible to keep it from them, father,” replied John; “their insolence is actually more than flesh and blood can bear.  But had we not better make some inquiries into this precious production?”

“Where is the use of that?” said his father, to whom such communications had lost all their novelty and much of their interest; “however, you may do so; perhaps some accidental clue may be found that would lead us to discover the villain who wrote it.”

Mogue was accordingly called in.

“How did this letter come into your hands, Mogue?” asked the proctor.

“It didn’t come into them, sir,” replied Mogue, with a smile which he intended to pass, for one of simplicity; “it was lyin’ I got it, upon the hall-door steps.”

“Did you see any strange person about the place, or near the hall-door to-day?” he asked.

“None, sir, sorra a creature—­well now, wait—­that I may never sup sorrow, but I did—­there was a poor woman, sir, wid a whack of a son along wid her.”

“Did you see her near the steps?”

“That I may be happy, sir, if I could take it upon me to say—­not wishin’ to tell a lie—­but she might a’ been there, the crathur.”

“What kind of a looking woman was she?” asked John.

“A poor woman, sir, as I said.”

“I do not mean that; of course, I know she was; but what dress had she on, and what kind of features or complexion had she?  Was she big or little?”

“I’m just thinkin’,” replied Mogue, seemingly attempting to recollect something, “was it to-day or yesterday I seen her.”

“Well, but answer directly,” said Alick, “what was she like?”

“The son of her was a bullet-headed ownsha,” replied Mogue, “and herself—­well now, that I may never die in sin, if I could say rightly.  I was fetehin’ some oats to Gimlet Eye, an’ didn’t take any particular notice.  The ownsha had black sooty hair, cut short, an’ walked as if his feet were sore—­and indeed it strikes me that he had kibes—­for these poor people isn’t overly clane, an’ don’t wash their feet goin’ to bed at night, barrin’ at Christmas or Easther, the crathurs.  But, sure the Lord look down on them, they have enough to do to live at all!”