“Well, confound you!—­since they’ll have it so, I suppose I may as well admit it—­I believe I am a handsome dog, and I have reason to know that, that——­” here he shook his head and winked knowingly:  “Oh, come Donnel, my boy, I can go no further on that subject—­ha! ha! ha!”

“There is no dispute about it,” continued Donnel, gravely; “but still I think, that if it was not for the mention made of the dress, an’ grandeur, and state that she was to come to, she’d hardly turn round as she did.  Dalton, you know, is the handsomest young fellow, barring yourself, in the parish; an’ troth on your account an’ hers, I wish he was out of it.  He’ll be crossin’ you—­you may take my word for it—­an’ a dangerous enemy he’ll prove—­that I know.”

“Why? what do you mean?” Here the prophet, who was artfully trying to fill the heart of his companion with a spirit of jealousy against Dalton, paused for a moment, as if in deep reflection, after which he sighed heavily.  “Mane!” he at length replied; “I am unhappy in my mind, an’ I know I ought to do it, an’ yet I’m loth now after sich a length of time.  Mane, did you say, Masther Richard?”

“Yes, I said so, and I say so; what do you mean by telling me that young Dalton will be a dangerous enemy to me?”

“An’ so he will; an’ so he would to any one that he or his bore ill-will against.  You know there’s blood upon their hands.”

“No, I don’t know any such thing; I believe he was charged with the murder of Mave Sullivan’s uncle, but as the body could not be found, there were no grounds for a prosecution.  I don’t, therefore, know that there’s blood upon his hand.”

“Well, then, if you don’t—­may God direct! me!” he added, “an’ guide me to the best—­if you don’t, Masther Richard—­Heaven direct me agin!—­will I say it?—­could you get that family quietly out of the counthry, Masther Richard?  Bekaise if you could, it would be betther, maybe, for all parties.”

“You seem to know something about these Daltons, Mr. M’Gowan?” asked Dick, “and to speak mysteriously of them?”

“Well, then, I do,” he replied; “but! what I have to say, I ought to say it to your father, who is a magistrate.”

The other stared at him with surprise, but said nothing for a minute or two.

“What is this mystery?” he added at length; “I cannot understand you; but it is clear that you mean something extraordinary.”

“God pardon me, Masther Richard, but you are right enough.  No; I can’t keep it any longer.  Listen to me, sir, for I am goin’ to make a strange and a fearful discovery; I know who it was that murdhered Sullivan; I’m in possession of it for near the last two-an’-twenty years; I have travelled every where; gone to England, to Wales, Scotland, an’ America, but it was all of no use; the knowledge of the murdher! and the murdherer was here,” he laid his! hand upon his heart as he spoke; “an’ durin’ all that time I had peace neither by night nor by day.”