she replied, "it only intimates it, and
whatever the nature of the individual's death among our family may be,
it shadows it out. What signs did it make to you?"

"It brandished what is called in this country a middogue, or Irish
dagger, at my heart."

His mother got pale again.

"Harry," said she, "I would recommend you to leave the kingdom. Avoid
the third warning!"

"Mother," he replied, "this certainly is sad nonsense. I have no notion
of leaving the kingdom in consequence of such superstitious stuff as
this; all these things are soap bubbles; put your finger on them and
they dissolve into nothing. How is Charles? for I have not yet seen
him."

"Improving very much, although not able yet to leave his room."

Woodward walked about and seemed absorbed in thought.

"It is a painful thing, mother," said he, "that Charles is so long
recovering. Do you know that I am half inclined to think he will never
recover? His wound was a dreadful one, and its consequences on his
constitution will, I fear, be fatal."

"I hope not, Harry," she replied, "for ever since his illness I have
found that my heart gathers about him with an affection that I have
never felt for him before."

"Your resolution, then, is fixed, I suppose, to leave him your
property?"

"It is fixed; there is, or can be, no doubt about it. Once I come to a
determination I am immovable. We shall be able to wheedle Lord
Cockletown and his niece."

Harry paused a moment, then passed out of the room, and retired to his
own apartment.

Here he remained for hours. At the close of the evening he appeared in
the withdrawing-room, but still in a silent and gloomy state.

The perfect cure of Miss Goodwin had spread like wildfire, and reached
the whole country.

Greatrake's reputation was then at its highest, and the number of his
cures was the theme of all conversation, Barney Casey had well marked
Woodward since his return from Ballyspellan, and having heard, in
connection with others, that Miss Goodwin had been cured by Greatrakes,
he resolved to keep his eye upon him, and, indeed, as the event will
prove, it was well he did so.

That night, about the hour of twelve o'clock, Barney, who had suspected
that he (Woodward) had either murdered Grace Davoren in order to
conceal his own guilt, or kept her in some secret place for the most
unjustifiable purposes, remarked that, as was generally usual with him,
he did not go to bed at the period peculiar to the