Having satisfied herself that the skeleton was a human one, she cautiously put back the earth, and covered it up with the green sward, as graves usually are covered, and in such a way that there should exist, from the undisturbed appearance of the place, as little risk as possible of discovery.  This being-settled, she returned with the herbs, laying aside the spade, from off which she had previously rubbed the red earth, so as to prevent any particular observation; she sat down, and locking her fingers into each other, swayed her body backwards and forwards in silence, as a female does in Ireland when under the influence of deep and absorbing sorrow, whilst from time to time she fixed her eyes on the prophet, and sighed deeply.

“I thought,” said he, “I sent you for the dandelion; where is it?”

“Oh,” she replied, unrolling it from the corner of her apron, “here it is—­I forgot it—­ay, I forgot it—­and no wondher—­oh, no wondher, indeed!—­Providence!  You may blaspheme Providence as much as you like; but he’ll take his own out o’ you yet; an’ indeed, it’s comin’ to that—­it is, Donnel, an’ you’ll find it so.”

The man had just taken the herbs into his hand and was about to shred them into small leaves for the poultice, when she uttered the last words.  He turned his eyes upon her; and in an instant that terrible scowl, for which he was so remarkable, when in a state of passion, gave its deep and deadly darkness to his already disfigured visage.  His eyes blazed, and one half of his face became ghastly with rage.

“What do you mane?” he asked; “what does she mane, Sarah?  I tell you, wanst for all, you must give up ringing Providence into my ears, unless you wish to bring my hand upon you, as you often did! mark that!”

“Your ears,” she replied, looking at him calmly, and without seeming to regard his threat; “oh, I only wish I could ring the fear of Providence into your heart—­I wish I I could; I’ll do for yourself what you often pretend to do for others:  but I’ll give you warnin’.  I tell you now, that Providence:  himself is on your track—­that his judgment’s hangin’ over you—­and that it’ll fall upon! you before long.  This is my prophecy, and; a black one you’ll soon find it.”

That Nelly had been always a woman of some good nature, with gleams of feeling and humanity appearing in a character otherwise apathetic, hard, and dark, M’Gowan well knew; but that she was capable of bearding him in one of his worst and most ferocious moods, was a circumstance which amazed and absolutely overcame him.  Whether it was the novelty or the moral elevation of the position she so unexpectedly assumed, or some lurking conviction within himself which echoed back the truth of her language, it is difficult to say.  Be that, however, as it might, he absolutely quailed before her; and instead of giving way to headlong violence or outrage, he sat down, and merely looked on her in silence and amazement.