On perceiving what he had done, the deep working of his powerful frame
was struck into sudden stillness, and he turned his eyes on his bleeding
daughter, with a fearful perception of her situation. Now was the
harvest of his creed and crimes reaped in blood; and he felt that the
stroke which had fallen upon him was one of those by which God will
sometimes bare his arm and vindicate his justice. The reflection,
however, shook him not: the reality of his misery was too intense and
pervading, and grappled too strongly with his hardened and unbending
spirit, to waste its power upon a nerve or a muscle. It was abstracted,
and beyond the reach of bodily suffering. From the moment his daughter
fell, he moved not: his lips were half open with the conviction produced
by the blasting truth of her death, effected prematurely by his own
hand.

Those parts of his face which had not been stained with her blood
assumed an ashy paleness, and rendered his countenance more terrific by
the contrast. Tall, powerful, and motionless, he appeared to the crowd,
glaring at the girl like a tiger anxious to join his offspring, yet
stunned with the shock of the bullet which has touched a vital part.
His iron-gray hair, as it fell in thick masses about his neck, was moved
slightly by the blast, and a lock which fell over his temple was blown
back with a motion rendered more distinct by his statue-like attitude,
immovable as death.

A silent and awful gathering of the people around this impressive scene,
intimated their knowledge of what they considered to be a judicial
punishment annexed to perjury upon the Donagh. This relic lay on the
table, and the eyes of those stood within view of it, turned from
Anthony's countenance to it, and again back to his blood-stained visage,
with all the overwhelming influence of superstitious fear. Shudderings,
tremblings, crossings, and ejaculations marked their conduct and
feeling; for though the incident in itself was simply a fatal and
uncommon one, yet they considered it supernatural and miraculous.

[Illustration: PAGE 899-- Have I murdhered my daughter?]

At length a loud and agonizing cry burst from the lips of Meehan--"Oh,
God!--God of heaven an' earth!--have I murdhered my daughter?" and he
cast down the fatal weapon with a force which buried it some inches into
the wet clay.

The crowd had closed upon Anne; but with the strength of a giant he
flung them aside, caught the girl in his arms, and pre