“But how did you happen to come here, Con?” she asked; “to be here at the very minute, too?”

“Why,” said he, “I was desired to be the first to meet you after you passed the Grey Stone—­the very one we’re sittin’ on—­if I loved you, an’ wished to sarve you.”

“But who on earth could tell you this?” she asked; “bekaise I thought no livin’ bein’ knew of it but myself and Donnel Dhu.”

“It was Sarah, his daughter,” said Dalton; “but when I asked her why I should come to do so, she wouldn’t tell me—­she said if I wished to save you from evil, or at any rate from trouble.  That’s a strange girl—­his daughter,” he added; “she makes one do whatever she likes.”

“Isn’t she very handsome?” said Mave, with an expression of admiration.  “I think she’s without exception, the prettiest girl I ever seen; an’ her beautiful figure beats all; but somehow they say every one’s afraid of her, an’ durstn’t vex her.”

“She examined me well yesterday, at all events,” replied Con.  “I thought them broad, black, beautiful eyes of hers would look through me.  Many a wager has been laid as to which is the handsomest—­you or she; an’ I know hundreds that ’ud give a great deal to see you both beside one another.”

“Indeed, an’ she has it then,” said Mave, “far an’ away, in face, in figure, an’ in everything.”

“I don’t think so,” he replied; “but at any rate not in everything—­not in the heart, dear Mave—­not in the heart.”

“They say she’s kind hearted, then,” replied Mave.

“They do,” said Con, “an’ I don’t know how it comes; but somehow every one loves her, and every one fears her at the same time.  She asked me yestherday if I thought my father murdhered Sullivan.”

“Oh! for God’s sake, don’t talk about it,” said Mave, again getting pale; “I can’t bear to hear it spoken of.”

The Grey Stone—­on a low ledge of which, nearly concealed from public view, our lovers had been sitting—­was, in point of size, a very large rock of irregular size.  After the last words, alluding to the murder, had been uttered, an old man, very neatly but plainly dressed, and bearing a pedlar’s pack, came round from behind a projection of it, and approached them.  From his position, it was all but certain that he must have overheard their whole conversation.  Mave, on seeing him, blushed deeply, and Dalton himself felt considerably embarrassed at the idea that the stranger had been listening, and become acquainted with circumstances that were never designed for any other ears but their own.

The old man, on making his appearance, surveyed our lovers from head to foot with a curious and inquisitive eye—­a circumstance which, taken in connection with his eaves-dropping, was not at all relished by young Dalton.

“I think you will know us again,” said he in no friendly voice.  “How long have you been sittin’ behind the corner there?” he inquired.

“I hope I may know yez agin,” replied the pedlar, for he was one; “I was jist long enough behind the corner to hear some of what you were spakin’ about last.”