d--your only daughter; look me in
the face--let your eye look into mine, if you can. I challenge you to
it! Now mark my words--you are goin' to swear a murdher against the head
of a poor and distressed family--to swear it--and, father, you know he
never murdhered Sullivan!"

The Prophet started and became pale, but he did not accept the
challenge.

He looked at her, however, after a struggle to recover his composure,
and there she stood firm--erect; her beautiful face animated with
earnestness, her eyes glowing with singular lustre, yet set, and
sparkling in the increasing moisture which a word or thought would turn
into tears.

"What do you mane, Sarah?" said he, affecting coolness; "What do you
mane? I know! Explain yourself."

"Father, I will. There was a bad spirit in your face and in your heart
when you said you were sorry; that you repented for consalin' the
murdher so long; there was, father, a bad spirit in your heart, but no
repentance there!"

"An' did you come all the way from home to tell me this?"

"No, father, not to tell you what I have said, but, father, dear, what
I am goin' to say; only first answer me. If he did murdher Sullivan,
was it in his own defence? was it a cool murdher? a cowardly murdher?
because if it was, Condy Dalton is a bad man. But still listen: it's now
near two-an'-twenty years since the deed was done. I know little about
religion, father; you know that; but still I have heard that God is
willin' to forgive all men their sins if they repent of them; if they're
sorry for them. Now, father, it's well known that for many a long year
Condy Dalton has been in great sorrow of heart for something or other;
can man do more?"

"Go home out o' this, I say; take yourself away."

"Oh, who can tell, father, the inward agony and bitther repentance that
that sorrowful man's heart, maybe, has suffered. Who can tell the tears
he shed, the groans he groaned, the prayers for mercy he said, maybe,
and the worlds he would give to have that man that he killed--only by
a hasty blow, maybe--again alive and well! Father, don't prosecute him;
leave the poor heartbroken ould man to God! Don't you see that God has
already taken him an' his into His hands; hasn't He punished them a
hundred ways for years? Haven't they been brought down, step by step,
from wealth an' respectability, till they're now like poor beggars, in
the very dust? Oh, think, father, dear father, think of his white
hairs; think of