Part 35 (1/2)
”Tell him the truth, aunt,” said Hanlon, ”there's no use in lyin' under his suspicion wrongfully, or allowin' him to lave your little place for no raison.”
”The truth is, then,” she proceeded, throwing the corner of her ap.r.o.n over her left shoulder, and rocking herself to and fro, ”that this young man had a dhrame some time ago--he dremt that a near an' dear friend of his an' of mine too, that was murdhered in this neighborhood, appeared to him, an' that he desired him to go of a sartain night, at the hour of midnight, to a stone near this, called the Grey Stone, an' that there he would get a clue to the murdherer.”
'Well, an' did he?”
”He went--an'--but you had betther tell it yourself, avillish,” she added, addressing Hanlon; ”you know best.”
The pedlar instantly fixed his anxious and lively eyes on the young man, intimating that he looked to him for the rest of the story.
”I went,” proceeded Hanlon, ”and you shall hear everything that happened.”
It is unnecessary for us, however, to go over the same ground a second time. Hanlon minutely detailed to him all that had taken place at the Grey Stone, precisely as it occurred, if we allow for a slight exaggeration occasioned by his terrors, and the impressions of supernatural manifestations which they left upon his imagination.
The pedlar heard all the circ.u.mstances with an astonishment which changed his whole bearing into that of deep awe and the most breathless attention. The previous eccentricity of his manner by degrees abandoned him; and as Hanlon proceeded, he frequently looked at him in a state of abstraction, then raised his eyes towards heaven, uttering, from time to time, ”Merciful Father!”--”Heaven preserve us!” and such like, thus accompanying him by a running comment of exclamations as he went along.
”Well,” said he, when Hanlon had concluded, ”surely the hand of G.o.d is in this business; you may take that for granted.”
”I would fain hope as much,” replied Hanlon; ”but as the matthers stand now, we're nearly as far from it as ever. Instead of gettin' any knowledge of the murdherer we want to discover, it proves to be the murdher of Sullivan that has been found out.”
”Of Sullivan!” he exclaimed; ”well, to be sure--oh, ay--well, sure that same is something; but, in the mane time, will you let me look at this Box you spoke of? I feel a curiosity to see it.”
Hanlon rose and taking the Box from a small deal chest which was strongly locked, placed it in the pedlar's hands. After examining it closely for about half a minute, they could observe that he got very pale, and his hands began to tremble, as he held and turned it about in a manner that was very remarkable.
”Do you say,” he asked, in an agitated voice, ”that you have no manes of tracin' the murdher?”
”None more than what we've tould you.”
”Did this Box belong to the murdhered man?--I mane, do you think he had it about him at the time of his death?”
”Ay, an' for some time before it,” replied the woman. ”It's all belongin' to him that we can find now.”
”And you got it in the keeping of this M'Gowan, the Black Prophet, you say?”
”We did,” replied the woman, ”from his daughter, at all events.”
”Who is this Black Prophet?” he asked; ”or what is he? for that comes nearer the mark. Where did he come from, where does he live, an' what way does he earn his bread?”
”The boy here,” she replied, pointing to Hanlon, ”can tell you that betther than I can; for although I've been at his place three or four times, I never laid eyes on him yet.”
”Well,” continued the pedlar, ”you have both a right to be thankful that you tould me this. I now see the hand of G.o.d in the whole business. I know this box an' I can tell you something that will surprise you more than that. Listen--but wait--I hear somebody's foot. No matter--I'll surprise you both by an' by.”
”G.o.dsave all here,” said the voice of our friend, Jemmy Branigan, who immediately entered. ”In troth, this change is for the betther, at any rate,” said he, looking at the house; ”I gave you a lift wid the masther yestherday,” he added, turning to the woman. ”I think I'll get him to throw the ten s.h.i.+llings off--he as good as promised me he would.”
”Masther!” exclaimed the pedlar, bitterly--”oh, thin, it's he that's the divil's masther, by all accounts, an' the divil's landlord, too. Be me sowl, he'll get a warm corner down here;” and as he uttered the words, he very significantly stamped with his heel, to intimate the geographical position of the place alluded to.
”It would be only manners to wait till your opinion is axed of him,”
replied Jemmy; ”so mind your pack, you poor sprissaun, or when you do spake, endeavor to know something of what you're discoorsin' about.
Masther, indeed! Divil take your impidence!”
”He's a scourge to the counthry,” continued the pedlar; ”a worse landlord never faced the sun.”