Precisely as she spoke, a few drops of blood fell from her nose, which,
of course, accounted for its appearance on Donnel's face, and probably
for her terror also at his repulsive aspect.

"What makes you afeard of poor Donnel, asthore?" asked her mother--"a
man that wouldn't injure a hair of your head, nor of one belongin' to
you, an' never did."

"Why, when my father," she returned, "spoke about the coat there, an'
just as Donnel started, I looked at it, an' seen it movin', I don't know
why, but I got afeard of him."

Sullivan held up the candle mechanically, as she spoke, towards the
coat, upon which they all naturally gazed; but, whether from its dim
flickering light, or the force of imagination, cannot be determined,
one thing was certain, the coat appeared actually to move again, as if
disturbed by some invisible hand. Again, also, the prophet involuntary
started, but only for a single moment.

"Tut," said he, "it's merely the unsteady light of the candle; show it
here."

He seized the rushlight from Sullivan, and approaching the coat, held
it so close to it, that had there been the slightest possible motion, it
could not have escaped their observation.

"Now," he added, "you see whether it moves or not; but, indeed, the
poor girl is so frightened by the great scowldin' she got, that I don't
wondher at the way she's in."