"Good Heavens, Mr. Woodward! can this dreadful intelligence which we have heard be true?"

"O, you have heard it, then," replied Woodward. "Alas! yes, it is too true, and my unfortunate brother lies with life barely in him, but without the slightest hope of recovery. As for myself I am in a state of absolute distraction; and were it not that I possess the consciousness of having done everything in my power as a friend and brother to withdraw him from this unfortunate intrigue, I think I should become fairly crazed. Miss Goodwin has for some time past been aware of my deep anxiety upon this very subject, because I deemed it a solemn duty on my part to let her know that ha had degraded himself by this low attachment to such a girl, and was consequently utterly unworthy of her affection.

I could not see the innocence and purity imposed upon, nor her generous confidence placed on an unworthy object. This, however, is not a time to deal harshly by him. He will not be long with us, and is ent.i.tled to nothing but our forbearance and sympathy. Poor fellow! he has paid a heavy and a fatal penalty for his crime. Alas, my brother! cut down in the very prime of life, when there was still time enough for reformation and repentance! O, it is too much!"

He turned towards the window, and, putting his handkerchief to his eyes, did the pathetic with a very good grace.

"But," said Mrs. Goodwin, "what were the exact circ.u.mstances under which the deplorable act of vengeance was committed?"

"Alas! the usual thing, Mrs. Goodwin," replied Harry, attempting to clear his throat; "they met last night between nine and ten o'clock, in a clump of alders, near the well from which the inhabitants of the adjoining hamlet fetch their water. The outlaw, Shawn-na-Middogue, a rejected lover of the girl's, stung with jealousy and vengeance, surprised them, and stabbed my unfortunate brother, I fear, to death."

"And do you think there is no hope?" she added, with tears in her eyes; "O, if he had only time for repentance!"

"Alas! madam, the medical man who has seen him scarcely holds out any hope; but, as you say, if he had time even to repent, there would be much consolation in that."

"Well," observed Goodwin, his eyes moist with tears, "after this day, I shall never place confidence in man. I did imagine that if ever there was an individual whose heart was the source of honor, truth, generosity, disinterestedness, and affection, your brother Charles was that man. I am confounded, amazed--and the whole thing appears to me like a dream; at all events, thank G.o.d, our daughter has had a narrow escape of him."

"Pray, by the way, how is Miss Goodwin?" asked. Harry; "I hope she is recovering."

"So far from that," replied her father, "she is sinking fast; in truth we entertain but little hopes of her."

"On the occasion of my last visit here you forbade me your house, Mr.

Goodwin," said Woodward; "but perhaps, now that you are aware of the steps I have taken to detach your daughter's affections from an individual whom I knew at the time to be unworthy of them, you may be prevailed on to rescind that stern and painful decree."

Goodwin, who was kind-hearted and placable, seemed rather perplexed, and looked towards his wife, as if to be guided by her decision.

"Well, indeed," she replied, "I don't exactly know; perhaps we will think of it."

"No," replied Sarah Sullivan, who was toasting a thin slice of bread for Alice's breakfast. "No; if you allow this man to come about the place, as G.o.d is to judge me, you will both have a hand in your daughter's death. If the devils from h.e.l.l were to visit here, she might bear it; but at the present moment one look from that man would kill her."

This remonstrance decided them.

"No, Mr. Woodward," said Goodwin, "the truth is, my daughter entertains a strong prejudice against you--in fact, a terror of you--and under these circ.u.mstances, and considering, besides, her state of health, we could not think of permitting your visits, at least," he added, "until that prejudice be removed and her health restored--if it ever shall be.

We owe you no ill-will, sir; but under the circ.u.mstances we cannot, for the present, at least, allow you to visit us."

"Well," replied Woodward, "perhaps--and I sincerely trust--her health will be restored, and her prejudices against me removed, and when better times come about I shall look with anxiety to the privilege of renewing my intimacy with you all."

"Perhaps so," returned Mr. Goodwin, "and then we shall receive your visits with pleasure."

Woodward then shook hands with him and his wife, and wished them a good morning.

