It is dreary waiting. No sleep comes to her eyes; she barely moves; the dogs slumber drowsily, and moan and start in their sleep, "fighting their battles o'er again," it may be, or anticipating future warfare. Slowly, ominously, the clock strikes twelve. Two hours have slipped into eternity; midnight is at hand!,
"Ha! That's right," says Ryan. "You hold her, Carthy, while I give this English gentleman a lesson that will carry him to the other world. I'll teach him how to balk me of my prey a second time. D'ye think I didn't know about Maxwell, eh? an' that my life is in yer keepin'! But yours is in mine now," with a villanous leer "an' I wouldn't give a thraneen for it.",
"It appears he had a pocket-pistol with him, Sir Nicholas, and going home through the wood he stumbled over some roots, and it went off and injured him fatally. It is an internal wound, my lady. Dr. Bland, who is with him, says there is no hope.".
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