it murdher. Well, he was the
only frind you'd left me, and now that you've murdhered him, you may
go now; you may go now--but mind I tell you, they'll be sure to hang
you."

This was old Macdermot's last address to his son. It was very evident
that the poor old man had gradually become more and more imbecile
during the last few days, and the suddenness of the melancholy news
he now heard utterly destroyed his mind. Each, however, of the
dreadful words he uttered fell with an awful appearance of intention
and sane purpose on the ears of his son. He had hitherto restrained
his feeling powerfully, and had shown no outward signs of strong
emotion; but when his father said that there was no doubt the deed
he'd done was murder, he burst into a flood of tears, and left the
room without being able to articulate a word.

When the police came, which they did before the night was over, in
search of Thady, they were unable to make anything of the old man; at
first he took them for emissaries of Keegan's, and swore that they
should not have admittance into the house, and when they were in it
he endeavoured to hide himself, declaring at the same time, that he
understood the law; that the money was not due till November, and
that Keegan had no right to send the men there, harassing him, yet.
When, however, he was made to understand that it was not about Keegan
and the rents, but about the death of Ussher that they had come, he
whimpered and whined, declaring that he had not murdered him; that he
loved Ussher better than any one in the world--yes, better than his
own children--and that for the world he would not hurt him. When at
length the men explained to him that they were only there to look
for Thady, he was worse than ever; for he began cursing his son
dreadfully, swearing that if he had committed the murder, he would
neither hide nor screen him, and finally declaring that he hoped they
might catch him and hang him.

The next morning he was taken away to give evidence before the
Coroner at Carrick-on-Shannon. It was the first day since the summer
that he had been above a few yards from his own hall-door, and though
the day was fine, he suffered much from the cold. When he got to his
destination he could hardly speak; the room was greatly crowded, for
the whole neighbourhood had by that time heard of the event; and when
the poor old man had warmed himself by the fire, near which a seat
had been procured for him, he smiled and