On his way home worthy Suil Balor began to entertain reflections upon his prospects in life that he felt to be rather agreeable. Here was his brother, whom he had kindly sent to apologize to Grace Davoren for the impossibility from illness of his meeting her according to their previous arrangement; yes, we say he feigned illness on that evening, and prevailed on the unsuspecting young man to go in his stead, in order, as he said, to give her the necessary explanations for his absence. Charles undertook this mission the more willingly, as it was his firm intention to remonstrate with the girl on the impropriety of her conduct, in continuing a secret and guilty intrigue, which must end only in her own shame and ruin. But when Harry deputed him upon such a message he antic.i.p.ated the very event which had occurred, or, rather, a more fatal one still, for, despite his hopes of Alice Goodwin's ill state of health, he entertained strong apprehensions that his stepfather might, by some accidental piece of intelligence, be restored to his original impressions on the relative position in which she and Charles stood. An interview between Mr. Lindsay and her might cancel all he had done; and if every obstruction which he had endeavored to place between their union were removed, her health might recover, their marriage take place, and then what became of his chance for the property? It is true he had managed his plans and speculations with great ability.

Subst.i.tuting Charles, like a villain as he was, in his own affair with Grace Davoren, he contrived to corroborate the falsehood by the tragic incident of the preceding night. Now, if this would not satisfy Alice of the truth of his own falsehood, nothing could. That Charles was the _intrigant_ must be clear and palpable from what had happened, and accordingly, after taking a serious review of his own iniquity, he felt, as we said, peculiarly gratified with his prospects. Still, it cannot be denied that an occasional shadow, not proceeding from any consciousness of guilt, but from an apprehension of disappointment, would cast its deep gloom across his spirit. With such terrible states of feeling the machinations of guilt, no matter how successful its progress may be, are from time to time attended; and even in his case the torments of the d.a.m.ned were little short of what he suffered, from a dread of failure, and its natural consequences--an exposure which would bar him out of society. Still, his earnest expectation was that the intelligence of the fate of her lover would, considering her feeble state of health, effectually accomplish his wishes, and with this consoling reflection he rode home.

His great anxiety now was, his alarm lest his brother should recover.

On reaching Rathfillan House he proceeded to his bedroom, where he found his sister watching.

"My dear Maria," said he, in a low and most affectionate voice, "is he better?"

"I hope so," she replied, in a voice equally low; "this is the first sleep he has got, and I hope it will remove the fever."

"Well, I will not stop," said he, "but do you watch him carefully, Maria, and see that he is not disturbed."

"O, indeed, Harry, you may rest a.s.sured that I shall do so. Poor, dear Charles, what would become of us all if we lost him--and Alice Goodwin, too--O, she would die. Now, go, dear Harry, and leave him to me."

Harry left the room apparently in profound sorrow, and, on going into the parlor, met Barney Casey in the hall.

"Barney," said he, "come into the parlor for a moment. My father is out, and my mother is upstairs. I want to know how this affair happened last night, and how it occurred that you were present at it. It's a bad business, Barney."

"Devil a worser," replied Barney, "especially for poor Mr. Charles.

I was fortunately goin' down on my _kalie_ to the family of poor disconsolate Granua (Grace), when, on pa.s.sing the clump of alders, I heard screams and shouts to no end. I ran to the spot I heard the skirls comin' from, and there I found Mr. Charles, lyin' as if dead, and Grace Davoren with her hands clasped like a mad woman over him. The strange men then joined us, and carried him home, and that's all I know about it."

"But, can you understand it, Barney? As for me, I cannot. Did Grace say nothing during her alarm?"

"Divil a syllable," replied Barney, lying without remorse; "she was so thunderstruck with what happened that she could do nothing nor say anything but cry out and scream for the bare life of her. They say she has disappeared from her family, and that n.o.body knows where she has gone to. I was at her father's to-day, and I know they are searchin' the country for her. It is thought she has made away with herself."

"Poor Charles," exclaimed his brother, "what an unfortunate business it has turned out on both sides! I thought he was attached to Miss Goodwin; but it would appear now that he was deceiving her all along."

