“Well, Moya, it’s all imagination; go, now, and prepare my breakfast, as I want to go to Maryborough to-day, and I must be home early.” Moya trembled; she looked at him imploringly and said: “For Heaven’s sake, John, don’t go to-day; stay till some other day, and God bless you; for if you go to-day I would give my oath there will something cross you that’s bad.” “Nonsense, woman!” said he; “make haste and get me my breakfast.” Moya, with tears in her eyes, set about getting the breakfast ready; and whilst she was so employed John was engaged in making preparations for his journey. Having now completed his other arrangements, he sat down to breakfast, and, having concluded it, he arose to depart. Moya ran to the door, crying loudly; she flung herself on her knees, and said: “John, John, be advised. Don’t go to-day; take my advice; I know more of the world than you do, and I see plainly that if you go you will never enter this door again with your life.” Ashamed to be influenced by the drivellings of an old cullough, he pushed her away with his hand, and, going out to the stable, mounted his horse and departed. Moya followed him with her eyes whilst in sight; and when she could no longer see him, she sat down at the fire and wept bitterly. It was a bitter cold day, and the farmer, having finished his business in town, feeling himself chilly, went into a public-house to have a tumbler of punch and feed his horse; there he met an old friend, who would not part with him until he would have another glass with him and a little conversation, as it was many years since they had met before. One glass brought another, and it was almost duskish ere John thought of returning, and, having nearly ten miles to travel, it would be dark night before he could get home. Still his friend would not permit him to go, but called for more liquor, and it was far advanced in the night before they parted. John, however, had a good horse, and, having had him well fed, he did not spare whip or spur, but dashed along at a rapid pace through the gloom and silence of the winter’s night, and had already distanced the town upward of five miles, when, on arriving at a very desolate part of the road, a gunshot, fired from behind the bushes, put an end to his mortal existence. Two strange men, who had been at the same public-house in Maryborough drinking, observing that he had money and learning the road that he was to travel, conspired to rob and murder him, and waylaid him in this lonely spot for that horrid purpose.