Herrick. I know he's murdered; I felt struck with the knowledge of his death, and I could not help it, the minute his brother (God help him!) laughed in my face. Don't raise up her head, sir; she'll come to soon enough-too soon, like a spirit that comes to the earth but to leave it. I'm not mad, Mr Herrick, though maybe I look so. Be it by fire or water, or steel or bullet, Ralph Furlong's a corpse, and I'll inform this time. I've heard tell the man that betrayed Christ wept afther. What good war his tears? What good my informing now? but I will-I will. I'll make a clean breast for onst. I'll do the right thing now, if all the devils of hell tear me into pieces! I tell you, sir, Steve Murphy did it!-black-hearted, cunning-headed, and bloodyhanded he was, from the time his mother begged with him from door to door for what she did not want, and taught him lies by every hedgerow and green bank through the country. punished, Mr Herrick, I'm punished. If I'd informed—but I'll not call it informing-if I'd told the truth when you wanted me, about the letters at the forge, he would not have been in the country to commit murder. She's coming to now, sir; she's coming to."

I'm

Gradually poor Sydney revived, but only to suffer more than she had previously gone through. The people were greatly astonished at the conviction which rested on the farmer's mind that the young man had been murdered; a belief which extended itself to his daughter; for, from the moment she heard that Ralph was not with his aunt, it appeared as if every vestige of hope had vanished from her mind. The men of the company set forward an immediate inquiry; every cottage was emptied of its inmates, the women flocking to the farmer's house to pour consolation and hope into the bosom of the bereaved bride, and the men to assist in a search, which, at the noonday hour, was a very uncommon occurrence. It is rarely, indeed, that the Irish peasantry seek assistance either from the police or military force; though they are fond of going to law, they detest those connected with the law. But Mr Herrick promptly rode into Wexford, and having made the necessary inquiries, and ascertained that young Furlong had not been seen at the town, he informed the proper authorities of his mysterious disappearance, and then turned his horse towards Ferry Carrig, to ascertain from the gatekeeper who had passed over the bridge the preceding evening.

Ferry Carrig is one of the picturesque spots which are so frequently seen by those who journey through my native county. On one side of the Slaney-here a river of glorious width-rises, boldly and wildly, a conical hill, upon the summit of which stands out, in frowning ruins, one of the boldest of the square towers of which so many were erected by the enterprising FitzStephen. The opposite side of the bridge is guarded by a rock, not so steep or so magnificent as its neighbour, but not less striking, though its character is different; the one is absolutely

garlanded with heaths, wild-flowers, and the golden-blossoming furze; while the other, affording barely a spot for vegetation, seems planted for eternity-so stern, and fixed, and rugged, that one could imagine nothing save the destruction of the universe capable of shaking its foundation.

The bridge erected across this beautiful water is of singular construction, and partakes of the wildness of the scene; the planks are not fastened at either end; and the noise and motion has a startling effect to one not accustomed to such modes of

transit.

When Mr Herrick arrived at the tollhouse, he learned that many inquiries had been already made, and all the tollkeeper could say was, "that positively Ralph Furlong, whom he knew as well as his own son, had not crossed the bridge the preceding evening, although he had been on the look-out for him." The elder Furlong had accompanied his brother to within a mile of the Eniscorthy side of the bridge, so his disappearance must have occurred between the spot where they separated and the Bridge of Ferry Carrig. Nothing could exceed the energy and exertion to discover the lost bridegroom: every inquiry was made, every break explored, the rivers even were dragged; but no trace of Ralph Furlong was obtained. Mr Herrick returned to the farm; and it was heart-breaking to observe the totally hopeless expression of Sydney's beautiful face.

"There is no knowing," said the kind gentleman, with a cheerfulness that he but imperfectly assumed-" there is no knowing he may have left the country."

"No," was her reply; "he would never have deserted me!" Thus did her trust in her lover's fidelity outlive all hope of meeting him alive in this changing world.

