The Prophet turned round, and fixing his eyes upon his daughter, they stood each gazing upon the other for some time.  He then looked for a moment into the ground, after which he sat down upon a stool, and covering his face with both his hands, remained in that position for two or three minutes.

“Am I right, father?” she repeated.

He raised his eyes, and looking upon her with his usual composure, replied—­

“No—­you are wrong—­you are very wrong.  When I was a light-hearted, affectionate boy, playing with my brothers and sisters, I was a villain.  When I grew into youth, Sarah, an’ thought every one full of honesty an’ truth, an’ the world all kindness, an’ nothin’ about me but goodness, an’ generosity, an’ affection, I was, of coorse, a villain.  When I loved the risin’ sun—­when I looked upon the stars of heaven with a wonderin’ and happy heart—­when the dawn of mornin’ and the last light of the summer evening filled me with joy, and made me love every one and everything about me—­the trees, the runnin’ rivers, the green fields, and all that God—­ha, what am I sayin’?—­I was a villain.  When I loved an’ married your mother, an’ when she—­but no matther—­when all these things happened, I was, I say, a villain; but now that things is changed for the betther, I am an honest man!”

“Father, there is good in you yet,” she said, as her eyes sparkled in the very depth of her excitement, with a hopeful animation that had its source in a noble and exalted benevolence, “you’re not lost.”

“Don’t I say,” he replied, with a cold and bitter sneer, “that I am an honest man.”

“Ah,” she replied, “that’s gone too, then—­look where I will, everything’s dark—­no hope—­no hope of any kind; but no matther now; since I can’t do betther, I’ll make them think o’ me:  aye, an’ feel me too.  Come, then, what have you to say to me?”

“Let us have a walk, then,” replied her father.  “There is a weeny glimpse of sunshine, for a wondher.  You look heated—­your face is flushed too, very much, an’ the walk will cool you a little.”

“I know my face is flushed,” she replied; “for I feel it burnin’, an’ so is my head; I have a pain in it, and a pain in the small o’ my back too.”

“Well, come,” he continued, “and a walk will be of sarvice to you.”

They then went out in the direction of the Rabbit Bank, the Prophet, during their walk, availing himself of her evident excitement to draw from her the history of its origin.  Such a task, indeed, was easily accomplished, for this singular creature, in whom love of truth, as well as a detestation of all falsehood and subterfuge, seemed to have been a moral instinct, at once disclosed to him the state of her affections, and, indeed, all that the reader already knows of her love for Dalton, and her rivalry with Mave Sullivan.  These circumstances were such precisely as he could have wished for, and our readers need scarcely be told that he failed not to aggravate her jealousy of Mave, nor to suggest to her the necessity on her part, if she possessed either pride or spirit, to prevent her union with Dalton by every means in her power.