At length he said in a kind of soliloquy-- "I wish, _Raymond-na-hattha_, you had been behind the Slievbeen Mountains that bitter morning you came for James Harman!" "If he had," said Tom, "poor James wouldn't be where he is to-night." "But I hope, father," said Mary, in a voice which though it trembled a little, yet expressed a certain portion of confidence--"I hope as it was an accident, that there will not be any serious risk." "I would be sorry to take any hope out of your heart that's in it, Mary; but, still, I can't forget that Val the Vulture's his bitterest enemy--and we all know what he's capable of doing.

His son, too, graceful Phil, is still worse against him than the father, especially ever since Harman pulled his nose for what he said of Mary here.

Did I ever mention it to you ?" "No, sir," replied Mary, coloring without exactly knowing why, "you never did." "I was present," said young Brian, "but it wasn't so much for what he said, for he got afraid, but the way he looked." "The scoundrel," said James, indignantly, "well Brian--" "'Twas at the Ball Alley," proceeded the young fellow, "in Castle Cumber; Mary was passing homewards, and Phil was speaking to long Tom Sharpe, father to one of the blood-hounds.

'That's a purty girl,' said Sharpe, 'who is she ?' 'Oh,' says Phil, 'an acquaintance of mine--but I can say no more honor bright,' and he winked one of his squinting eyes as he spoke.

James Harman who was standing behind him stepped forward, 'but I can say more,' said he, 'she's daughter to Brian M'Loughlin, and no acquaintance of yours--and what is more, never will be; ay, and what is more,' said James, 'here's a proof of it;' and as he spoke he pulled Phil's proboscis, and then wiped his fingers in his purty face.