“Ay,” said the pedlar, “listen how he sticks to the ould villain—­but sure, if you put any other two blisthers together, they’ll do the same.”

“My own opinion is,” observed Hanlon’s aunt, “that it’s a pity of the Daltons, at any raite.  Every one feels for them—­but still the hand o’ God an’ his curse, I’m afeard, is upon them.”

“An’ that’s more, maybe, than you know,” replied Jemmy.  “Maybe God’s only punishing them, bekaise he loves them.  It’s good to have our suffering in this world.”

“Afther all,” said the pedlar, “I’m afeard myself, too, that the wrath o’ the Almighty has marked them out.  Indeed, I’m sure of it.”

“An’ maybe that’s not the only lie you’re sure of,” replied Jemmy.  “It’s a subject, any way, you don’t undherstand.  No,” he proceeded, “by all accounts, Charley, it would wring any one’s heart to see him taken away in his ould age from his miserable family and childre, and then he’s so humble, too, and so resigned to the will an’ way o’ God.  He’s lyin’ ill in the gaol.  I seen him yestherday—­I went to see him an’ to say whatever I could to comfort him.  God pity his gray hairs! an’—­hem—­have compassion on him and his this day!”

The poor fellow’s heart could stand the sudden contemplation of Dalton’s sorrow no longer—­and on uttering the last words he fairly wept.

“If I had known what it was about,” he proceeded; “but that ould scoundrel of a Prophet—­ay, an’ that other ould scoundrel of a masther o’ mine—­hem ay—­whish—­but—­what am I sayin’?—­but if I had known it, ‘ud go hard but I’d give him a lift—­so that he might get out o’ the way, at any rate.”

“Ay,” said the pedlar, “at any rate, indeed—­faith, you may well say it; but I say, that at any rate he’ll be hanged as sure as he murdhered Sullivan, and as sure as he did, that he may swing, I pray this day!”

“I’ll hould no more discoorse wid that circulatin’ vagabone,” replied Jemmy; “I’m a Christian man—­a peaceable man; an’ I know what my religion ordhers me to do when I meet the likes of him—­and that is when he houlds the one cheek towardst me to give him a sound Christian rap upon the other.  So to the divil I pitch, you, you villain, sowl and body, an’ that’s the worst I wish you.  If you choose to be unchristian, be so; but, be my sowl, I’ll not set you the example.  Charley,” he proceeded, addressing Hanlon, “I was sent for you in a hurry.  Masther Dick wants you, and so does Red Rody—­the villain! and I tell you to take care of him, for, like that vagabone, Judas, he’d kiss you this minute and betray you the next.”

“I believe you’re purty near the truth,” replied Jemmy, “but I was near forgettin’—­it seems the Crowner of the country is sick, an’ there can’t be an inquest held till he recovers; if he ever does recover, an’ if it ’ud sarve poor ould Dalton, that he never may, I pray God this day!—­come away, you’ll be killed for stayin’.”

Just then young Henderson himself called Hanlon forth, who, after some conversation with him, turned towards the garden, where he held a second conference with Red Rody, who, on leaving him appeared in excellent spirits, and kept winking and nodding, with a kind of burlesque good humor, at every one whom he knew, until he reached home.