making preparations for going to rest,
when they were startled by the creaking of the hut door. To their
intense surprise it opened wide enough to let a little old woman step
out. She was much bent, wore an old grey shawl over her head, and
leaned on a staff. For some moments she looked from side to side as if
in search of something.

"See! the old woman!" murmured the officer in a low whisper.

"True, but we did not see her enter the hut," replied the sub with a
solemn look.

In those days witchcraft was implicitly believed in, so, when they saw
the old creature hobble towards them, they experienced feelings of alarm
that had never yet affected their manly bosoms in danger or in war.
Their faces paled a little, but their courage stood the test, for they
sat still till she came close enough to let her piercing dark eyes be
seen peering at them like those of a basilisk from out the folds of the
shawl that enveloped her.

"Y-you are the--the old woman, I suppose?" said the officer in a
deferential tone.

"Yes, I am the old woman, young man, and you will be an old woman too
when you reach my time of life," she replied, in a deep metallic voice.

"I hope not," returned the officer, sincerely.

"At all events you'll be a dead man before long if you don't attend to
what I say," continued the woman. "Your young master in the hut there
told me to tell you that he is tired and wants a good long rest, so you
are not to disturb him in the morning till he calls you. D'you hear?"

"I hear, and will obey."

"Eh? What? Speak out. I'm deaf."

"I hear, and will attend to your wishes."

"Humph! it will be worse for you if you don't," muttered the old hag, as
she turned away, hobbled into the woods, and slowly disappeared.

It need scarcely be said that the lieutenant and his sub did not sleep
much that night. They discussed the subject of witches, their powers
and propensities, and the bad luck likely to attend those who actually
had the misfortune to see them, until the hair on their heads betrayed a
tendency to rise, and the grey dawn began to appear. Then they lay down
and indulged in some fitful slumber. But the discomforts of the night
were as nothing to the anxieties of the morning, for the lazy Cormac
seemed to have gone in for an extent of slumber that was out of all
reason, considering his circumstances. The ordinary breakfast hour
arrived, but there was no intimation of his having awoke. Hours passed,