Mave, dear, I cannot tell a lie; nor I will not.

I couldn't say as much to him now; I'm afeard that his death is on my father's sowl." Mave started and got pale at the words.

"Great God!" she exclaimed, "don't say so, Con dear.

Oh, no, no--is it your father that was always so good, an' so generous to every one that stood in need of it at his hands, an' who was also so charitable to the poor ?" "Ay," said he, "he was charitable to the poor; but of late I've heard him say things that nobody but a man that has some great crime to answer for could or would say.

I believe too that what the public says is right: that it's the hand of God Himself that's upon him an' us for that murdher." "But maybe," said Mave, who still continued pale and trembling; "maybe it was accidentally afther all; a chance blow, maybe; but whatever it was, dear Con, let us spake no more about it.