the night on which she should receive from me a token she gave me. She, in like manner, gave me hers. That token I sent to her before I entered your doors this evening, and I appointed her father's ould house, where he lived in his poor days, and where I first saw her, to meet me. I must keep my word on all hazards". And he flung the cottage-door open as he spoke. "Then take care, take care", said the old woman, clasping her hands and extending them towards him, while she spoke in her native tongue. "The night, thank God! is a fine night, and the sea is still at the bottom of the cliffs, but it is an unsure path. I know the eyes that will be red, and the cheeks that will be white, and the young and fair ones too, if anything contrary should come to you this holy evening ". "I have given her my hand and word", was Moran's reply as he closed the door, and took the path over the sand hills. The moon was shining brightly when he reached the cliffs, and entered on the path leading to the old rendezvous of the lovers, and from thence to the ruined building, where he expected to meet Ellen. He trudged along in the light-heartedness of feeling inspired by the conviction he felt, that the happiness of the times, which every object he beheld brought to his recollection, had not passed away with those days, and that a fair and pleasant future yet lay before him. He turned off the sand-hills while luxuriating in those visions of unchecked delight. Passing the rocks of Duggara, he heard the plashing of oars, and the rushing of a canoe through the water. It seemed to make towards a landing-place further down, and lying almost on his path. He pursued his course, supposing, as in fact proved to be the case, that it was one of the fishermen drawing his canoe nearer to the caverns which were to be made the scene of a seal-hunt on the following day. As the little vessel glided through the water beneath him, a wild song, in the language of the country, rose to the broken crag on which he now rested, chaunted by a powerful masculine voice, with all the monotonous and melancholy intonation to which the construction of the music is peculiarly favourable. The following may be taken as a translation of the stanzas :— I saw the red cloud in the west, Against the morning light, Heaven shield the youth that she loves best The door flings wide! Loud moans the gale, It is, it is the Banthee's wail, Over the darkened hills, Ululah! Ululah! The day is past! the night is dark! III. The guests sit round the bridal bed, But they sit by the dead man's head. A fearful call! a sudden doom! Bridal and funeral ! Ululah! Ululah! A youth to Kilfiehera's ta'en. Before Moran had descended much further on his way, he perceived that the canoe had reached a point of the rock close upon his route. The fisherman jumped to land, made fast the painter, and turning up the path by which Moran was descending, soon encountered him. It was Yamon Macauntha. "Ho! Mr. Moran! Out on the cliffs this hour o' the night, sir ?” 66 Yes, I have a good way to go. Good by to you". "Easy a while, sir said Yamon; 66 that is the same way I'm going myself, and I'll be with you". Moran had no objection to this arrangement, although it was not altogether pleasing to him. He knew enough of the temper and habits of the smuggler to believe him capable of any design, and although he had been a stronger built man than he was, yet the odds, in case of any hostile attempt, would be fearfully in Yamon's favour. He remembered, too, certain rumours which had reached him of the latter being occasionally subject to fits of gloom approaching in their strength and intensity to actual derangement, and began to hesitate as to the more advisable course to be pursued. However, not to mention the pusillanimity of anything having the appearance of retreat, such a step would in all probability have been attempted in vain, for Yamon stood directly behind him, and the path was too narrow to admit the possibility of a successful struggle. He had only to obey the motion of the fisherman and move on. "You don't know", said the latter, 66 or may be you never heard of what I'm going to tell you now; but easy, and you'll know all in a minute. Do you see that sloping rock down by the sea, where the horse-gull is standing at this minute, the same we passed a while ago. When my mother was little better than seven months married, being living hard by on the sand-hills, she went many's the time down to that rock, to fetch home some of the salt-water for pickle and things, and never made any work of going down there late and early, and at all hours. Well, it was as it might be this way, on a fine bright night, that she took her can in her hand, and down with her to the rock. The tide was full in, and when she turned off o' the path, what should she see fronting her, out, and sitting quite erect intirely upon the rock, only a woman, and she having the tail of her gown turned up over her head, and she sitting quite still, and never spaking a word, and her back towards my mother. Dieu uth', says my mother, careless and civil, thinking of nothing, and wanting her to move; but she took no notice. Would it be troubling you if I'd just step down to get a drop o' the salt-water?' says my mother. Still no answer. So thinking it might be one of the neighbours that was funning, or else that it might be asleep she was, she asked her very plain and loud to move out o' the way. When there wasn't ere a word come after this, my mother stooped forward a little, and lifted the gownd from the woman's forehead, and peeped under-and what do you think she seen in the dark within? Two eyes as red as fire, and a shrivelly old face without any lips hardly, and they drawn back, and teeth longer than lobster's claws, and as white as the bleached bones. Her heart was down in her brogue* when it started up from her, and with a screech that made two halves of my mother's brains, it flew out over the wide sea. 66 My mother went home and took to her bed, from which she never stirred till 'twas to be taken to Kilfiehera church-yard. It was in that week I was born. I never pass that place at night alone, if I can help it— and that is partly the reason why I made so free to ask you to bear me company". Moran had his confidence fully reestablished by these words. He thought he saw in Yamon a wretch so * Shoe. preyed upon by remorse and superstition, as to be incapable of contemplating any deep crime, to which he had not a very great temptation. As Yamon still looked toward the rock beneath, the enormous horse-gull by which he had first indicated its position to Moran, took flight, and winged its way slowly to the elevation on which they stood. The bird rose above, wheeled round them, and with a shrill cry, that was repeated by a hundred echoes, dived again into the darkness underneath. Moran, at this instant, had his thoughts turned in another direction altogether, by the sight of the little recess in which Ellen and he had held their last conversation. He entered, followed by Yamon, who threw himself on the rude stone seat, observing that it was a place "for the phuka to make her bed in". The young traveller folded his arms, and gazed around for a few minutes in silence, his heart striving beneath the load of recollections which came upon him at every glance and motion. On a sudden, a murmured sound of voices was heard underneath, and Moran stooped down, and overlooked the brink of the tremendous precipice. There was a flashing of lights on the calm waters beneath, and in a few minutes a canoe emerged from the great cavern, bearing three or four men, with lighted torches, which, however, they extinguished as soon as they came into the clear moonlight. He continued to mark them until they were lost behind a projecting crag. He then turned, and in removing his hand detached a pebble, which, falling after a long pause into the sea, formed what is called by the peasant children, who practise it in sport, "a dead man's skull". It is formed when a stone is cast into the water, so as to emit no spray, but cutting rapidly and keenly through, in its descent, produces a gurgling evolution, bearing a momentary resemblance to the tables of a human skull. The sound ceased, and all again was still and silent, with the exception of the |