“Listen,” said he, “listen, Jerry Sullivan, and Bridget, his wife; a child was born, and a page was written—­the moon saw it, and the stars saw it; but the sun did not, for he is dark to fate an’ sees nothing but the face of nature.  Do you understand that, Jerry Sullivan, an’ you Bridget, his wife?”

“Well, troth we can’t say we do yet, at all events,” they replied; “but how could we, ye know, if it’s regardin’ prophecy you’re spakin’.”

“Undherstand it!” he replied, contemptuously, “you undherstand it!—­no nor Father Philemy Corcoran himself couldn’t undherstand it, barrin’ he fasted and prayed, and refrained from liquor, for that’s the way to get the ray o’ knowledge; at laist it’s, the way I got it first—­however, let that pass.  As I was sayin’ a child was born and a page was written—­and an angel from heaven was sent to Nebbychodanazor, the prophet, who was commanded to write.  What will I write? says Nebbychodanazor, the prophet.  Write down the fate of a faymale child, by name Mave Sullivan, daughter to Jerry Sullivan and his wife Bridget, of Aughnmurrin.  Amin, says the prophet; fate is fate, what’s before is not behind, neither is what’s behind before, and every thing will come to pass that’s to happen.  Amin, agin, says the prophet, an’ what am I to write?  Grandeur an’ wealth—­up stairs and down stairs—­silks-an’ satins—­an inside car—­bracelets, earrings, and Spanish boots, made of Morroccy leather, tanned at Cordovan.  Amin, agin, says Nebbychodanazor, the prophet; this is not that, neither is that the other, but every is everything—­naither can something be nothing, nor nothing something, to the end of time; and time itself is but cousin jarmin to eternity—­as is recorded in the great book of fate, fortune and fatality.  Write again, says the angel.  What am I to write?  At the name of Mabel Sullivan place along wid all the rest, two great paragons of a woman’s life, Marriage and Prosperity—­write marriage happy, and prosperity numerous—­and so the child’s born, an’ the page written—­beauty and goodness, a happy father, and a proud mother—­both made wealthy through her means.”

“And so,” he proceeded, dropping the recitative, and resuming his natural voice—­

“Be kind and indulgent to your daughter, for she’ll yet live to make all your fortunes.  Take care of her and yourself till I sees yez again.”

And without adding another word he departed.

CHAPTER IV. —­ A Dance, and Double Discovery.

The dance to which Sarah M’Gowan went after the conflict with her step-mother, was but a miserable specimen of what a dance usually is in Ireland.  On that occasion, there were but comparatively few assembled; and these few, as may be guessed, consisted chiefly of those gay and frolicsome spirits whom no pressure of distress, nor anything short of sickness or death, could sober down into seriousness.  The meeting, in fact, exhibited a painful union of mirth