T is false! How know you that?"

"As soon as your back was turned, she used to order her horse and ride
to him."

"How do you know she went to _him_?"

"I mounted the tower, and saw the way she took."

Griffith's face was a piteous sight. He stammered out, "Well, he is her
confessor. She always visited him at times."

"Ay, sir; but in those days her blood was cool, and his too; but bethink
you now, when you threatened the man with the horse-pond, he became your
enemy. All revenge is sweet; but what revenge so sweet to any man as
that which came to his arms of its own accord? I do notice that men
can't read men, but any woman can read a woman. Maids they are reserved,
because their mothers have told them that is the only way to get
married. But what have a wife and a priest to keep them distant? Can
they ever hope to come together lawfully? That is why a priest's
light-o'-love is always some honest man's wife. What had those two to
keep them from folly? Old Betty Gough? Why, the mistress had bought her,
body and soul, long ago. No, sir, you had no friend there; and you had
three enemies,--love, revenge, and opportunity. Why, what did the priest
say to me? I met him not ten yards from here. 'Ware the horse-pond!'
says I. Says he, '_Since I am to have the bitter, I'll have the sweet as
well._'"

These infernal words were not spoken in vain. Griffith's features were
horribly distorted, his eyes rolled fearfully, and he fell to the
ground, grinding his teeth, and foaming at the mouth. An epileptic fit!

An epileptic fit is a terrible sight: the simple description of one in
our medical books is appalling.

And in this case it was all the more fearful, the subject being so
strong and active.

Caroline Ryder shrieked with terror, but no one heard her; at all
events, no one came; to be sure the place had a bad name for ghosts,
etc.

She tried to hold his head, but could not, for his body kept bounding
from the earth with inconceivable elasticity and fury, and his arms flew
in every direction; and presently Ryder received a violent blow that
almost stunned her.

She lay groaning and trembling beside the victim of her poisonous tongue
and of his own passions.

When she recovered herself he was snorting rather than breathing, but
lying still and pale enough, with his eyes set and glassy.

She got up, and went with uneven steps to a little rill hard by, and
plunged her face in it: then filled her beaver hat, and cam