ramsacked an’ he dead as a door-nail. ’Twas his cries Paddy had heard as the poor thraveller was bein’ murdhered.
Since that time a dozen people passing the mill at night had heard the cries of the same peddler, an’ had seen the place blazin’ with lights. So, that now no one who could help it ever alone passed the mill afther dark.
At the hill this side of that place the pony slowed down to a walk; nayther coaxin’ nor batin’ ’d injooce the baste to mend his steps. The horse’d stop a little an’ wait, an’ thin it’d go on thrimblin’.
They could all see the dim outlines of the empty mill glowerin’ up at them, an’ the nearer they came the more it glowered, an’ the faster their two hearts bate. Half-way down the hill an ould sign-post pinted the way with its broken arm; just beyant that the bridge, an’ afther that the long, level road an’—salwaytion.
But at the sign-post Clayopathra sthopped dead still, starin’ into some bushes just beyant. She was shakin’ an’ snortin’ and her limbs thrimblin’.
At the same time, to tell the truth, she was no worse off than the two Christians sittin’ in the cart behint
