old before he can be such a villain, you are in no very pleasant
way. The O'Tooles are here, and I've an idea they mean no good; for
they sit with all their heads together, whispering to each other, and
all their shillelaghs by their sides."

"Tell me, Kathleen, was the daughter of Sir William a fair-haired,
blue-eyed girl?"

"To be sure she was," replied Kathleen, "and like a little mountain
fairy."

"Now, Kathleen, tell me if you recollect if the little girl or her
mother ever wore a necklace of red beads mixed with gold."

"Yes, that my lady did; and it was on the child's neck when it was lost,
and when the body was found it was not with it. Well I recollect that,
for my mother said the child must have been drowned or murdered for the
sake of the gold beads."

"Then you have proved all I wished, Kathleen; and now I tell you that
this little girl is alive, and that I can produce the necklace which was
lost with her; and more, that she was taken away by Sir Henry himself."

"Merciful Jesus!" replied Kathleen; "the dear little child that we cried
over so much."

"But now, Kathleen, I have told you this, to prove to you that I am not
what McDermott has asserted, no doubt, with the intention that my brains
shall be knocked out this night."

"And so they will, sure enough," replied Kathleen, "if you do not
escape."

"But how am I to escape? and will you assist me?"

And I laid down on the table ten guineas from my purse.

"Take that, Kathleen, and it will help you and Corny. Now will you
assist me?"

"It's Corny that will be the first to knock your brains out," replied
Kathleen, "unless I can stop him. I must go now, and I'll see what can
be done."

Kathleen would have departed without touching the gold; but I caught her
by the wrist, collected it, and put it into her hand.

"That's not like a tithe proctor, at all events," replied Kathleen; "but
my heart aches and my head swims, and what's to be done I know not." So
saying, Kathleen quitted the room.

"Well," thought I, after she had left the room, "at all events I have
not been on a wrong scent this time. Kathleen has proved to me that
Fleta is the daughter of the late Sir William; and if I escape this
snare, Melchior shall do her justice." Pleased with my having so
identified Melchior and Fleta, I fell into a train of thought, and for
the first time forgot my perilous situation, but I was roused from my
meditations by an exclamation from Kathl