usky purple were strongly marked.

It was not without reason that they were thus moved; since Meekins, who
hitherto rarely or never ventured abroad, had, on that morning, gone
to the fair of Graigue, a village some few miles away, where he was
recognized by a farmer----an old man named Lenahan--as the steward of
the late Mr. Godfrey. It was to no purpose that he assumed all the airs
of a stranger to the country, and asked various questions about the
gentry and the people. The old farmer watched him long and closely, and
went home fully satisfied that he had seen Black Sam,--the popular name
by which he was known on the estate. In his capacity of bailiff, Black
Sam had been most unpopular in the country. Many hardships were traced
to his counsels; and it was currently believed that Mr. Godfrey would
never have proceeded harshly against a tenant except under his advice.
This character, together with his mysterious disappearance after the
murder, were quite sufficient, in peasant estimation, to connect him
with the crime; and no sooner had Lenahan communicated his discovery
to his friends, than they, one and all, counselled him to go up to the
doctor--as Grounsell was called on the property--and ask his advice.

The moment Grounsell heard that the suspected man called himself
Meekins, he issued a warrant for his arrest; and so promptly was it
executed that he was taken on that very evening as he was returning to
"The Rore." The tidings only reached the little inn after nightfall, and
it was in gloomy confabulation over them that the two priests were now
seated. The countryman who had brought the news was present when the
police arrested Sam, and was twice called back into the parlor as
D'Esmonde questioned him on the circumstance.

It was after a long interval of silence that the Abbe for the third time
summoned the peasant before him.

"You have not told me under what name they arrested him. Was it
Meekins?"

"The Sergeant said, 'you call yourself Meekins, my good man?' and the
other said, 'Why not?' 'Oh, no reason in life,' says the Sergeant; 'but
you must come with us,--that 's all.' 'Have you a warrant for what you
're doing?' says he. 'Ay,' says the polis; 'you broke yer bail----'"

"Yes, yes," broke in D'Esmonde, "You mentioned all that already. And
Meekins showed no fear on being taken?"

"No more than your Reverence does this minute. Indeed, I never see a man
take it so easy. 'Mind what you 're doing,' says