every change of her expressive countenance; her hair was like the raven’s wing, and her black eye, instead of being sharp and piercing, was more in accordance with the benignity of her character, soft, sweet, and mellow.  Her bust and arm were perfection, and the small white hand and taper fingers would have told a connoisseur or sculptor, that her foot, in lightness and elegance of formation, might have excited, the envy of Iris or Camilla.

Having reached the ruin, she was surprised to see the figure of a thin woman, dressed in black, issue out of it, and approach her with somewhat of caution in her manner.  Mary M’Loughlin was a girl of strong mind and firm character, and not likely to feel alarmed by any groundless cause of apprehension.  She immediately recognized the woman, who was no other than our old friend Poll Doolin, and in the phrases peculiar to the country, made the usual kind inquiry after her health and welfare.

“It’s a very unusual thing, Poll,” she proceeded, “to see you in this part of the neighborhood!”

“It is,” returned Poll, “I wasn’t so near the mountains this many a day; an’ I wouldn’t be here now, only on your account.  Miss M’Loughlin.”

Now, Mary was by no means ignorant of the enmity which this woman entertained against her father and family, in consequence of having prosecuted and transported her profligate son.  Without the slightest apprehension on that account, she felt, however, a good deal puzzled as to the meaning which could be attached to Poll’s words.  “How, on my account, Poll?  I don’t understand you.”

“Neither you nor yours desarve it at my hands; but for all that, I am here to do you a good tarn.”

“I hope I never deserved any evil at your! hands, Poll.”

“No, but you’re your father’s daughter for all that, an’ it’s not usual to hate the tree and spare the branches.”

“I suppose you allude to the transportation of your son; but remember, Poll, that I was only a child then; and don’t forget that had your son been honest, he might I still be a comfort and a credit to you, instead of a shame and a sorrow.  I don’t I mean, nor do I wish to hurt your feelings, Poll; but I am anxious that you should not indulge in such bitterness of heart against my father, who only did what he could not avoid.”

“Well,” said Poll, “never mind that—­although it isn’t aisy for a mother to forget her child wid all his faults; I am here, as I said, on your ’account—­I am here to tell you, that there is danger about you and before you, and to put you on your guard against it.  I am here, Miss Mary M’Loughlin, and if I’m not your friend—­I’m not sayin’ that I am not—­still I’m the friend of one that is your friend, and that will protect you if he can.”

“That is very strange, Poll, for I know not how I can have an enemy.  What danger could a simple inoffensive girl like me feel?  I who have never knowingly offended anybody.”