“One night, about twelve o’clock, a tap came to Widow Doran’s door, who happened to be attending the invalid, as he was then nearly in the last stage of his illness.  When she opened it, the other son entered, in an evident hurry, having the appearance of a man who felt deep and serious anxiety.

“‘Mother,’ said he, ’I was very uneasy entirely about Mick, and just started over to see him, although they don’t know at home that I’m out, so I can’t stay a crack; but I wish you would go to the door for two or three minutes, as I have something to say to him.’

“’Why, thin, Holy Mother!—­Jack, a-hagur, is there anything the matther, for you look as if you had seen something?’*

     * This phrase means—­you look as if you had seen a
     ghost; it is a very common one.

“‘Nothing worse than myself, mother,’ he replied; ’nor there’s nothing the matther at all—­only I have a few words to say to Mick here, that’s all.’

“The mother accordingly removed herself out of hearing.

“‘Mick,’ says the boy, ’this is a bad business—­I wish to God I was clear and clane out of it.’

“‘What is it?’ said Mick, alarmed. “’ Murther, I’m afeard, if God doesn’t turn it off of them, somehow.

“‘What do you mane, man, at all?’ said the invalid, raising himself, in deep emotion, on his elbow, from his poor straw bed.

“‘Vengeance,’ said he—­’Vengeance, man—­he’s going to get it.  I was out with the boys on Sunday evening, and at last it’s agreed on to visit him to-morrow night.  I’m sure and sartin he’ll never escape, for there’s more in for him than taking the farm, and daring them so often as he did—­he shot two fingers off of a brother-in-law of Jem Reilly’s one night that they war on for threshing him, and that’s coming home to him along with the rest.’

“‘In the name of God, Jack,’ inquired Mick, ’what do they intend to do to him?’

“’ Why,’ replied Jack, ’it’s agreed to put a coal in the thatch, in the first place; and although they were afeared to name what he’s to get besides, I doubt they’ll make a spatchcock of himself.  They won’t meddle with any other of the family, though—­but he’s down for it.’

“‘Are you to be one of them?’ asked Mick.

“‘I was the third man named,’ replied the other, ’bekase, they said, I knew the place.’

“‘Jack,’ said his emaciated brother, with much solemnity, raising himself up in the bed—­’Jack, if you have act or part in that bloody business, God in his glory you’ll never see.  Fly the country—­cut off a finger or toe—­break your arm—­or do something that may prevent you from being there.  Oh, my God!’ he exclaimed, whilst the tears fell fast down his pale cheeks—­’to go to murder the man, and lave his little family widout a head or a father over them, and his wife a widow!  To burn his place, widout rhime, or rason, or offince!  Jack, if you go, I’ll die cursing you.  I’ll appear to you—­I’ll let you rest neither night nor day, sleeping nor waking, in bed or out of bed.  I’ll haunt you, till you’ll curse the very hour you war born.’