the men; they started up, and asked her what had happened.

"Oh!" she exclaimed; "the banshee, the banshee! Lord have mercy on
us! she is come again, and I never heard her so wild and outrageous
before."

Jack O'Malley readily believed old Moya's tale; so did Harry, but
he thought it might be some one who was committing some depredation
on the premises. They both listened attentively, but could hear
nothing; they opened the kitchen door, but all was still; they
looked abroad; it was a fine, calm night, and myriads of twinkling
stars were burning in the deep-blue heavens. They proceeded around
the yard and hay-yard; but all was calm and lonely, and no sound
saluted their ears but the shrill barking of some neighbouring
cur, or the sluggish murmuring of the little tortuous river in
the distance. Satisfied that "all was right," they again went in,
replenished the expiring fire, and sat down to finish whatever
still remained in the whisky-bottle.

They had not sat many minutes when a wild, unearthly cry was heard
without.

"The banshee again," said Moya, faintly. Jack O'Malley's soul
sank within him; Harry started up and seized the blunderbuss; Jack
caught his arm. "No, no, Harry, you shall not; sit down; there's
no fear--nothing will happen us."

Harry sat down, but still gripped the blunderbuss, and Jack lit
his tobacco-pipe, whilst the old woman was on her knees, striking
her breast, and repeating her prayers with great vehemence.