place
herself rashly within the fatal reach of the contagion which prevailed.
Having obtained their permission, she lost very little time in preparing
for the task she had proposed to execute. A very small portion of meal,
and a little milk, together with one or two jugs of gruel, whey, &c, she
put under her cloak; and after getting the blessings of her parents,
and kissing them and the rest of the family, she departed upon her
pious--her sublime mission, followed by the tears and earnest prayers of
her whole family.

How anomalous, and full of mysterious and inexplicable impulses is
the human heart! Mave Sullivan, who, in volunteering to attend at the
contagious beds of the unfortunate Daltons, gave singular and noble
proof of the most heroic devotedness, absolutely turned from the common
road, on her way to their cabin, rather than meet the funeral of a
person who had died of fever, and on one or two occasions kept aloof
from men who she knew to be invalids by the fact of their having
handkerchiefs about their heads--a proof, in general, that they had been
shaved or blistered, while laboring under its severest form.

When she had gone within about a quarter of a mile of her destination,
she met two individuals, whose relative positions indicated anything but
a state of friendly feeling between them. The persons we allude to were
Thomas Dalton and the miserable object of his vengeance, Darby Skinadre.
Our readers are aware that Sarah caused Darby to accompany her, for
safety, to the cabin of the Daltons, as she feared that, should young
Dalton again meet him at the head of his mob, and he in such a furious
and unsettled state, the hapless miser might fall a victim to his
vengeance. No sooner, therefore, had the meal-monger heard Tom's name
mentioned by his father, when about to proceed to prison, than he left
a dark corner of the cabin, into which he had slunk, and, passing out,
easily disappeared, without being noticed, in the state of excitement
which prevailed.

The very name of Tom reminded him that he was in his father's house, and
that should he return, and find him there, he might expect little mercy
at his hands. Tom, however, amidst the melancholy fatuity under which he
labored, never forgot that he had an account to settle with Skinadre.
It ran through his unsettled understanding like a sound thread through
a damaged web; for ever and anon his thought and recollection would turn
to Peggy Murtagh, and the