all the world like a banshee), and, pointing up at the house, she said she would come again soon after the arrival of a certain youth, of whom it has been predicted that _he alone_ can find Con Condon’s head. They say she has been seen about the place to-day. Have you seen her, Major?” “Look!” said Minor. “Isn’t there something dark sitting under the great arbutus tree? Yes; surely there is. Look, Max.” Max looked, and while he did so, the moon, breaking through a cloud, lighted up the carriage drive in front of the house; while its rays, falling upon an arbutus tree, distinctly revealed a dark figure crouched beside it. It seemed to be a very old woman, sitting, Irish fashion, with her chin resting on her knees, while she rocked herself to and fro, and crooned out a wailing Irish keen. Her face (which was very dark coloured) was turned towards the boys, and her large features and long grey hair gave her a very uncanny appearance. Seeing Dennis, she beckoned to him. “Come with me, Max,” said he; “I’m awfully frightened.” “I’ll go, too,” said Harry. “And I.” “And I.” So they all stepped through the open window, and were soon standing round the old crone. [Illustration] “Save ye,” said Dennis. “Save _you_, kindly,” said she. “Are you the grana?” asked Dennis. “Yes, I’m grana, grana, of Carrigogunnel. I’m come from St. Patrick’s purgatory, an’ there I left Con Condon the headless; an’ says he, ‘Grana,’ says he, ‘I’ve been here this tousandh year and more, an’ I’m tired of it entirely; but I can’t git out,’ says he, ‘till I find my head, which that thafe, Modha O’Connor, tuck from me. Good grana,’ says he, ‘go to Castle Connor an’ find it for me; for it is written,’ says he, ‘that there is wan there now that is Irish, an’ Scotch, an’ Sassenach, all in one, an’ ’tis he alone that can find me head.’ This is the message of Con Condon the headless; an’ _you_,” shrieked the hag, pointing her bony finger at Max, “you, whose mother was a Connor, yer father a Scotchman, an’ yerself a Sassenach, come with me an’ find Con Condon’s head!” “Mercy,” said Max, aside, to Dennis; “what must I do; where must I go? I daren’t go a step with that terrible old woman.” “Terrible old woman!” screamed the hag. “Yes, I’m terrible; I’m grana of Carrigogunnel, sister to the mighty Finn. Don’t cross me, young man, or ’twill be worse for ye.” “What must I do?” pleaded Max, in real agony, and trembling in every limb. “Dennis, speak to her.” Dennis spoke to the woman, and then turned to Max: “She insists that you go with her to the dungeons, but says we may go, too, as far as the door; so we shall be near you, and, perhaps, you won’t see Con the headless; being a Sassenach may break the spell.” “See him,” said Max; “I should think not, _I_ don’t believe such superstitions as you Irish do.” “Oh, very well,” said Dennis; “that being the case we can go on immediately.”