ce had come to the cabin in search of him; and their
report to the magistrate was, that he had absconded. His wife was in
a miserable state of mind, and her whole soul was tortured with
conflicting emotions. Owen's long absence, as well as his borrowing
the gun, seemed to bespeak his guilt; and yet, when she recollected the
gentleness of his manner, and his hitherto blameless life, she could not
deem him so, no matter how circumstances seemed against him. But then,
the harrowing idea that it might be, came in to blast these newly formed
hopes, and her state of suspense was one of deep and acute misery.

She was sitting, as we have said, alone; the fire, that had consisted
of two or three sods of turf heaped upon the floor, had almost entirely
gone out; the stools and bosses were tossed negligently here and there;
and the appearance of the entire apartment was quite different from its
usual neat and tidy trim. Her head was bent a little, and her hands were
clasped tightly around her knees, while her body was swaying to and fro,
as if the agitation of her mind would not allow of its repose. Her
eyes were dry, but red from former weeping; and she was occasionally
muttering, "No, he can't be guilty"--"Owen commit a murdher!--It must be
an untruth!" and such like expressions. Gradually, as she thus thought
aloud, her motions became more rapid, and her cheeks were no longer dry,
while the light that entered through the open door becoming suddenly
shaded, she turned round, and raised her tearful eyes to question the
intruder. She sprang eagerly forward, and hung on his neck, (for it was
Owen himself,) while she! joyfully exclaimed--

"Oh, heaven be praised, yer come back at last, to give the lie to all
their reports, an' to prove yer innocence."

"Ellen, my darlint," he answered, "I knew you'd be glad to get me back,"
and he kissed! again and again her burning lips; "but what do you mane,
acushla?--What reports! do you spake ov, an' ov what am I accused?"

"Oh, thin, Owen, I'm glad you didn't even hear ov id; an' the poliss
here searchin' the house to make you pres'ner. Shure, avick, Bill Daly,
the procthor, that sazed poor Black Bess, was murdhered the very mornin'
you wint to shoot the hares; an' on account ov yer borryin' the gun, an'
threatenin' him the day ov the sale, they said it was you that done id;
but I gev thim all the lie, fur I knew you wor innocent. Now, Owen,
ahagur, you look tired, sit down, an' I'll get you