Woodward walked about and seemed absorbed in thought. “It is a painful thing, mother,” said he, “that Charles is so long recovering. Do you know that I am half inclined to think he will never recover? His wound was a dreadful one, and its consequences on his constitution will, I fear, be fatal.” “I hope not, Harry,” she replied, “for ever since his illness I have found that my heart gathers about him with an affection that I have never felt for him before.” “Your resolution, then, is fixed, I suppose, to leave him your property?” “It is fixed; there is, or can be, no doubt about it. Once I come to a determination I am immovable. We shall be able to wheedle Lord Cockletown and his niece.” Harry paused a moment, then passed out of the room, and retired to his own apartment. Here he remained for hours. At the close of the evening he appeared in the withdrawing-room, but still in a silent and gloomy state. The perfect cure of Miss Goodwin had spread like wildfire, and reached the whole country. Greatrake's reputation was then at its highest, and the number of his cures was the theme of all conversation, Barney Casey had well marked Woodward since his return from Ballyspellan, and having heard, in connection with others, that Miss Goodwin had been cured by Greatrakes, he resolved to keep his eye upon him, and, indeed, as the event will prove, it was well he did so. That night, about the hour of twelve o'clock, Barney, who had suspected that he (Woodward) had either murdered Grace Davoren in order to conceal his own guilt, or kept her in some secret place for the most unjustifiable purposes, remarked that, as was generally usual with him, he did not go to bed at the period peculiar to the habits of the family. “There is something on my mind this night,” said Barney; “I can't tell what it is; but I think he is bent on some villainous scheme that ought to be watched, and in the name of God I will watch him.” Woodward went out of the house more stealthily than usual, and took his way towards the town of Rathfillan. A good way in the distance behind him might be discovered another figure dogging his footsteps, that figure being no other than the honest figure of Barney Casey. On went Woodward unsuspicious that he was watched, until he reached the indescribable cabin of Sol Donnel, the old herbalist. The night had become dark, and Barney was able, without being seen, to come near enough to Woodward to hear his words and observe his actions. He tapped at the old man's window, which, after some delay and a good deal of grumbling, was at length opened to him. The hut consisted of only one room--a fact which Barney well knew. “Who is there?” said the old herbalist. “Why do you come at this hour to deprive me of my rest? Nobody comes for any good purpose at such an hour as this.” “Open your door, you hypocritical old sinner, and I will speak to you. Open your door instantly.”