is
caution, there was a mystery and uneasiness in his manner, when talking
of it, which he could not shake off.

When the conversation had reached this point, the old woman called her
husband down in a voice that seemed somewhat agitated, but not, as far
as he could guess, disagreeably.

"Denis, come down a minute," she said, "come down, will you? here's a
stranger that you haven't seen for some time."

"What stranger?" he inquired, peevishly. "Who is it? I wish you wouldn't
bother me--I'm talkin' with a gentleman."

"It's Ginty."

"Ginty, is it?" said he, musing. "Well, that's odd, too--to think that
she should come at this very moment. Maybe, the hand of G--. I beg your
pardon, sir, for a minute or two--I'll be back immediately."

He went down stairs, and found in the back parlor the woman named Ginty
Cooper, the same fortune-teller and prophetess whom we have already
described to the reader.

The old man seemed to consider her appearance not as an incident that
stirred up any natural affection in himself, but as one that he looked
upon as extraordinary. Indeed, to tell the truth, he experienced a
sensation of surprise, mingled with a superstitious feeling, that
startled him considerably, by her unexpected appearance at that
particular period. He did not resume his conversation with the stranger
for at least twenty minutes; but the latter was perfectly aware, from
the earnestness of their voices, although their words were not audible,
that he and the new-comer were discussing some topic in which they must
have felt a very deep interest. At length he came up and apologized for
the delay, adding: "With regard to this business, it's altogether out of
my power to give you any assistance. I have nothing but my suspicions,
and it wouldn't be the part of a Christian to lay a crime like that to
any man's door upon mere guess."

"If you know anything of this dark transaction," replied the stranger,
whose earnestness of manner was increased by his disappointment, as
well as by an impression that the old man knew more about it than he
was disposed to admit, "and will not enable us to render justice to the
wronged and defrauded orphan, you will have a heavy reckoning of it--an
awful one when you meet your God. By the usual course of nature that
is a reckoning that must soon be made. I advise you, therefore, not to
tamper with your own conscience, nor, by concealing your knowledge of
this great crime to peril your hopes