ferocious vengeance.  Others, on the contrary held different opinions; and thought that the old man’s account of the matter was both simple and natural, and bore the stamp of sincerity and truth upon the very face of it.  Jerry Sullivan only swore that, to the best of his opinion, the skeleton found was much about the size of what his brother’s would be; but as the proof of his private interment by Dalton had been clearly established by the evidence of the Prophet and Rody, constituting, as it did, an unbroken chain of circumstances which nothing could resist, the jury had no hesitation in returning the following verdict:—­

“We find a verdict of wilful murder against Cornelius Dalton, Senior, for that he, on or about the night of the fourteenth of December, in the year of grace, 1798, did follow and waylay Bartholomew Sullivan, and deprive him of his life by blows and violence, having threatened him to the same effect in the early part of the aforesaid day.”

During the progress of the investigation, our friend the pedlar and Charley Hanlon were anxious and deeply attentive spectators.  The former never kept his eyes off the Prophet, but surveyed him with a face in which it was difficult to say whether the expression was one of calm conviction or astonishment.  When the investigation had come to a close, he drew Hanlon aside and said—­

“That swearin’, Charley, was too clear, and if I was on the jury myself I would find the same verdict.  May the Lord support the poor old man in the mane time! for in spite of all that happened one can’t help pity’n’ him, or at any rate his unfortunate family.  However see what comes by not havin’ a curb over one’s passions when the blood’s up.”

“God’s a just God,” replied Hanlon—­“the murderer deserves his punishment, an’ I hope will meet it.”

“There is little doubt of it,” said the pedlar, “the hand of God is in it all.”

“That’s more than I see, or can at the present time, then,” replied Hanlon.  “Why should my aunt stay away so long?—­but I dare say the truth is, she is either sick or dead, an’ if that’s the case, what’s all you have said or done worth?  You see it’s but a chance still.”

“Trust in God,” replied the pedlar, “that’s all either of us can do or say now.  There’s the coffin.  I’m tould they’re goin’ to bury him, and to have the greatest funeral that ever was in the counthry; but, God knows, there’s funerals enough in the neighborhood widout their making a show of themselves wid this.”

“There’s no truth in that report either,” said Hanlon.  “I was speakin’ to Jerry Sullivan this mornin’, an’ I have it from him that they intend to bury him as quietly as they can.  He’s much changed from what he was—­Jerry is—­an’ doesn’t wish to have the old man hanged at all, if he can prevent it.”

“Hanged or not, Charley, I must go on with my petition to Dick o’ the Grange.  Of course I have no chance, but maybe the Lord put something good into Travers’s heart, when he bid me bring it to him; at any rate it can do no harm.”