equence."

"Trot, Phil," said Teddy, "I think you needn't throuble your head about
M'Mahon--he's done fwhor."

"An' mark me," said Kate, "I'll take care of the man that done for him.
I know him well, betther than he suspects, an' can make him sup sorrow
whenever I like--an' would, too, only for one thing."

"An' fwhat's dhat wan thing?" asked Phats.

"You'll know it when you're ouldher, may be," replied Kate; "but you
must be ouldher first--I can keep my own secrets, thank God, an' will,
too--only mark me all o' yez; you know well what I am--let no injury
come to Bryan M'Mahon. For the sake of one person he must be safe."

"Well," observed Teddy, "let us hear no more about them; it's all
settled that we are to set up in Glen Dearg above again--for this
Hycy,--who's sthrivin' to turn the penny where he can."

"It is," said Bat; "an', to-morrow night, let us bring the things
up--this election will sarve us at any rate--but who will come in?" (*
That is, be returned.)

"The villain of hell!" suddenly exclaimed Kate, as if to herself; "to
go to ruin the young man! That girl's breakin' her heart for what has
happened."

"What are you talkin' about?" asked her husband.

"Nothing," she replied; "only if you all intend to have any rest
to-night, throw yourselves in the shake-down there, an' go sleep. I'm
not to sit up the whole night here, I hope?"

Philip, and Ned, and Teddy tumbled themselves into the straw, and in a
few minutes were in a state of perfect oblivion.

"Hycy Burke is a bad boy, Bat," she said, as the husband was about to
follow their example; "but he is marked--I've set my mark upon him."

"You appear to know something particular about him," observed her
husband.

"Maybe I do, an' maybe I don't," she replied; "but I tell you, he's
marked--that's all--go to bed now."

He tumbled after the rest, Kate stretched herself in an, opposite
corner, and in a few minutes this savage orchestra was in full chorus.

What an insoluble enigma is woman! From the specimen of feminine
delicacy and modest diffidence which we have just presented to the
reader, who would imagine that Kate Hogan was capable of entering into
the deep and rooted sorrow which Kathleen Cavanagh experienced when made
acquainted with the calamity which was about to crush her lover. Yet so
it was. In truth this fierce and furious woman who was at once a thief,
a liar, a drunkard, and an impostor, hardened in wickedness and deceit,
had in s