“That’s thrue,” said her mother; “but with regard to the blood——­”

She was about to proceed, when Mave rose up, and requested to be taken out of the room.

“Bring me to the kitchen,” said she, “I’m afraid; and see this blood, mother.”

Precisely as she spoke, a few drops of blood fell from her nose, which, of course, accounted for its appearance on Donnel’s face, and probably for her terror also at his repulsive aspect.

“What makes you afeard of poor Donnel, asthore?” asked her mother—­“a man that wouldn’t injure a hair of your head, nor of one belongin’ to you, an’ never did.”

“Why, when my father,” she returned, “spoke about the coat there, an’ just as Donnel started, I looked at it, an’ seen it movin’, I don’t know why, but I got afeard of him.”

Sullivan held up the candle mechanically, as she spoke, towards the coat, upon which they all naturally gazed; but, whether from its dim flickering light, or the force of imagination, cannot be determined, one thing was certain, the coat appeared actually to move again, as if disturbed by some invisible hand.  Again, also, the prophet involuntary started, but only for a single moment.

“Tut,” said he, “it’s merely the unsteady light of the candle; show it here.”

He seized the rushlight from Sullivan, and approaching the coat, held it so close to it, that had there been the slightest possible motion, it could not have escaped their observation.

“Now,” he added, “you see whether it moves or not; but, indeed, the poor girl is so frightened by the great scowldin’ she got, that I don’t wondher at the way she’s in.”

Mrs. Sullivan kept still gazing at the coat, in a state of terror almost equal to that of her daughter.

“Well,” said she, “I’ve often heard it said that one is sometimes to disbelieve their own eyes; an’ only that I known the thing couldn’t happen, I would swear on the althar that I seen it movin’.”

“I thought so myself, too,” observed Sullivan, who also seemed to have been a good deal perplexed and awed by the impression; “but of coorse I agree wid Donnel, that it was the unsteady light of the rush that made us think so; howaniver, it doesn’t matther now; move or no move, it won’t bring him that owned it back to us, so God rest him!—­and now, Bridget, thry an’ get us some-thin’ to ait.”

“Before the girl leaves the room,” said the prophecy man, “let me spake what I think an’ what I know.  I’ve lost many a weary day an’ night in studyin’ the further, an’ in lookin’ into what’s to come.  I must spake, then, what I think an’ what I know, regardin’ her.  I must; for when the feelin’ is on me, I can’t keep the prophecy back.”

“Oh! let me go, mother,” exclaimed the alarmed girl; “let me go; I can’t bear to look at him.”

“One minute, acushla, till you hear what he has to say to you,” and she held her back, with a kind of authoritative violence, as Mave attempted to leave the room.