At this moment a deep, terrific murmur, or rather ejaculation, corroborative of assent to this dreadful imprecation, pervaded the crowd in a fearful manner; their countenances darkened, their eyes gleamed, and their scowling visages stiffened into an expression of determined vengeance.

When these awful words were uttered, Grimes’s wife and daughters approached the window in tears, sobbing, at the same time, loudly and bitterly.

“You’re wrong,” said the wife—­“you’re wrong, Widow Kelly, in saying that my husband murdhered him:—­he did not murdher him; for when you and yours were far from him, I heard John Grimes declare before the God who’s to judge him, that he had no thought or intention of taking his life; he struck him in anger, and the blow did him an injury that was not intended.  Don’t curse him, Honor Kelly,” said she, “don’t curse him so fearfully; but, above all, don’t curse me and my innocent childher, for we never harmed you, nor wished you ill!  But it was this party work did it!  Oh, my God!” she exclaimed, wringing her hands in utter bitterness of spirit, “when will it be ended between friends and neighbors, that ought to live in love and kindness together instead of fighting in this bloodthirsty manner!”

She then wept more violently, as did her daughters.

“May God give me mercy in the last day, Mrs. Kelly, as I pity from my heart and soul you and your orphans,” she continued; “but don’t curse us, for the love of God—­for you know we should forgive our enemies, as we ourselves, that are the enemies of God, hope to be forgiven.”

“May God forgive me, then, if I have wronged you or your husband,” said the widow, softened by their distress; “but you know, that whether he intended his life or not, the stroke he gave him has left my childher without a father, and myself dissolate.  Oh, heavens above me!” she exclaimed, in a scream of distraction and despair, “is it possible—­is it thrue—­that my manly husband—­the best father that ever breathed the breath of life—­my own Denis, is lying dead—­murdhered before my eyes?  Put your hands on my head, some of you—­put your hands on my head, or it will go to pieces.  Where are you, Denis—­where are you, the strong of hand, and the tender of heart?  Come to me, darling, I want you in my distress.  I want comfort, Denis; and I’ll take it from none but yourself, for kind was your word to me in all my afflictions!”

All present were affected; and, indeed, it was difficult to say, whether Kelly’s wife or Grimes’s was more to be pitied at the moment.  The affliction of the latter and of her daughters was really pitiable; their sobs were loud, and the tears streamed down their cheeks like rain.  When the widow’s exclamations had ceased, or rather were lost in the loud cry of sorrow which were uttered by the keeners and friends of the deceased—­they, too, standing somewhat apart from the rest, joined in it bitterly; and the solitary wail of Mrs. Grimes, differing