“The worthy priest, whose letter I presented to you to-day, led me to suppose, that if any man could put me in a capacity to throw light upon it you could.” “He didn't say, surely, that I could throw light upon it--did he?” “No, certainly not--but that if any man could, you are that man.” “Ay, ay,” replied old Dunphy; “all bekaise he thinks I have a regard for the Gourlays. That's what makes him suppose that I know anything about the business; just as if I was in the saicrets of the family. I may have suspicions like other people; but that's all.” “Can you throw out no hint, or give no clew, that might aid me in the recovery of this unhappy young man, if he be alive?” “You did well to add that, for who can tell whether he is or not?--maybe it's only thrashing the water you are, after all.” The stranger saw the old fellow had once more grown cautious, and avoided giving a direct reply to him; but on considering the matter, he was, after all, not much surprised at this. The subject involved a black and heinous crime, and if it so happened that Dunphy could in any way have been implicated in or connected with it, even indirectly, it would be almost unreasonable to expect that he should now become his own accuser. Still the stranger could observe that in spite of all his caution, there was a mystery and uneasiness in his manner, when talking of it, which he could not shake off. When the conversation had reached this point, the old woman called her husband down in a voice that seemed somewhat agitated, but not, as far as he could guess, disagreeably. “Denis, come down a minute,” she said, “come down, will you? here's a stranger that you haven't seen for some time.” “What stranger?” he inquired, peevishly. “Who is it? I wish you wouldn't bother me--I'm talkin' with a gentleman.” “It's Ginty.” “Ginty, is it?” said he, musing. “Well, that's odd, too--to think that she should come at this very moment. Maybe, the hand of G--. I beg your pardon, sir, for a minute or two--I'll be back immediately.” He went down stairs, and found in the back parlor the woman named Ginty Cooper, the same fortune-teller and prophetess whom we have already described to the reader.