“Life and death, as I said,” replied Poll “Do you not know that Mr. Harman is to be tried for murder, and that the assizes will open in a few days?”

“Unfortunately I do,” replied Mary, sighing deeply, “but there can be no doubt of his acquittal.  Father Roche has been here, who was present, and told us how the whole circumstance occurred.”

“I don’t doubt that,” said Poll, “but this I tell you, and this you may rely on, that hang he will, in spite of fate; he’s doomed.”

“Great God!” exclaimed the now terrified girl, “you chill the blood in my veins—­doomed!—­what do you mean, Poll?”

“M’Clutchy will have him hanged in spite of all opposition—­you know his power now—­he can carry everything his own way.”

“I know,” replied the other, “that his influence is unfortunately great, no doubt, and cruelly is it exercised; but still, I don’t know that he can carry everything his own way.”

“Do you know what packing a jury means?”

“Alas!” replied Mary, starting, and getting pale, “I do indeed, Poll.  I have heard of it too frequently.”

“What, then, has the Vulture, the blood-hound, to do, but to get twelve Orangemen upon the jury, and the work is done?”

The unhappy girl burst into tears, and wrung her hands, for, however questionable the veracity of her present informant, she knew, from the unfortunate circumstances of the country, that such corrupt influences had too frequently been exerted.

“Don’t you know,” added Poll, “that the thing can be done?  Isn’t the sheriff himself an Orangeman—­isn’t the sub-sheriff an Orangeman—­isn’t the grand jury Orange, aren’t they all Orange through other?”

“I believe so, indeed,” said Mary, still weeping bitterly, “and there is, I fear, little or no hope.”

“Well, but,” replied Poll, “what if I could give you hope?”

“You, Poll, what can you mean?  You!”

“Yes, me,” said Poll, “poor as I stand here now.”

“Well, but how?”

“Through them that can turn old Val the Vulture round their finger.  What do you think brought me here—­or who do you think sent me?  Don’t you know that I have no raison to like a bone in the skin of one o’ your family, and that it’s more, of coorse, to plaise others than myself that I’m here; but, over and above that, you, Miss M’Loughlin, never offended or injured me, and I’m willin’ to sarve you in this business, if you will sarve yourself.”

“But, how—­but, how?” replied the distracted girl, “only tell me how?”

“There is one, and only one, that can twist Val round his finger, and in this same business is willing to do so—­and that one is his own son, Phil.”

Mary stood for a moment without even breathing; indeed, she exhibited strong symptoms of disgust at his very name.

“He is a person I detest,” she replied, “beyond any human creature.”