n't part me from Mary! See how pretty and
good she is! She has made me a flag for my boat. Let me come here and
see her sometimes. I can't live without her."

I could say no more. My poor little Mary burst out crying. Her tears and
my entreaties were alike wasted on my father.

"Take your choice," he said, "between coming away of your own accord, or
obliging me to take you away by force. I mean to part you and Dermody's
girl."

"Neither you nor any man can part them," interposed a voice, speaking
behind us. "Rid your mind of that notion, master, before it is too
late."

My father looked round quickly, and discovered Dame Dermody facing him
in the full light of the window. She had stepped back, at the outset
of the dispute, into the corner behind the fireplace. There she had
remained, biding her time to speak, until my father's last threat
brought her out of her place of retirement.

They looked at each other for a moment. My father seemed to think it
beneath his dignity to answer her. He went on with what he had to say to
me.

"I shall count three slowly," he resumed. "Before I get to the last
number, make up your mind to do what I tell you, or submit to the
disgrace of being taken away by force."

"Take him where you may," said Dame Dermody, "he will still be on his
way to his marriage with my grandchild."

"And where shall I be, if you please?" asked my father, stung into
speaking to her this time.

The answer followed instantly in these startling words:

"_You_ will be on your way to your ruin and your death."

My father turned his back on the prophetess with a smile of contempt.

"One!" he said, beginning to count.

I set my teeth, and clasped both arms round Mary as he spoke. I had
inherited some of his temper, and he was now to know it.

"Two!" proceeded my father, after waiting a little.

Mary put her trembling lips to my ear, and whispered: "Let me go,
George! I can't bear to see it. Oh, look how he frowns! I know he'll
hurt you."

My father lifted his forefinger as a preliminary warning before he
counted Three.

"Stop!" cried Dame Dermody.

My father looked round at her again with sardonic astonishment.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am--have you anything particular to say to me?"
he asked.

"Man!" returned the Sibyl, "you speak lightly. Have I spoken lightly to
You? I warn you to bow your wicked will before a Will that is mightier
than yours. The spirits of these children are kindred spirit