r start before me won't be long. I do not wish
to live to show a shamed face and a ruined character to my family and
the world. Nannie, I am coming; but where is my child? Where is that
woman who took it away? My child! Where is my child?"

Whilst this melancholy scene was taking place, another of a very
different description was occurring near the cottage. Two poachers, who
were concealed in a hazel copse on the brow of a little glen beside
it, saw a woman advance with an infant, which, by its cries, they felt
satisfied was but newly born.

Its cries, however, were soon stilled, and they saw her deposit it in a
little grave which had evidently been prepared for it. She had covered
it slightly with a portion of clay, but ere she had time to proceed
further they pounced upon her.

"Hould her fast," said one of them, "she has murdered the infant. At all
events, take it up, and I will keep her safe."

This was done, and a handkerchief, the one with which she had strangled
it, was found tightly tied about its neck. That she was the instrument
of Woodward in this terrible act, who can doubt? In the meantime both
she and the dead body of the child were brought back to Rathfillan,
where, upon their evidence, he was at once committed to prison, the
handkerchief having been kept as a testimony against him, for it was at
once discovered to be her own property.

During all this time Grace Davoren lay dying, in a state of the most
terrible desolation, with the dead body of Nannie Morrissy on the bed
beside her. What had become of her child, and of Caterine Collins, she
could not tell. She had, however, other reflections, for the young,
but guilty mother was not without strong, and even tender, domestic
affections.

"O!" she exclaimed, in her woful solitude and utter desolation, "if I
only had the forgiveness of my father and mother I could die happy; but
now I feel that death is upon me, and I must die alone."

A footstep was heard, and it relieved her. "Oh! this is Caterine," she
said, "with the child."

The door opened, and the young tory, Shawn-na-Middogue, entered. He
paused for a moment and looked about him.

"What is this?" said he, looking at the body of Nannie Morrissy; "is it
death?"

"It is death," replied Grace, faintly; "there is one death, but, Shawn,
there will soon be another. Shawn, forgive me, and kiss me for the sake
of our early love."

"I am an outlaw," replied the stern young tory; "but I will nev