"Glory be to God," involuntarily prayed Nelly, at the thoughts
suggested by Sally's powerful eloquence.

"There will, I tell ye," continued Sally, again draining the tea-pot
into the bowl. "Sorrow a lie I'm telling you;" and then, in a low
whisper across the fire, "didn't I see jist now Miss Anty ketch a hould
of Misther Martin, as though she'd niver let him go agin, and bid him
for dear mercy's sake have a care of Barry Lynch?--Shure I knowed what
that meant. And thin, didn't he thry and do for herself with his own
hands? Didn't Biddy say she'd swear she heard him say he'd do it?--and
av he wouldn't boggle about his own sisther, it's little he'd mind what
he'd do to an out an out inemy like Misther Martin."

"Warn't that a knock at the hall-door, Sally?"

"Run and see, girl; may-be it's the docthor back again; only mostly he
don't mind knocking much."

Nelly went to the door, and opened it to Lord Ballindine, who had left
his gig in charge of his servant. He asked for Martin, who in a short
time, joined him in the parlour.

"This is a dangerous place for your lordship, now," said he: "the fever
is so bad in the house. Thank God, nobody seems to have taken it yet,
but there's no knowing."

"Is she still so bad, Martin?"

"Worse than iver, a dale worse; I don't think It'll last long, now:
another bout such as this last 'll about finish it. But I won't keep