hope, or happiness, upon the spot
where he's now stretched, if I murdhered or shot him."

"I say amin to that," replied Darby; "Oxis Doxis Glorioxis!--So far,
that's right, if the blood of him's not an you. But there's one thing
more to be done: will you walk over undher the eye of God, an' touch the
corpse? Hould back, neighbors, an' let him come over alone: I an' Owen
Reillaghan will stand here wid the lights, to see if the corpse bleeds."

"Give me, too, a light," said M'Kenna's father; "my son must get fair
play, anyway: must be a witness myself to it, an' will, too."

"It's but rasonable," said Owen Reillaghan; "come over beside Darby
an' myself: I'm willin' that your son should stand or fall by what'll
happen."

Frank's father, with a taper in his hand, immediately went, with a pale
face and trembling steps, to the place appointed for him beside the
corpse, where he took his stand.

When young M'Kenna heard Darby's last question he seemed as if seized by
an inward spasm: the start which he gave, and his gaspings for breath,
were visible to all present. Had he seen the spirit of the murdered man
before him, his horror could not have been greater; for this ceremony
had been considered a most decisive test in cases of suspicion of
murder--an ordeal, indeed, to which few murderers wished to submit
themselves. In addition to this we may observe, that Darby's knowledge
of the young man's character was correct; with all his crimes he was
weak-minded and superstitious.

He stood silent for some time after the ordeal had been proposed to
him; his hair became literally erect, with the dread of this formidable
scrutiny, his cheeks turned white, and the cold perspiration fell from
him in large drops. All his strength appeared to have departed from him;
he stood, as if hesitating, and even energy necessary to stand seemed to
be the result of an effort.

"Remember," said Darby, pulling out the large crucifix which was
attached to his heads, "that the eye of God is upon you. If you've
committed the murdher, thrimble; if not, Frank, you've little to fear in
touchin' the corpse."

Frank had not uttered a word; but, leaning himself on the gun, he looked
wildly around him, cast his eyes up to the stormy sky, then turned them
with a dead glare upon the corpse and the crucifix.

"Do you confiss the murdher?" said Darby.

"Murdher!" rejoined Frank: "no! I confess no murdher: you villain, do
you want to make me guilty;--do y