uld through a
dog, and, if the animal were a good one, I think he would be the greater
public loss of the two."

Just at this moment, the females of the family, who had been giving
breakfast to a number of poor destitute creatures, made their
appearance.

"Where have you all been?" asked Mrs. Purcel, addressing her husband
and sons; "here have we been waiting breakfast for you during the last
half-hour, and finding you were none of you within, we went and gave
these poor creatures without something to eat."

"Ay," responded the angry proctor, "and it's not unlikely that the son,
or husband, or brother of some of them may take a slap at me or at one
of our sons, from behind a hedge, before these long nights pass off.
D--n me, but it's throwing pearls before swine, to show them either
kindness or charity."

"Something has angered you, papa," said Mary; "I hope you have heard
nothing unpleasant; I am not very timid, but when a whole country is
in such a state of disturbance, one may entertain a reasonable
apprehension, certainly."

"Why, I am angry, Mary," replied her father; "there's as decent and
quiet, but, at the same time, as spirited a man as there ever was in the
barony, murdered this morning--Mat Murray of Rathkeerin; however, as I
said, it's a great consolation that one of the murderers is in custody."

"And who is the wretch, papa?" asked Julia.

"One that nobody ever could have suspected for such an act," replied
Purcel--"a son of one of our own tenants--honest Michael Devlin's
son--James."

"Utterly impossible, father," exclaimed Julia, "there must be a mistake;
that quiet and dutiful boy--their only son--never could have been
concerned in the crime of murder."

"Well, perhaps not, Judy; but, you silly girl, you talk as if you were
in love with him. Why, child, there is such a system abroad, now that a
man can scarcely trust his own brother--no, nor does a father know, when
he sits down to his breakfast in the morning with his own son, whether,
as Scripture says, he is not dipping his hand in the dish with a
murderer."

"Mat," said his wife, "you ought not to be out late at night, nor the
boys either. You know there is a strong feeling against you; and indeed
I think you ought not, any of you, ever to go out without, arms about
you--at all events, until the country gets quiet."

"So I was just saying, Nancy," replied her husband;--"hallo! who's this
coming up to the hall-door?--begad, our old ple