her for? Sure, if
she didn't, all's lost."

"Throth, I allow," replied the pedlar, "that things is in a distressin'
state with us; however, while there's life there's hope, as the Doctor
says. There must be something extraordinary wrong to keep them away so
long, I grant--or herself, at any rate; still, I say again, trust
in God. You have secured Duncan, you say; but can you depend on the
ruffian?"

"If it was on his honesty, I could not, one second, but I do upon his
villainy and love of money. I have promised him enough, and it all
depends on whether he'll believe me or not."

"Well, well," observed the other, "I wish things had a brighter look up.
If we fail, I won't know what to say. We must only thry an' do the best
we can, ourselves."

"Have you seen the agint since you gave him the petition?" asked Hanlon.

"I did, but he had no discoorse with the Hendherson's; and he bid me
call on him again."

"I dunna what does he intend to do?"

"Hut, nothing. What 'id he do? I'll go bail, he'll never trouble his
head about it more; at any rate I tould him a thing."

"Very likely he won't," replied Hanlon; "but what I'm thinkin' of now,
is the poor Daltons. May God in his mercy pity an' support them this
night!"

The pedlar clasped his hands tightly as he looked up, and said "Amen!"

"Ay," said he, "it's now, Charley, whin I think of them, that I get
frightened about our disappointment, and the way that everything has
failed with us. God pity them, I say, too!"

The situation of this much tried family, was, indeed, on the night in
question, pitiable in the extreme. It is true, they had now recovered,
or nearly so, the full enjoyment of their health, and were--owing, as
we have already said, to the bounty of some unknown friend--in
circumstances of considerable comfort. Dalton's confession of the murder
had taken away from them every principle upon which they could rely,
with one only exception. Until the moment of that confession, they
had never absolutely been in possession of the secret cause of his
remorse--although, it must be admitted, that, on some occasions, the
strength of his language and the melancholy depth of his sorrow, filled
them with something like suspicion. Still such they knew to be the
natural affection and tenderness of his heart, his benevolence and
generosity, in spite of his occasional bursts of passion, that they
could not reconcile to themselves the notion that he had ever murdered a