’A sailor courted a farmer’s daughter
     That lived contageous to the isle of Man,’” &c.

She then directed her steps to the dance in Kilnahushogue, where one would actually suppose, if mirth, laughter, and extraordinary buoyancy of spirits could be depended on, that she was gifted, in addition to her remarkable beauty, with the innocent and delightful disposition of an angel.

The step-mother having dressed the wound as well as she could, sat down by the fire and began to ruminate on the violent contest which had just taken place, and in which she had borne such an unfortunate part.  This was the first open and determined act of personal resistance which she had ever, until that moment, experienced at her step-daughter’s hands; but now she feared that, if they were to live, as heretofore, under the same roof, their life would be one of perpetual strife—­perhaps of ultimate bloodshed—­and that these domestic brawls might unhappily terminate in the death of either.  She felt that her own temper was none of the best, and knew that so long as she was incapable of restraining it, or maintaining her coolness under the provocations to which the violent passions of Sarah would necessarily expose her, so long must such conflicts as that which had just occurred take place between them.  She began now to fear Sarah, with whose remorseless disposition she was too well acquainted, and came to the natural conclusion, that a residence under the same roof was by no means compatible with her own safety.

“She has been a curse to me!” she went on, unconsciously speaking aloud; “for when she wasn’t able to bate me herself, her father did it for her.  The divil is said to be fond of his own; an’ so does he dote on her, bekase she’s his image in everything that’s bad.  A hard life I’ll lead between them from this out, espeshially now that she’s got the upper hand of me.  Yet what else can I expect or desarve?  This load that is on my conscience is worse.  Night and day I’m sufferin’ in the sight of God, an’ actin’ as if I wasn’t to be brought in judgment afore him.  What am I to do?  I wish I was in my grave!  But then, agin’, how am I to face death?—­and that same’s not the worst; for afther death comes judgment!  May the Lord prepare me for it, and guide and direct me how to act!  One thing, I know, must be done—­either she or I will lave this house; for live undher the same roof wid her I will not.”

She then rose up, looked out of the door a moment, and, resuming her seat, went on with her soliloquy—­

“No; he said it was likely he wouldn’t be home to-night.  Wanst he gets upon his ould prophecies, he doesn’t care how long he stays away; an’ why he can take the delight he does in prophesyin’ and foretellin’ good or evil, accordin’ as it sarves his purpose, I’m sure I don’t know—­espeshially when he only laughs in his sleeve at the people for believin’ him; but what’s that about poor Gra Gal