“‘Oh! for heaven’s sake, sir, stop there,’ said Doran, ’that brings to my mind the business I had with you, Mr. Johnston.’

“‘What is it about?’ inquired Vengeance, in his usual eager manner.

“‘Do you mind,’ said Mick, ’that a paper was stuck one night upon your door, threatening you, if you wouldn’t lave that farm you’re in?’.

“’I do, the blood-thirsty villains! but they knew a trick worth two of coming near me.’

“‘Well,’ said Mick, ’a strange man, that I never seen before, came into me last night, and tould me, if I’d see you, to say that you would get a visit from the boys this night, and to take care of yourself.’

“‘Give me the hand, Mick,’ said Vengeance,—­’give me the hand; in spite of the priests, by the light of day you’re an honest fellow.  This night you say, they’re to come?  And what are the bloody wretches to do, Mick.  But I needn’t ask that, for I suppose it’s to murder myself, and to burn my place.

“‘I’m afeard, sir, you’re not far from the truth,’ replied Mick; ’but, Mr. Johnston, for God’s sake don’t mintion my name; for, if you do, I’ll get myself what they were laying out for you, be bumed in my bed maybe.’

“‘Never fear, Mick,’ replied Vengeance; ’your name will never cross my lips.’

“‘It’s a great thing,’ said Mick, ’that would make me turn informer:  but sure, only for your kindness and the goodness of your family, the Lord spare you to one another! mightn’t I be dead long ago?  I couldn’t have one minute’s peace if you or yours came to any harm when I could prevint it.’

“‘Say no more, Mick,’ said Vengeance, taking his hand again; ’I know that, leave the rest to me; but how do you find yourself, my poor fellow?  You look weaker than you did, a good deal.’

“‘Indeed I’m going very fast, sir,’ replied Mick; ’I know it’ll soon be over with me.’

“‘Hut, no, man,’ said Vengeance, drawing his hand rapidly across his eyes, and clearing his voice, ’not at all—­don’t say so; would a little broth serve you? or a bit of fresh meat?—­or would you have a fancy for anything that I could make out for you?  I’ll get you wine, if you think it would do you good.”

“‘God reward you,’ said Mick feebly—­’God reward you, and open your eyes to the truth.  Is my mother likely to come in, do you think?’

“‘She must be here in a few minutes,’ the other replied; ’she was waiting till they’d churn, that she might bring you down a little fresh milk and butter.’

“‘I wish she was wid me,’ said the poor lad, ‘for I’m lonely wantin’ her—­her voice and the very touch of her hands goes to my heart.  Mother, come home, and let me lay my head upon your breast, agra machree, for I think it will be for the last time:  we lived lonely, avourneen, wid none but ourselves—­sometimes in happiness, when the nabors ’ud be kind to us—­and sometimes in sorrow, when there ’ud be none to help us.  It’s over now, mother, and I’m lavin’ you for ever!’