[Illustration:  Page 785—­ “It’s false,” replied the young fellow]

“It’s false,” replied the young fellow, with kindling eye; “it’s false, from your teeth to your marrow.  I know my father’s heart an’ his thought—­an’ I say that whoever charges him with the murder of your brother, is a liar—­a false and damnable li—­”

He checked himself ere he closed the sentence.

“Jerry Sullivan,” said he, in an altered voice, “I ax your pardon for the words—–­it’s but natural you should feel as you do; but if it was any other man than yourself that brought the charge of blood against my father, I would thramp upon him where he stands.”

“An’ maybe murdher him, as my poor brother was murdhered.  Dalton, I see the love of blood in your eye,” replied Sullivan, bitterly.

“Why,” replied the other, “you have no proof that the man was murdered at all.  His body was never found; and no one can say what became of him.  For all that any one knows to the contrary, he may be alive still.”

“Begone, sirra,” said Sullivan, in a burst of impetuous resentment which he could not restrain, “if I ever know you to open your lips to that daughter of mine—­if the mane crature can be my daughter—­I’ll make it be the blackest deed but one that ever a Dalton did; and as for you—­go in at wonst—­I’ll make you hear me by and by.”

Dalton looked at him once more with a kindling but a smiling eye.

“Speak what you like,” said he—­“I’ll curb myself.  Only, if you wish your daughter to go in, you had better leave the way and let her pass.”

Mave—­for such was her name—­with trembling limbs, burning blushes and palpitating heart, then passed from the shady angle where they stood; but ere she did, one quick and lightning glance was bestowed upon her lover, which, brief though it was, he felt as a sufficient consolation for the enmity of her father.

The prophet had not yet spoken; nor indeed had time been given him to do so, had he been inclined.  He looked on, however, with’ surprise, which soon assumed the appearance, as well as the reality, of some malignant satisfaction which he could not conceal.

He eyed Dalton with a grin of peculiar bitterness.

“Well,” said he, “it’s the general opinion that if any one knows or can tell what the future may bring about, I can; an’, if my knowledge doesn’t desave me, Dalton, I think, while you’re before me, that I’m lookin’ at a man that was never born to be drowned at any rate.  I prophecy that, die when you may, you’ll live to see your own funeral.”

“If you’re wise,” replied the young man, “you’ll not provoke me now Jerry Sullivan may say what he wishes—­he’s safe, an he knows why; but I warn you, Donnel Dhu, to take no liberty with me; I’ll not bear it.

“Troth, I don’t blame Jerry Sullivan,” rejoined the prophet.  “Of coorse no man would wish to have a son-in-law hanged.  It’s in the prophecy that you’ll go to the surgeons yet.”