all you love, and of all that love you, take it!"
and as she urged her the tears streamed down her cheeks.

"No, no," replied Mrs Sullivan, "it'll never cross my lips; not if it
made me as rich as ould Hendherson, that airs his guineas in the sun,
for fraid they'd get light by lyin' past."

"I entreat you to take it," said the strange woman.

"Never, never!--once for all--I say, I won't; so spare your breath."

The firmness of the good housewife was not, in fact, to be shaken; so,
after exhausting all the motives and arguments with which she could urge
the accomplishment of her design, the strange woman, having again put
the bottle into her bosom, prepared to depart.

She had now once more become calm, and resumed her seat with the languid
air of one who has suffered much exhaustion and excitement. She put her
hand upon her forehead for a few moments, as if collecting her
faculties, or endeavouring to remember the purport of their previous
conversation. A slight moisture had broken through her skin, and
altogether, notwithstanding her avowed criminality in entering into an
unholy bond, she appeared an object of deep compassion.

In a moment her manner changed again, and her eyes blazed out once more,
as she asked her alarmed hostess,--

"Again, Mary Sullivan, will you take the gift that I have it in my power
to give you? ay or no? speak, poor mortal, if you know what is for your
own good."

Mrs Sullivan's fears, however, had overcome her love of money,
particularly as she thought that wealth obtained in such a manner could
not prosper; her only objection being to the means of acquiring it.

"Oh!" said the stranger, "am I doomed never to meet with anyone who will
take the promise off me by drinking of this bottle. Oh! but I am
unhappy! What it is to fear--ah! ah!--and keep _His_ commandments. Had
_I_ done so in my youthful time, I wouldn't now--ah--merciful mother, is
there no relief? kill me, tormentor; kill me outright, for surely the
pangs of eternity cannot be greater than those you now make me suffer.
Woman," said she, and her muscles stood out in extraordinary
energy--"woman, Mary Sullivan--ay, if you should kill me--blast
me--where I stand, I will say the word--woman--you have daughters--teach
them--to fear----" Having got so far, she stopped--her bosom heaved up
and down--her frame shook dreadfully--her eyeballs became lurid and
fiery--her hands were clenched, and the spasmodic throes of inward
convuls