“Alas! the usual thing, Mrs. Goodwin,” replied Harry, attempting to clear his throat; “they met last night between nine and ten o'clock, in a clump of alders, near the well from which the inhabitants of the adjoining hamlet fetch their water. The outlaw, Shawn-na-Middogue, a rejected lover of the girl's, stung with jealousy and vengeance, surprised them, and stabbed my unfortunate brother, I fear, to death.” “And do you think there is no hope?” she added, with tears in her eyes; “O, if he had only time for repentance!” “Alas! madam, the medical man who has seen him scarcely holds out any hope; but, as you say, if he had time even to repent, there would be much consolation in that.” “Well,” observed Goodwin, his eyes moist with tears, “after this day, I shall never place confidence in man. I did imagine that if ever there was an individual whose heart was the source of honor, truth, generosity, disinterestedness, and affection, your brother Charles was that man. I am confounded, amazed--and the whole thing appears to me like a dream; at all events, thank God, our daughter has had a narrow escape of him.” “Pray, by the way, how is Miss Goodwin?” asked. Harry; “I hope she is recovering.” “So far from that,” replied her father, “she is sinking fast; in truth we entertain but little hopes of her.” “On the occasion of my last visit here you forbade me your house, Mr. Goodwin,” said Woodward; “but perhaps, now that you are aware of the steps I have taken to detach your daughter's affections from an individual whom I knew at the time to be unworthy of them, you may be prevailed on to rescind that stern and painful decree.” Goodwin, who was kind-hearted and placable, seemed rather perplexed, and looked towards his wife, as if to be guided by her decision. “Well, indeed,” she replied, “I don't exactly know; perhaps we will think of it.” “No,” replied Sarah Sullivan, who was toasting a thin slice of bread for Alice's breakfast. “No; if you allow this man to come about the place, as God is to judge me, you will both have a hand in your daughter's death. If the devils from hell were to visit here, she might bear it; but at the present moment one look from that man would kill her.” This remonstrance decided them. “No, Mr. Woodward,” said Goodwin, “the truth is, my daughter entertains a strong prejudice against you--in fact, a terror of you--and under these circumstances, and considering, besides, her state of health, we could not think of permitting your visits, at least,” he added, “until that prejudice be removed and her health restored--if it ever shall be. We owe you no ill-will, sir; but under the circumstances we cannot, for the present, at least, allow you to visit us.” “Well,” replied Woodward, “perhaps--and I sincerely trust--her health will be restored, and her prejudices against me removed, and when better times come about I shall look with anxiety to the privilege of renewing my intimacy with you all.”