"Well, Mr. Harry," replied Barney, dryly, or rather with some severity, "you see what the upshot is; treachery, they say, seldom prospers in the long run, although it may for a while. G.o.d forgive them that makes a practice of it. As for Master Charles, I couldn't have dreamt of such a thing."

"Nor I, Barney. I know not what to say. It perplexes me, from whatever point I look at it. At all events, I hope he may recover, and if he does, I trust he will consider what has happened as a warning, and act upon better principles. May G.o.d forgive him!"

And so ended their dialogue, little, indeed, to the satisfaction of Harry, whom Barney left in complete ignorance of the significant exclamations by which Grace Davoren, in the alarm of the moment, had betrayed her own guilt, by stating that Shawn-na-Middogue had stabbed the wrong man.

Sarah Sullivan--poor, thoughtless, but affectionate girl--on repairing with the thin toast to her mistress's bedroom, felt so brimful of the disaster which had befallen Charles, that---now believing in his guilt, as she did, and with a hope of effectually alienating Alice's affections from him--she lost not a moment in communicating the melancholy intelligence to her.

"O, Miss Alice!" she exclaimed, "have you heard what has happened? O, the false fend treacherous villain! Who would believe it? To lave a beautiful lady like you, and take up with sich a vulgar vagabone!

However, he has suffered for it. _Shawn-na-Middogue_ did for him."

"What do you mean, Sarah?" said her mistress, much alarmed by such a startling-preface; "explain yourself. I do not understand, you."

"But you soon will, miss. Shawn-na-Middogue found Mr. Charles Lindsay and Grace Davoren together last night, and has stabbed him to death; life's only in him; and that's the gentleman that pretended to love you.

Devil's cure to the villain!"

She paused. The expression of her mistress's face was awful. A pallor more frightful than that of death, because it was a.s.sociated with life, overspread her countenance. Her eyes became dim and dull; her features in a moment were collapsed, and resembled those of some individual struck by paralysis--they were altogether without meaning. She clasped and unclasped her hands, like one under the influence of strong hysterical agony; she laid herself back in bed, where she had been sitting up expecting her coffee, her eyes closed, for she had not physical strength even to keep them open, and with considerable difficulty she said, in a low and scarcely audible voice,--"My mother!"

Poor Sarah felt and saw the mischief she had done, and, with streaming eyes and loud sobbings, lost not a moment in summoning Mrs. Goodwin.

In truth she feared that her mistress lay dying before her, and was immediately tortured with the remorseful impression that the thoughtless and indiscreet communication she had made was the cause of her death.

It is unnecessary to describe the terror and alarm of her mother, nor of her father, when he saw her lying as it were between life and dissolution. The physician was immediately sent for, but, notwithstanding all his remedies, until the end of the second day, there appeared no change in her. Towards the close of that day an improvement was perceptible; she was able to speak and take some nourishment, but it was observed that she never once made the slightest allusion to the disaster which had befallen Charles Lindsay. She sank into a habitual silence, and, unless when forced to ask for some of those usual attentions which her illness required, she never ventured to indulge in conversation on any subject whatsoever. One thing, however, struck Sarah Sullivan, which was, that in all her startings, both asleep and awake, and in all her unconscious e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns, that which appeared to press upon her most was the unceasing horror of the Evil Eye. The name of Charles Lindsay never escaped her, even in the feverish agitation of her dreams, nor in those exclamations of terror and alarm which she uttered.

"O, save me!--save me from his eye--he is killing me! Yes, Woodward is a devil--he is killing me--save me--save me!"

Well had the villain done his work; and how his web of iniquity was woven out we shall see.

On leaving Barney, that worthy gentleman sought his mother, and thus addressed her:--

"Mother," said he, apparently much moved, "this is a melancholy, and I trust in heaven it may not turn out a fatal, business. I'm afraid poor Charles's case is hopeless."

"O, may G.o.d forbid, poor boy!" exclaimed Mrs. Lindsay; "for, although he always joined his father against me, still he was in other respects most obliging to every one, and inoffensive to all."