faithless, because there is a stain upon my
name--a stain, but no crime, Caterine; a stain made by the law, but no
crime. Had her heart been loyal and true, she would have loved me ten
times more in consequence of my very disgrace--if disgrace I ought to
call it; but instead of that--but wait--O, the villain! Well, I shall
meet him, I trust, before long, and then, Caterine, ah, then!"

"Well, Shawn, if she has desalted you, I know one that loves you better
than ever she did, and that would never desart you, as Grace Davoren has
done."

"Ah, Caterine," replied the outlaw, sorrowfully, "I am past that now;
my heart is broke--I could never love another. What proof of truth or
affection could any other woman give me after the treachery of her who
once said she loved me so well? She said, indeed, some time ago, that it
was her father forced her to do it, but that was after she had seen him,
for well I know she often told me a different story before the night
of the bonfire and the shower of blood. Well, Caterine, that shower of
blood was not sent for nothing. It came as the prophecy of his fate,
which, if I have life, will be a bloody one."

"Shawn," replied Caterine, as if she had not paid much attention to his
words, "Shawn, dear Shawn, there is one woman who would give her life
for your love."

"Ah," said Shawn, "it's aisily said, at all events--aisily said; but who
is it Caterine?"

"She is now speaking to you," she returned. "Shawn, you cannot but
know that I have long loved you; and I now tell you that I love you
still--ay, and a thousand times more than ever Grace Davoren did."

"You!" said Shawn, recoiling with indignation; "is it you, a spy, a
fortune-teller, a go-between, and, if all be true, a witch; you,
whose life and character would make a modest woman blush to hear them
mentioned? Why, the curse of heaven upon you! how dare you think of
proposing such a subject to me? Do you think because I'm marked by the
laws that my heart has lost anything of its honesty and manhood? Begone,
you hardened and unholy vagabond, and leave my sight."

"Is that your language, Shawn?"

"It is; and what other language could any man with but a single spark of
honesty and respect for himself use toward you? Begone, I say."

"Yes, I will begone; but perhaps you may live to rue your words: that is
all."

"And, perhaps, so may you," he replied. "Leave my sight. You are a
disgrace to the name of woman."

She turned upon her