of some person who had made an appointment to meet him.  Half an hour had nearly elapsed—­the shades of evening were now beginning to fall, and he had just come to the resolution of retracing his steps, with a curse of disappointment on his lips, when, on taking another, and what he intended to be a last glance at the pathway in question, he espied the individual for whom he waited.  This was no other than the young beauty of the neighborhood—­Grace Davoren.  She was tripping along with a light and merry step, lilting an Irish air of a very lively character, to which she could scarcely prevent herself from dancing, so elastic and buoyant were her spirits.  On coming to the brow of the glen she paused a moment and cast her eye searchingly around her, but seemed after the scrutiny to hesitate about proceeding farther.

Woodward immediately showed himself, and after beckoning to her, proceeded toward the well.  She still paused, however, as if irresolute; but after one or two significant gestures on his part, she descended with a slow and apparently a timid step, and in a couple of minutes stood beside the well.  The immediate purport of their conversation is not essential to this narrative; but, indeed, we presume that our readers may give a very good guess at it without any assistance from us.  The beautiful girl was young, and credulous, and innocent, as might naturally be inferred from the confusion of her manner, and the tremulous tones of her voice, which, indeed, were seductive and full of natural melody.  Her heart palpitated until its beatings might be heard, and she trembled with that kind of terror which is composed of apprehension and pleasure.  That a gentleman—­one of the quality—­could condescend to feel any interest in a humble girl like her, was what she could scarcely have dreamed; but when he told her of her beauty, the natural elegance and symmetry of her figure, and added that he loved her better than any girl, either high or low, he had ever seen, she believed that his words were true, and her brain became almost giddy with wonder and delight.  Then she considered what a triumph it was over all her female acquaintances, who, if they knew it, would certainly envy her even far more than they did already.  After about half an hour’s conversation the darkness set in, and she expressed an apprehension lest some of her family should come in quest of her—­a circumstance, she said, which might be dangerous to them both.  He then prevailed on her to promise another meeting, which at length she did; but on his taking leave of her she asked him by which way he intended to go home.

“I came by the old green path,” said he, “but intend to turn down the glen into the common road.”

“O, don’t go that way,” said she; “if you do, you’ll have to pass the haunted house, ay, and maybe, might meet the Shan-dhinne-dhuv.”

“What is that,” said he.

“O, Lord save us, sir,” said she, “did you never hear of the Shan-dhinne-dhuv? A spirit, sir, that appears about the haunted house in the shape of a black ould man, and they say that nobody lives long afther seein’ him three times.”