"I wanted to tell Father Ned all; I wanted to have masses for him that's
gone,--the man that suffered instead of me! Oh, dear!--Oh, dear!--and
nobody will come to me."

"If ye cry that loud, I 'll leave you too," said the hag. "They know
already 'tis the spotted fever ye have, and the Tapageers would burn the
house under ye, if I was to go."

"Don't go, Molly,--don't leave me," he cried, with heart-rending
anguish. "Bring the blessed candle nearer; I don't see it well."

"You'll see less of it soon; 'tis nigh out," said she, snuffing the wick
with her fingers.

The dying man now stretched out his fleshless fingers towards the light,
and I could see by his lips that he was praying. "They 're calling me
now," cried he, "Molly,"--and his voice of a sudden grew strong and
full,--"don't ye hear them? There it is again,--'Maurice Cafferty,
Maurice Cafferty, yer wantin''."

"Lie down and be at peace," said she, rudely pushing him back on the
bed.

"The blessed candle, where's the blessed candle?" shrieked he.

"'T is out," said the hag; and as she spoke, the wick fell into the
saucer, and all was dark.

A wild and fearful cry broke from the sick man and re-echoed through
the silent house; and ere it died away I had crept stealthily back to my
place beside my companions.

"'Did ye hear anything, or was I dreamin'?" said Joe to me; "I thought I
heard the most dreadful scream,--like a man drownin'."

"It was a dream, perhaps," said I, shuddering at the thought of what I
had just witnessed, while I listened with terrible anxiety for auy sound
overhead; but none came; and so passed the long hours till day-dawn.

Without revealing to my companion the terrible scene I had been witness
to, I told him that we were in the same house with a fearful malady,--an
announcement I well knew had greater terror for none than an Irish
peasant. He at once decided on departing; and, although day was barely
breaking, he awoke the others, and a low whispering conversation ensued,
in which I felt, or imagined, at least, that I was an interested party.
At last Joe, turning towards me, said, "And you, sir, what do you mean
to do!"

"The very question," said I, "that I cannot answer. If I were to follow
my inclination, I 'd turn homeward; if I must yield to necessity, I 'll
call upon the Governor-General, and remain with him till I hear from my
friends."

There was a pause; a moment of deliberation seemed to fall upon the
bystanders,