This was principally felt in the bewitching charm of her smile, which was irresistible, and might turn the heart of a demon into love.  All her motions were light and elastic, and her whole figure, though not completely developed, was sufficiently rounded by the fulness of health and youth to give promise of a rich and luxurious maturity.  On this occasion she became deadly pale, but as she was one of those whose beauty only assumes a new phase of attraction at every change, her paleness now made her appear, if possible, an object of greater interest.

“In God’s name, Jerry,” asked her mother, looking from father to daughter in a state of much distress, “what is wrong, or what has happened to put you in such a condition?  I see by the anger in your eye an’ the whiteness of your cheeks, barrin’ the little red spot in the middle, that something out o’ the way all out has happened to vex you.”

“You may well say so, Bridget,” he replied; “but when I tell you that I came upon that undutiful daughter of ours coortin’ wid the son of the man that murdhered her uncle—­my only brother—­you won’t be surprised at the state you see me in—­coortin’ wid a fellow that Dan M’Gowan here knows will be hanged yet, for he’s jist afther tellin’ him so.”

“You’re ravin’, Jerry,” exclaimed his wife, who appeared to feel the matter as incredible; “you don’t mane to tell me that she’d spake to, or know, or make any freedoms whatsomever wid young Condy Dalton, the son of her uncle’s murdherer?  Hut, no, Jerry, don’t say that, at all events—­any disgrace but that—­death, the grave—­or—­or anything—­but sich an unnatural curse as that would be.”

“I found them together behind the garden not many minutes ago,” replied Sullivan.  “Donnel here seen them as well as I did—­deny it she can’t; an’ now let her say what brought her there to meet him, or rather what brought him all the way to meet her?  Answer me that, you disgrace to the name—­answer me at wanst!”

The poor girl trembled and became so weak as to be scarcely able to stand:  in fact, she durst not raise her eye to meet that of either parent, but stood condemned and incapable of utterance.

The night had now nearly set in, and one of her little sisters entered with a rush candle in her hand, the light of which, as it fell dimly and feebly on the group, gave to the proceedings a wild and impressive appearance.  The prophecy-man, with his dark, stern look, peculiar nose, and black raven hair that fell thickly over his shoulders, contrasted strongly with the fair, artless countenance and beautiful figure of the girl who stood beside him, whilst over opposite them were Sullivan himself and his wife, their faces pale with sorrow, anxiety, and indignation.

“Give me the candle,” proceeded her father; “hand it to me, child, and leave the room; then,” he proceeded, holding it up to a great-coat of frieze which hung against the wall—­“there’s his coat—­there’s my lovin’ brother’s coat; look upon it now, an’ ax yourself what do you desarve for meeting against our will an’ consint the son of him that has the murdher of the man that owned it on his hands an’ on his heart?  What do you desarve, I say?”