k; "every one knows that a
Banshee follows the Goodwin family."

"What! the Goodwins of Beech Grove?" said Harry.

"Yes, sir," returned the cook; "they lost six children, and not one of
them ever died that she did not give the warnin'."

"If poor Miss Alice heard it," observed Barney, "and she in the state
she's in, she wouldn't live twenty-four hours afther it."

"According to what you say," observed Woodward, "that is, if it follows
the family, of course it will give the warning in her case also."

"May God forbid," ejaculated the cook, "for it's herself, the darlin'
girl, that 'ud be the bitther loss to the poor and destitute."

This kind ejaculation was fervently echoed by all her fellow-servants;
and Harry, having finished his pipe, went to see how his brother's
wound was progressing. He found him asleep, and Caterine Collins seated
knitting a stocking at his bedside. He beckoned her to the lobby, where,
in a low, guarded voice, the following conversation took place between
them:

"Caterine, have you not a niece that sings well? Barney Casey mentioned
her to me as possessing a fine voice."

"As sweet a voice, sir, as ever came from a woman's lips; but the poor
thing is delicate and sickly, and I'm afeard not long for this world."

"Could she imitate a Banshee, do you think?"

"If ever woman could, she could. There's not her aquil at the keene, or
Irish cry, livin'; she's the only one can bate myself at it."

"Well, Caterine, if you get her to go to Mr. Goodwin's to-morrow night
and imitate the cry of the Banshee, I will reward her and you liberally
for it. You are already well aware of my generosity."

"Indeed I am, Mr. Woodward; but if either you or I could insure her the
wealth of Europe, we couldn't prevail on her to go by herself at
night. Except by moonlight she wouldn't venture to cross the street of
Rathfillan. As to her, you may put that out of the question. She's very
handy, however, about a sick bed, and I might contrive, undher some
excuse or other, to get her to take my place for a day or so. But here's
your father. We will talk about it again."

She then returned to the sick room, and Harry met Mr. Lindsay on the
stairs going up to inquire after Charles.

"Don't go up, sir," said he; "the poor fellow, thank God, is asleep, and
the less noise about him the better."

Both then returned to the parlor.

About eleven o'clock the next night Sarah Sullivan was sitting by
the bedside of her