id he wished to speak with Mr. M'Carthy. M'Carthy came to the
hall-door, and looking at him keenly inquired his business.

"I don't know," said the man; "I can only tell you what I was desired to
say to you."

"Well, let us hear even that," said the other.

"I was bid to ax you, if you wish to sarve this family."

"I do, most certainly."

"In that case, then, you're to follow me," said the man.

"I have no such intention, I assure you, my good fellow," replied the
other.

"Very well, then, I have done my duty," said the man, turning to depart.

"But," said our friend, "will you not let me know who it was that sent
you."

"I tell you," replied the stranger, "that I don't know. I was bid to
say to you that the hour is come, and the man, and that's all I know;
barrin' that as I said you wor bid to come wid me, if you wish to sarve
thia family. Now I must go."

"Stop a moment," said M'Carthy, "till I return into the house, and let
them know I'm going out."

"No," replied the other; "if you do, you won't find me here when you
come back. This instant, or never."

"To serve this family, you say?"

"To sarve this family, I was bid to say. I know nothing, an' can say
nothing about it myself."

"Come, then," said M'Carthy, resolutely, and thinking of the note he had
received in college, "I trust you, or rather I will trust the man
that sent you;" and having uttered these words, he departed with the
stranger. The scene now changes to a hill, three or four miles distant
from the proctor's house, called Crockaniska, at the foot of which was
a small but beautiful lake or tarn, from which a graceful little stream
fell down into a green and picturesque valley, that lay to the south
below it. The shades of evening were beginning to deepen, but for a
considerable time before, the road that went past it was observed to
be more than usually-thronged with men, some on foot and others on
horseback; all presenting a solemn and determined aspect, as if bent
upon some dangerous enterprise that must be accomplished, and all
apparently strangers to the inhabitants of the place, and to each other.
On the brow of the hill stood a picturesque ruin, and the hill itself
was literally covered with men and horses; for it was evident, by the
fatigued and travel-stained appearance of both, that they had come from
a far distance. After dusk had set in, the crowd assumed an appearance
of stern repose, but at the same time, and somewhat con