d, to Wales, Scotland, an'
America, but it was all of no use; the knowledge of the murdher! and the
murdherer was here," he laid his! hand upon his heart as he spoke; "an'
durin' all that time I had peace neither by night nor by day."

His companion turned towards him with amazement, and truly his
appearance was startling, if not frightful; he looked as it were into
vacancy; his eyes had become hollow and full of terror; his complexion
assumed the hue of ashes; his voice got weak and unsteady, and his limbs
trembled excessively, whilst from every pore the perspiration came out,
and ran down his ghastly visage in large drops.

"M'Gowan," said his companion, "this is a dreadful business. As yet you
have said nothing, and from what I see, I advise you to reflect before
you proceed further in it. I think I can guess the nature of your
secret; but even if you went to my father, he would tell you, that you
are not bound to criminate yourself."

The Prophet, in the mean time, had made an effort to recover himself,
which, after a little time, was successful.

"I believe you think," he added, with a gloomy and a bitter smile, "that
it was I who committed the murdher; oh no! if it was, I wouldn't be
apt to hang myself, I think. No! but I must see your father, as a
magistrate; an' I must make the disclosure to him. The man that did
murdher Sullivan is livin', and that man is Condy Dalton. I knew of
this, an' for two-an'-twenty years let that murdherer escape, an' that
is what made me so miserable an' unhappy. I can prove what I say; an' I
know the very spot where he buried Sullivan's body, an' where it's lyin'
to this very day."

"In that case, then," replied the other, "you have only one course to
pursue, and that is, to bring Dalton to justice."

"I know it," returned the Prophet; "but still I feel that it's a
hard case to be the means of hangin' a fellow-crature; but of the two
choices, rather than bear any longer what I have suffered an' am still
sufferin', I think it betther to prosecute him."

"Then go in and see my father at once about it, and a devilish difficult
card you'll have to play with him; for my part, I think he is mad ever
since Jemmy Branigan left him. In fact, he knows neither what he is
saying or doing without him, especially in some matters; for to tell you
the truth," he added, laughing, "Jemmy, who was so well acquainted with
the country and every one in it, took much more of the magistrate on him
t