In the meantime, James Harragan had proceeded alone to Steve Murphy's cottage. The sun had set, when he found him sitting by his fire, not alone, for his sister was seated on the opposite side.

Harragan entered with the determined air of a desperate man, and neither gave salutation, nor returned that which was given.

"I come," said he, "to ask you where you have hid Ralph Furlong." The man started and changed colour, and then assuming a bold and determined air of defiance, hesitated not to inquire what the farmer meant, who, in reply, as boldly taxed him with the murder. Hard and desperate words succeeded, and the screams of the accused man's sister most likely prevented death; for the farmer, a tall powerful man, had grasped Murphy so tightly by the throat that a few minutes must have terminated his existence. Although by no means a weakling, he was as a green willow wand in the hands of his assailant.

In vain did his terrified sister declare that her brother was at home early in the evening, and went to bed before she did.

19.

Harragan persisted in his charge; and had it not been for the force of superior numbers, he would have succeeded in dragging him to the next police station; but Irish assistance is much more easily procured against the law than for it; though, I confess, in this instance it was hard for those who did not know all the circumstances to determine whose part to take, for Harragan was under the influence of such strong excitement, that he acted more like a maniac than a man in the possession of his senses.

Having failed in his first object, that of dragging Steve Murphy to justice himself, he mounted his horse, and laid before the nearest magistrate sufficient reason why Steve should be arrested, and detained until further inquiries were made; but when the police force sought for him, he was gone!—vanished! as delinquents vanish in Ireland, where hundreds of sober honest men will absolutely know where a villain is concealed, and yet suffer him to escape and commit more crimes, because their prejudices will not suffer them to inform.

Great was the excitement throughout the country, occasioned by this mysterious event. James Harragan lived but for one object, that of bringing the murderer to justice. This all-engrossing desire seemed to have absorbed even his affection for his child; that is to say, he would stroke her hair, or press her now colourless cheek to his bosom, and then, turning away with a deep sigh, go on laying down some new plan for the discovery of poor Ralph's murderer. Everybody said that Sydney was dying, but her father did not seem to observe that her summer had ceased, when its sun was at the hottest, and its days at the longest, and that the rose was dropping leaf by leaf to the earth. Once Sydney attempted to take to market the produce of her dairy, which her kind friend Essy tended with more care than her own.

"If they don't notice me," she said, "I'll do bravely; you'll tell them, Essy, to never heed me." And so Essy did; but it would not do. No prudential motive yet was ever sufficiently strong to restrain the sympathy of the genuine Irish. When her car stopped at the corner of the market-place, twenty stout arms were extended to lift the pale girl off. There was not a woman in the square who did not leave her standing to crowd round the widowed bride. It would have been as easy to turn the fertilising waters of the Nile, as that torrent of affection. The young girls sobbed, and could not speak for tears; but those tears fell upon Sydney's hands, and moistened her cheeks; it was refreshing to them, for she herself had long ceased to weep; hers were the only dry eyes in the crowd. The mothers prayed that God might bless her, and "raise her up again to be the flower of the country.'

"Never heed, Sydney, darlint; sure you've the prayers of the country."

"And the double prayers of the poor," exclaimed a knot of

beggars, who had abated their vocation to put up their petitions in her favour.

Sydney could have borne coldness or neglect, but kindness overpowered her, and she was obliged to return, leaving her small merchandise to Essy's care.

Every one said that Sydney was hastening to her grave, but still her father heeded it not; no bloodhound ever toiled or panted more eagerly to recover the scent which he had lost, than did the farmer to trace Steve Murphy's flight; it was still his absorbing idea, both by day and night. Had it not been for the exertions of his sons, his well-cultivated farm would have gone to ruin. His health was suffering from this monomania; the flesh shrank daily from his bones, and the healthy jocund farmer was changing into a gigantic skeleton. The priest talked to him, Mr Herrick reasoned with him, but all to no purpose.

