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"'Tis the English gintleman, miss,—Misther Rodney. He wants to see ye," says the fair Bridget, putting her head in at the doorway, and speaking in a hushed and subdued tone. CHAPTER XXXVIII. CHAPTER XXXVI..

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"The missing will? Yes—yes—yes!" cries she, raising the hand that is behind her, and holding it high above her head with the will held tightly in it. "Yet, in spite of what you say, you turn from me, you despise me," exclaims he, with some growing excitement. "Eh, but this is bad news!" says old Scully, evidently terrified and disheartened by his niece's words. "Where will it all end? Come in, Misther Rodney: let me look at ye, boy. No, not a word out of ye now till ye taste something. 'Tis in bits ye are; an' a good coat it was this mornin'. There's the whiskey, Mona, agra, an' there's the wather. Oh! the black villain! Let me examine ye, me son. Why, there's blood on ye! Oh! the murthering thief!" "It is very strange," says Mona, with a dissatisfied sigh, "but I'll tell you all about it by and by.".