Nay, the still appearance of the Grey Stone, or rock, at which they stood, had, when contrasted with the moving elements about them, and associated with the murder committed at its very foot, a solemn appearance that was of itself calculated to fill the mind with awe and terror.

Hanlon felt this, as, indeed, his whole manner indicated.
"Well," said his companion, alluding to the short prayer he had just concluded, "I didn't expect to see you at your prayers like a voteen this night at any rate.

Is it fear that makes you so pious upon our hands?
Troth, I doubt there's a white feather,--a cowardly dhrop--in you, still an' all." "If you can be one minute serious, Sally, do, I beg of you.

I am very much disturbed, I acknowledge, an' so would you, mabe, if you knew as much as I do." "You're the color of death," she replied putting her fingers upon his cheek; "-- an, my God! is it paspiration I feel such a night as this?
I declare to goodness it is.

Give me the white pocket-handkerchy that you say Peggy Murray gave you.