“What’s the matter now?” inquired Denis, with alarm:  “is it anything about us, Anthony?”

“No, ’tisn’t,” replied the other, “anything about us!  What ’ud it be about us for?  ‘Tis a lyin’ report that some cunnin’ knave spread, hopin’ to find out the guilty.  But hear me, Denis, once for all; we’re goin’ to clear ourselves—­now listen—­an’ let my words sink deep into you heart:  if you refuse to swear this day—­no matther what’s put into your hand—­you’ll do harm—­that’s all:  have courage, man; but should you cow, your coorse will be short; an’ mark, even if you escape me, your sons won’t:  I have it all planned:  an’ corp an duowol! thim you won’t know from Adam will revenge me, if I am taken up through your unmanliness.”

“’Twould be betther for us to lave the counthry,” said Anne; “we might slip away as it is.”

“Ay,” said the father, “an’ be taken by the neck afore we’d get two miles from the place! no, no, girl; it’s the safest way to brazen thim out.  Did you hear me, Denis?”

Denis started, for he had been evidently pondering on the mysterious words of Anne, to which his brother’s anxiety to conceal them gave additional mystery.  The coffin, too, recurred to him; and he feared that the death shadowed out by it would in some manner or other occur in the family.  He was, in fact, one of those miserable villains with but half a conscience;—­that is to say, as much as makes them the slaves of the fear which results from crime, without being the slightest impediment to their committing it.  It was no wonder he started at the deep pervading tones of his brother’s voice, for the question was put with ferocious energy.

On starting, he looked with vague terror on his brother, fearing, but not comprehending, his question.

“What is it, Anthony?” he inquired.  “Oh, for that matther,” replied the other, “nothin’ at all:  think of what I said to you any how; swear through thick an’ thin, if you have a regard for your own health, or for your childher.  Maybe I had betther repate it again for you?” he continued, eyeing him with mingled fear and suspicion.  “Dennis, as a friend, I bid you mind yourself this day, an’ see you don’t bring aither of us into throuble.”

There lay before the Cassidys’ houses a small flat of common, trodden into rings by the young horses they were in the habit of training.  On this level space were assembled those who came, either to clear their own character from suspicion, or to witness the ceremony.  The day was dark and lowering, and heavy clouds rolled slowly across the peaks of the surrounding mountains; scarcely a breath of air could be felt; and, as the country people silently approached, such was the closeness of the day, their haste to arrive in time, and their general anxiety, either for themselves or their friends, that almost every man, on reaching the spot, might be seen taking up the skirts of his “cothamore,” or “big coat,” (the peasant’s handkerchief), to wipe the sweat from his brow; and as he took off his dingy woollen hat, or caubeen, the perspiration rose in strong exhalations from his head.