May God in heaven protect us! But who is this?"
As he spoke, a hideous old hag, bent over her staff, approached them;
but it did not appear that she was about to pay them any particular
attention. She was mumbling and cackling to herself when about to pass,
but was addressed by Lindsay.
"Where are you going, you old hag? They say you are acquainted with more
than you ought to know. Can you account for this blood that's falling?"
"Who are you that axes me?" she squeaked.
"I'm Mr. Lindsay, the magistrate."
"Ay," she screamed again, "it was for your son, Harry, na Suil Gloir,
(* Suil Gloir was an epithet bestowed on persons whose eyes were of
different colors) that this bonfire was made to-night. Well he knows
what I tould him, and let him think of it; but there will be more blood
than this, and that before long, I can tell you and him."
So saying, she hobbled on, mumbling and muttering to herself like a
witch rehearsing her incantations on her way to join their sabbath. They
now turned their steps homewards, but had not proceeded far, when the
rain came down as it might be supposed to have done in the deluge; the,
lightnings flashed, the thunder continued! to roar, and by the time they
reached Rathfillan House they were absolutely drenched to the skin.
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