looking steadfastly upon some remote object
for guidance. Her route would have crossed
me had the tarn not interposed about ten
or twelve yards below the point at which I
was sitting. But instead of arresting her
course at the margin of the lough, as I had
expected, she went on without seeming
conscious of its existence, and I saw her,
as plainly as I see you, sir, walk across the
surface of the water, and pass, without
seeming to see me, at about the distance I
had calculated.

I was ready to faint from sheer terror.
I was only thirteen years old then, and I
remember every particular as if it had
happened this hour.

The figure passed through the gap at the
far corner of the field, and there I lost sight
of it. I had hardly strength to walk home,
and was so nervous, and ultimately so ill,
that for three weeks I was confined to the
house, and could not bear to be alone for a
moment. I never entered that field again,
such was the horror with which from that
moment every object in it was clothed.
Even at this distance of time I should not
like to pass through it.

This apparition I connected with a
mysterious event; and, also, with a singular
liability, that has for nearly eighty years
distinguished, or rather afflicted, our family.
It is no fancy. Everybody in that part of
the country knows all about it. Everybody
connected what I had seen with it.

I will tell it all to you as well as I can.

When I was about fourteen years old
that is about a year after the sight I had
seen in the lough field we were one night
expecting my father home from the fair of
Killaloe. My mother sat up to welcome
him home, and I with her, for I liked
nothing better than such a vigil. My
brothers and sisters, and the farm servants,
except the men who were driving home the
cattle from the fair, were asleep in their
beds. My mother and I were sitting in the
chimney corner, chatting together, and
watching my father's supper, which was
kept hot over the fire. We knew that he
would return before the men who were
driving home the cattle, for he was riding,
and told us that he would only wait to
see them fairly on the road, and then push
homeward.

At length we heard his voice and the
knocking of his loaded whip at the door,
and my mother let him in. I don't think
I ever saw my father drunk, which is more
than most men of my age, from the same
part of the country, could say of theirs.

But he could drink his glass of whisky as
well as another, and he usually came home
from fair or market a little merry and
mellow, and with a jolly flush in his cheeks.

To-night he looked sunken, pale and sad.
He entered with the saddle and bridle in
his hand, and he dropped them against
the wall, near the door, and put his arms
round his wife's neck, and kissed her
kindly.

"Welcome home, Meehal," said she,
kissing him heartily.

"God bless you, mavourneen," he answered.

And hugging her again, he turned to me,
who was plucking him by the hand, jealous
of his notice. I was little, and light of my
age, and he lifted me up in his arms, and
kissed me, and my arms being about his
neck, he said to my mother:

"Draw the bolt, acuishla."

She did so, and setting me down very
dejectedly, he walked to the fire and sat
down on a stool, and stretched his feet
toward the glowing turf, leaning with his
hands on his knees.

"Rouse up, Mick, darlin','' said my
mother, who was growing anxious, "and
tell me how did the cattle sell, and did
everything go lucky at the fair, or is there
anything wrong with the landlord, or what
in the world is it that ails you, Mick,
jewel?"

"Nothin', Molly. The cows sould well,
thank God, and there's nothin' fell out
between me an' the landlord, an' everything's
the same way. There's no fault to find
anywhere."

"Well then, Mickey, since so it is, turn
round to your hot supper, and ate it, and
tell us is there anything new."

"I got my supper, Molly, on the way,
and I can't ate a bit," he answered.

"Got your supper on the way, an' you
knowin' 'twas waiting for you at home, an'
your wife sittin' up an' all!" cried my
mother, reproachfully.

"You're takin' a wrong meanin' out of
what I say," said my father. "There's
something happened that leaves me that I
can't ate a mouthful, and I'll not be dark
with you, Molly, for, maybe, it ain't very
long I have to be here, an' I'll tell you what
it was. It's what I seen, the white cat."

"The Lord between us and harm!"
exclaimed my mother, in a moment as pale
and as chap-fallen as my father; and then,
trying to rally, with a laugh, she said:
"Ha! 'tis only funnin' me you are. Sure
a white rabbit was snared a Sunday last, in