“Ha! ha! my dearest,” thought he, “I knew, notwithstanding all your beautiful startings and fencings, that matters would come to this.  There is nothing, after all, like leaving you to yourselves a little, and you are sure to come round.  My dear Miss Sullivan,” he added, aloud, “be composed—­say but what it is you wish, and if a man can accomplish it, it must be complied with, or procured for you.”

“Then,” said she, “if you are a human being, let me know when we come to the Grey Stone.”

“Undoubtedly, I shall.  The grim old Prophet promised to meet us there—­and, for a reason I have, I know he will keep his word.  We shall be there in less than a quarter of an hour.  But, my precious creature, now that you understand how we are placed with relation to each other, I think you might not, and ought not, object to allowing me to support you after the fatigue and agitation of the night—­hem!  Do repose your head upon my bosom, like a pretty, trembling, agitated dear, as you are.”

“Hould away!” exclaimed his companion; “don’t dare to lay a hand upon me.  If your life is worth anything—­an’ it’s not worth much—­keep your distance.  You’ll find your mistake soon.  I didn’t put myself in your power without the manes of defendin’ myself an’ punishin’ you, if you should desarve it.”

“Beautiful caprice!  But, my dearest girl, I can understand it all—­it is well done; and I know, besides, that a little hysterics will be necessary in their proper place; but for that you must wait till we get to our destination; and then you will be most charmingly affected with a fit—­a delightful, sweet, soft, sobbing fit—­which will render it necessary for me to soothe and console you; to wipe your lovely eyes; and then, you know, to kiss your delicious lips.  All this, my darling girl, will happen as a natural consequence, and in due time every thing will be well.”

There was no reply given to this; but the moaning was deeper, and apparently more indicative of pain and distress than before.  A third silence ensued, during which they arrived at the Grey Stone, of whose proximity the driver had received orders to give them intimation.

“Hallo!” exclaimed Henderson, “what’s the matter?  Why do you stop, my good fellow?”

“We are at the Grey Stone, your honor,” replied the man.

“Oh, very well; pull up a moment,” he added.  “My dear Miss Sullivan, we are at the Grey Stone now,” said he, addressing her.

She moaned again, and started.  “Whist,” said she; “I don’t hear his voice.”

At this moment a man approached the driver, and desired him to let him know that a person wished to speak with him.

The female in the carriage no sooner heard the voice, even although the words were uttered in whispers, than she called out—­

“Father, come to me—­help me home—­I’m dyin’!  You’ve been desaved, Mr. Henderson,” she added.  “It wasn’t Mave Sullivan, but the Prophet’s own daughter, you took away.  Blessed be God, I’ve saved her that disgrace.  Father, help me home.  I won’t be long a throuble to you now.”