ion worked the white froth up to her mouth; at length she
suddenly became like a statue, with this wild supernatural expression
intense upon her, and with an awful calmness, by far more dreadful than
excitement could be, concluded by pronouncing in deep husky tones the
name of God.

Having accomplished this with such a powerful struggle, she turned round
with pale despair in her countenance and manner, and with streaming eyes
slowly departed, leaving Mrs Sullivan in a situation not at all to be
envied.

In a short time the other members of the family, who had been out at
their evening employments, returned. Bartley, her husband, having
entered somewhat sooner than his three daughters from milking, was the
first to come in; presently the girls followed, and in a few minutes
they sat down to supper, together with the servants, who dropped in one
by one, after the toil of the day. On placing themselves about the
table, Bartley as usual took his seat at the head; but Mrs Sullivan,
instead of occupying hers, sat at the fire in a state of uncommon
agitation. Every two or three minutes she would cross herself devoutly,
and mutter such prayers against spiritual influences of an evil nature
as she could compose herself to remember.

"Thin, why don't you come to your supper, Mary," said the husband,
"while the sowans are warm? Brave and thick they are this night, any
way."

His wife was silent, for so strong a hold had the strange woman and her
appalling secret upon her mind, that it was not till he repeated his
question three or four times--raising his head with surprise, and
asking, "Eh, thin, Mary, what's come over you--is it unwell you
are?"--that she noticed what he said.

"Supper!" she exclaimed; "unwell! 'tis a good right I have to be
unwell,--I hope nothing bad will happen, any way. Feel my face, Nannie,"
she added, addressing one of her daughters; "it's as cowld an' wet as a
limestone--ay, an' if you found me a corpse before you, it wouldn't be
at all strange."

There was a general pause at the seriousness of this intimation. The
husband rose from his supper, and went up to the hearth where she sat.

"Turn round to the light," said he; "why, Mary dear, in the name of
wondher, what ails you? for you're like a corpse sure enough. Can't you
tell us what has happened, or what put you in such a state? Why,
childhre, the cowld sweat's teemin' off her!"

The poor woman, unable to sustain the shock produced by her inte