spered words were spoken: a very different scene presented itself at
the small hostel of Mary M'Kelly. There, before the ample fireplace,
a quarter of a sheep was roasting--while various utensils of cookery,
disposed upon and around the fire, diffused a savoury odour through the
apartment. A table, covered with a snow-white napkin, and containing
covers for a party of six, occupied the middle of the room; cups and
drinking vessels of richly chased silver, silver forks and spoons,
of handsome pattern, were there also--strange and singular spectacle
beneath the humble thatch of a way-side cabin. Mary herself displayed
in her toilet a more than usual care and attention, and wore in her
becoming cap, with a deep lace border, a bouquet of tri-colored ribbons,
coquettishly knotted, and with the ends falling loosely on her neck.
While she busied herself in the preparation for the table, she
maintained from time to time a running conversation with a person who
sat smoking in the chimney corner. Although screened from the glare of
the fire, the light which was diffused around showed enough of the dress
and style of the wearer to recognize him at once for Lanty Lawler,
the horse-dealer. His attitude, as he lolled back on one chair, and
supported his legs on another, bespoke the perfection of ease, while in
the jaunty manner he held the long pipe-stick between his fingers, could
be seen the affectation of one who wished to be thought at home, as well
as to feel so.

"What hour did they mention, Mary?" said he, after a pause of some
minutes, during which he puffed his pipe assiduously.

"The gossoon that came from Beerhaven, said it would be nine o'clock at
any rate; but sure it's nigher to ten now. They were to come up on
the flood tide. Whisht, what was that?--Wasn't that like the noise of
wheels?"

"No; that's the wind, and a severe night it is too. I'm thinking, Mary,
the storm may keep them back."

"Not a bit of it; there's a creek down there, they tell me, safer nor
e'er a harbour in Ireland; and you'd never see a bit of a vessel till
you were straight over her: and sure it's little they mind weather. That
Captain Jack, as they call him, says there's no time for business like a
gale of wind. The last night they were here there was two wrecks in the
bay."

"I mind it well, Mary. Faix, I never felt a toast so hard to drink as
the one they gave after supper."

"Don't be talking about it," said Mary, crossing herself devou