Now, Masther Harry, thunder and turf! how beautiful Sambo takes her up.

Bravo, Sambo! stretch out, my darlin' that you are!--O, blood, Masther Harry, isn't that beautiful?
See how they go neck and neck wid their two noses not six inches from her scut; and dang my buttons but, witch or no witch, she's a thorough bit o' game, too.
Come, Bet, don't be asleep, my ould lady; move along, my darlin'-- do you feel the breath of your sweetheart at your bottom?
Take to your broomstick; you want it." As he uttered these words the hare turned,--indeed it was time for her--and both dogs shot forward, by the impetus of their flight, so far beyond the point of her turn, that she started off towards the haunted house.

She had little time to spare, however, for they were once more gaining on her; but still she approached the house, the dogs nearing her fast.

She approached the house, we say; she entered the open door, the dogs within a few yards of her, when, almost in an instant, they came to a standstill, looked into it, but did not enter; and when whistled back to where Woodward and Barney stood, they looked in Barney's eye, not only panting and exhausted, as indeed they were, but terrified also.
"Well, Masther Harry," said he, assuming the air of a man who spoke with authority, "what do you think of that ?" "I think you are right," replied Woodward; assuming on his part, for reasons which will be subsequently understood, an impression of sudden conviction.

"I think you are right, Barney, and that the Black Spectre and the witch are acquaintances." "Try her wid a silver bullet," said Barney; "there is nothing else for it.