“Husht, now—­husht,” she said, as if aside—­“husht, won’t you—­sure I may speak the thing to her—­you said it—­there now, husht!” And then fastening her dark eyes on Mrs. Sullivan, she smiled bitterly and mysteriously.

“I know you well,” she said, without, however, returning the blessing contained in the usual reply to Mrs. Sullivan’s salutation—­“I know you well, Mary Sullivan—­husht, now, husht—­yes, I know you well, and the power of all that you carry about you; but you’d be better than you are—­and that’s well enough now—­if you had sense to know—­ah, ah, ah!—­what’s this!” she exclaimed abruptly, with three distinct shrieks, that seemed to be produced by sensations of sharp and piercing agony.

“In the name of goodness, what’s over you, honest woman?” inquired Mrs. Sullivan, as she started from her chair, and ran to her in a state of alarm, bordering on terror—­“Is it sick you are?”

The woman’s face had got haggard, and its features distorted; but in a few minutes they resumed their peculiar expression of settled wildness and mystery.  “Sick!” she replied, licking her parched lips, “awirck, awirek! look! look!” and she pointed with a shudder that almost convulsed her whole frame, to a lump that rose on her shoulders; this, be it what it might, was covered with a red cloak, closely pinned and tied with great caution about her body—­“’tis here!  I have it!”

“Blessed mother!” exclaimed Mrs. Sullivan, tottering over to her chair, as finished a picture of horror as the eye could witness, “this day’s Friday:  the saints stand betwixt me an’ all harm!  Oh, holy Mary protect me! Nhanim an airh,” in the name of the Father, etc., and she forthwith proceeded to bless herself, which she did thirteen times in honor of the blessed virgin and the twelve apostles.

“Ay, it’s as you see!” replied the stranger, bitterly.  “It is here—­husht, now—­husht, I say—­I will say the thing to her, mayn’t I?  Ay, indeed, Mary Sullivan, ’tis with me always—­always.  Well, well, no, I won’t.  I won’t—­easy.  Oh, blessed saints, easy, and I won’t.”

In the meantime Mrs. Sullivan had uncorked a bottle of holy water, and plentifully bedewed herself with it, as a preservative against this mysterious woman and her dreadful secret.

“Blessed mother above!” she ejaculated, “the Lianhan Shee” And as she spoke, with the holy water in the palm of her hand, she advanced cautiously, and with great terror, to throw it upon the stranger and the unearthly thing she bore.

“Don’t attempt it!” shouted the other, in tones of mingled fierceness and terror, “do you want to give me pain without keeping yourself anything at all safer?  Don’t you know it doesn’t care about your holy water?  But I’d suffer for it, an’ perhaps so would you.”

Mrs. Sullivan, terrified by the agitated looks of the woman, drew back with affright, and threw the holy water with which she intended to purify the other on her own person.