Time passed, and James Harragan entered his cottage as the sun was setting. He had stood for the last hour leaning against the post of his gate, apparently engaged in watching the sparrows flying in and out of their old dwelling-places in the thatch. His sons had prepared his supper, and he sat down to it mechanically; the two lads whispered for some time together at the window, when suddenly Harragan inquired "what they muttered for?" The youths hesitated to reply.

"Let me know what it was!" he exclaimed. "I'll have no whispering, no cochering, no hiding and seeking in my house. Boys, there's a hell at this moment burning in yer father's breast! Look, I never could kill one of them small birds that destroy the roof above our heads, without feeling I took from the innocent thing the life I could not give; and yet, what does that signify? Isn't my hand red at this time of speaking with that boy's blood! Red-it's red-hot-hissing red with the blood of Ralph Furlong! It is as much so as if I did it! And why? --because I held on at the mystery that shades the guilty and hurries on the innocent to destruction—because I wouldn't inform! Now, mind me, boys, I'll have nothing but out speaking; no whispering; where there's that sort of secrecy, there's sin and the curse. What war you whispering?" he added in a voice

of thunder.

"We war only saying, sir," replied the elder, "that we wonder Sydney and Essy ain't back."

"Back! Why, where is my little girl?"

"and

"She took a thought this morning, sir," he answered, we don't like to say against her, that she'd walk from Ferry Carrig Bridge to where HE parted from his brother, and took Essy with her on the car as far as the bridge; it's a notion she had."

"My colleen !-my pride!-my darlint!" he ejaculated, much moved, "and I not to know this! Yer mother little thought, when she made ye over to me before death made her over

21

to the holy angels, what would happen. And ye didn't tell me, because ye thought I didn't care! Well, I forgive ye—I forgive ye, boys! I didn't neglect her though, for all that; my heart was set on another matter. There is but one thing she can spake on, one thing I can spake on—and it is better we shouldn't-but, when she does look at me, though my little girl strives to keep it under, there is in her eyes what says, 'If ye'd spoken the truth long ago, it's a happy wife I'd be now, instead of Oh, God! -oh, God!" he exclaimed passionately, "that I should have suffered such a snake to fatten on the land, when I could have crushed him under my heel! I'd have rest in my grave if I could see him in his. I'll go meet her, boys. You should have gone before." And the farmer stalked forth, and silently mounting his cob, proceeded on the road to Ferry Carrig.

There are mysteries around us, both night and day, for which it would be difficult indeed to account: the impulse that drew Sydney that morning to the banks of the Slaney was, and ever must be, unaccountable.

Nurses," she said to her faithful friend Essy, after they crossed the bridge, and, quitting the coach-road, made unto themselves a path along the bank-". 'nurses like you, Essy, may be called the brides'-maids of death; and you have been my nurse all through this sickness." Essy afterwards said she did not know what there was in those words to make her cry, but she could not answer for weeping. The two girls wandered on, Sydney stopping every now and then to look into the depths and shallows of the river, and prying beneath every broad green leaf and clump of trees that overhung its banks. More than once they sat down, and more than once did Essy propose their return, but Sydney went on, as if she had not spoken. At last they came to a species of deep drain, almost overgrown with strong, tall, leafy water-plants, that was always filled when the tide was full in. Essy sprang lightly over it, and then turning a little way up to where it was narrower, she extended her hand to her feeble friend. Although the gulf was narrow, it was very deep; the root of a tree had formed a natural dam across it, so that much water was retained. As Sydney was about to cross, she cast her eyes beneath, started, and held back. She did not speak, but, with her hand pointed downwards, Essy's shriek rang through the air-the face of Ralph Furlong stared at them from the bottom of the silent pool!

Had she not removed the broad leaves of a huge dock that shaded the water, so that Sydney's footing might be sure, the unconscious girl would have stept, without knowing it, over her lover's liquid grave. Essy was so overwhelmed with horror, that she ran shrieking towards the highway; several minutes elapsed before she returned with assistance; and then where was Sydney! The faithful girl, in endeavouring to draw his body from the waters, had fallen in; her head was literally resting on