in close conversation.  The Prophet’s face was now free from the consequences of young Dalton’s violence, but it had actually gained in malignity more than it had lost by the discoloration and disfigurement resulting from the blow.  There was a calm, dark grin visible when he smiled, that argued a black and satanic disposition; and whenever the lips of his hard, contracted, and unfeeling mouth expanded by his devilish sneer, a portion of one of his vile side fangs became visible, which gave to his features a most hateful and viper-like aspect.  It was the cold, sneering, cowardly face of a man who took delight in evil for its own sake, and who could neither feel happiness himself, nor suffer others to enjoy it.

As they were about to enter the garden Donnel Dhu saw approaching him at a rapid and energetic pace, his daughter Sarah, whose face, now lit up by exercise, as well as by the earnest expression of deep interest which might be read in it, never before appeared so strikingly animated and beautiful.

“Who is this lovely girl approaching us?” asked the young man, whose eyes at once kindled with surprise and admiration.

“That is my daughter,” replied Donnel, coldly; “what can she want with me now, and what brought her here?”

“Upon my honor, Donnel, that girl surpasses anything I have seen yet.  Why she’s perfection—­her figure is—­is—­I haven’t words for it—­and her face—­good heavens! what brilliancy and animation!”

[Illustration:  PAGE 834—­ The Prophet’s brow darkened]

The Prophet’s brow darkened at his daughter’s unseasonable appearance in the presence of a handsome young fellow of property, whose character for gallantry was proverbial in the country.

“Sarah, my good girl,” said he, whilst his voice, which at once became low and significant, quivered with suppressed rage—­“what brought you here, I ax?  Did any one send for you? or is there a matther of life and death on hands, that you tramp afther me in this manner—­eh?”

“It may be life an’ death for any thing I know to the contrary,” she replied; “you are angry at something, I see,” she proceeded—­“but to save time, I want to spake to you.”

“You must wait till I go home, then, for I neither can nor will spake to you now.”

“Father, you will—­you must,” she replied—­“and in some private place too.  I won’t detain you long, for I haven’t much to say, and if I don’t say it now, it may be too late.”

“What the deuce, M’Gowan!” said Dick, “speak, to the young woman—­you don’t know but she may have something of importance to say to you.”

She glanced at the speaker, but with a face of such indifference, as if she had scarcely taken cognizance of him, beyond the fact that she found some young man there in conversation with her father.

Donnel, rather to take her from under the libertine gaze of his young friend, walked a couple of hundred yards to the right of the garden, where, under the shadow of some trees that over-hung a neglected fishpond, she opened the purport for her journey after him to the Grange.