own part, I don't care so much. Her unlucky aunt met me comin' here this
evenin', and threatened both our family and yours. I know she would sink
us into the earth if she could. Either she or your brother is at the
bottom of this business, whatever it is. Your brother I don't fear; but
she is to be dreaded, if, all's true that's said about her."

"No, John--she surely couldn't have the heart to harm, you an' me. Oh,
but I'm light now, since you did what I wanted you. No harm can come
between you and Meehaul; for I often heard him say, when speakin'
about his faction fights, that no one but a coward would, strike an
unresistin' man. Now come and see me pass the Pedlar's Cairn, an'
remember that you'll thank me for what I made you do this night. Come
quickly--I'll be missed."

They then passed on by a circuitous and retired path that led round the
orchard, until he had conducted her in safety beyond the Pedlar's Cairn,
which was so called from a heap of stones that had been loosely piled
together, to mark the spot as the scene of a murder, whose history, thus
perpetuated by the custom of every passenger casting a stone upon the
place, constituted one of the local traditions of the neighborhood.

After a tender good-night, given in a truly poetical manner under the
breaking light of a May moon, he found it necessary to retrace his steps
by a path which wound round the orchard, and terminated in the public
entrance to the town. Along this suburban street he had advanced but a
short way, when he found himself overtaken and arrested by his bitter
and determined foe, Meehaul Neil. The connection betwixt the promise
that Ellen had extorted from him and this rencounter with her brother
flashed upon him forcibly: he resolved, however, to be guided by her
wishes, and with this purpose on his part, the following dialogue took