“The first time she ever saw it,” she said, “was the night the carman was murdered, or that he disappeared, at any rate.  She resided by herself, in a little house at the mouth of the Glendhu—­the same she and the Prophet had lived in ever since.  They had not long been acquainted at that time—­but still longer than was right or proper.  She had been very little in the country then, and any time he did come was principally at night, when he stopped with her, and went away again, generally before day in the morning.  He passed himself on her as an unmarried man, and said his name was M’Gowan.  On that evening he came about dusk, but went out again, and she did not see him till far in the night, when he returned, and appeared to be fatigued and agitated—­his clothes, too, were soiled and crumpled, especially the collar of his shirt, which was nearly torn off, as in a struggle of some kind.  She asked him what was the matter with him, and said he looked as if he had been fighting.”  He replied—­

“No, Nelly; but I’ve killed two birds with one stone this night.”

She asked him what he meant by those words, but he would give her no further information.

“I’ll give no explanation,” said he, “but this;” and turning his back to her, he opened a tobacco-box, which, by stretching her neck, she saw distinctly, and, taking out a roll of bank notes, he separated one from the rest, and handing it to her, exclaimed—­“there’s all the explanation you can want; a close mouth, Nelly, is the sign of a wise-head, an’ by keepin’ a close mouth, you’ll get more explanations of this kind.  Do you understand that?” said he.  “I do,” she replied.

“Very well, then,” he observed “let that be the law and gospel between us.”

When he fell asleep, she got up, and looking at the box, saw that it was stuffed with bank notes, had a broken hinge—­the hinge was freshly broken—­and something like two letters on the lid of it.

“She then did not see it,” she continued, “until some weeks ago, when his daughter and herself having had a quarrel, in which the girl cut her—­she (his daughter) on stretching up for some cobwebs on the wall to stanch the bleeding, accidentally pulled the box out of a crevice, in which it had been hid.  About this time,” she added, “the prisoner became very restless at night, indeed, she might say by day and night, and after a good deal of gloomy ill temper, he made inquiries for it, and on hearing that it had again appeared, even threatened her life if it were not produced.”  She closed her evidence by stating that she had secreted it, but could tell nothing of its ultimate and mysterious disappearance.

Hanlon’s part in tracing the murder is already known, we presume, to the reader.  He dreamt, but his dream was not permitted to go to the jury, that his father came to him, and said, that if he repaired to the Grey Stone, at Glendhu, on a night which he named, at the hour of twelve o’clock, he would get such a clue to his murder as would enable him to bring his murderer to justice.