Having ascended the mounting-stone, and placed herself on the crupper,
the guide and she, while passing down the narrow and difficult lane,
along which they could proceed but slowly and with caution, entered into
the following dialogue, she having first turned up the hood of her cloak
over her bonnet, and tied a spotted cotton kerchief round her neck.

"This," said the guide, who was Fardorougha Donovan's servant-man, "is
a quare enough business, as some o' the nabors do be sayin--marrid upon
one another beyant thirteen year, an' ne'er a sign of a haporth. Why
then begad it is quare."

"Whisht, whisht," replied Molly, with an expression of mysterious
and superior knowledge; "don't be spakin' about what you don't
understand--sure, nuttin's impossible to God, avick--don't you know
that?"

"Oh, bedad, sure enough--that we must allow, whether or not, still--"

"Very well; seein' that, what more have we to say, barrin' to hould our
tongues. Children sent late always come either for great good or great
sarra to their parents--an' God grant that this may be for good to the
honest people--for indeed honest people they are, by all accounts. But
what myself wonders at is, that Honor Donovan never once opened her lips
to me about it. However, God's will be done! The Lord send her safe over
all her throubles, poor woman! And, now that we're out o' this thief
of a lane, lay an for the bare life, and never heed me. I'm as good a
horseman as yourself; and, indeed, I've a good right, for I'm an ould
hand at it."

"I'm thinkin'," she added, after a short silence, "it's odd I never was