departed.

Sullivan felt surprised at this rencontre, especially at the nature of
its singular termination; he seemed, however, to fall into a meditative
and gloomy mood, and observed when Dalton had gone--

"If I ever had any doubt, Donnel, that my poor brother owed his death to
a Dalton, I haven't it now."

"I don't blame you much for sayin' so," replied Donnel. "I'm sorry
myself for what has happened, and especially as you were present. I'm
afeard, indeed', that a man's life would be but little in that boy's
hands under a fit of passion. I provoked him too much, though."

"I think so," said Sullivan. "Indeed, to tell you the truth, I had as
little notion that you wore jokin' as he had."

"That's my drame out last night, at all events," said Donnel.

"How is that?" asked Sullivan, as they approached the door.

"Why," said he, "I dreamed that I was lookin' for a hammer at your
house, an' I thought that you hadn't one to give me; but your daughter
Mave came to me, and said, 'here's a hammer for you, Donnel, an' take
care of it, for it belongs to Condy Dalton.' I thought I took it, an'
the first thing I found myself doin' was drivin' a nail in what appeared
to be my own coffin. The same dhrame would alarm me but that I know that
dhrames goes by contrairies, as I've reason to think this will."

"No man understands these things better than yourself, Donnel," said