Part 29 (1/2)

”It was very well that he had it afterwards--better late than never.”

”I want you to tell me where he is.”

”What family have you?”

”Seven small childre that's now fatherless, I may say.”

”What kind of a man was your husband?”

”Why, indeed, as handsome a vagabone as you'd see in a day's travellin'.”

”Mention his name; I can tell you nothing till I hear it.”

”He's called Rantin' Rody, the thief, and a great schamer he is among the girls.”

”Ranting Rody--let me see,” and here he looked very solemnly into his book--”yes; I see--a halter. My good woman, you had better not inquire after him; he was born to be hanged.”

”But when will that happen, sir?”

”Your fate and his are so closely united, that, whenever he swings, you will swing. You will both hang together from the same gallows; so that, in point of fact, you need not give yourself much trouble about the time of his suspension, because I see it written here in the book of fate, that the same hangman who swings you off, will swing him off at the same moment. You'll 'lie lovingly together; and when he puts his tongue out at those who will attend his execution, so will you; and when he dances his last jig in their presence, so will you. Are you now satisfied?”

”Troth, and I'm very fond o' the vagabone, although he's the worst friend I ever had. But you won't tell me where he is? and I know why, because, with all your pretended knowledge, the devil a know you know.”

”Are you sure of that?”

”Ay, c.o.c.ksure.”

”Then I can tell you that he is sitting on the chair there, opposite me.

Go about your business, Rody, and rant elsewhere; you may impose upon others, but not upon a man that can penetrate the secrets of human life as I can. Go now; there is a white wand in the corner,--my conjuring rod,--and if I only touched you with it, I could leave you a cripple and beggar for life. Go, I say, and tell Caterine Collins how much she and you gained by this attempt at disgracing me.”

Rody, for it was he, was thunderstruck at this discovery, and, springing to his feet, disappeared.

”Well, Rody,” said the crowd, ”how did you manage? Did he know you?”

Rody was as white in the face as a sheet. ”Let me alone,” he replied; ”the conjurer above is the devil, and nothin' else. I must get a gla.s.s o' whiskey; I'm near faintin'; I'm as wake as a child; my strength's gone The man, or the devil, or whatsomever he is, knows everything, and, what is worse, he tould me I am to be hanged in earnest.”

”Faith, Rody, that required no great knowledge on his part; there's not a man here but could have tould you the same thing, and there's none of us a conjurer.”

Rody, however, immediately left them to discuss the matter among themselves, and went, thoroughly crestfallen, to give an account of his mission to Caterine Collins, who had employed him, and to rea.s.sume his own clothes, which, indeed, were by no means fresh from the tailor.

The last individual whose interview with the conjurer we shall notice was no other than Harry Woodward, our hero. On entering he took his seat, and looked familiarly at the conjurer.

”Well,” said he, ”there was no recognition?”

”How could there?” replied the other; ”you know the thing's impossible; even without my beard, n.o.body in the town or about it knows my face, and to those who see me in character, they have other things to think of than the perusal of my features.”

”The girl was with you?”

”She yes, and I feel that, unless we can get Shawn-na-Middogue taken off by some means or other, your life will not, cannot, be safe.”