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 with more of energy than she had yet shewn, and muttered to herself, rocking her chair to and fro, "Aha! why not? no fear now—both gone—can't now murder the poor ould cretur, as the wretch once threatened. Five golden guineas—five, did you say. Sir,—five?"

"Ay, and perhaps our bounty may not stop there," said the Curate.

Still the old woman hesitated, and still she muttered to herself; but after some further prelude, and some further enticement from the Curate, the which we spare our reader, she came at length to the following narration:

"It was on the 7th of February, in the year 44; yes, 44, about six o'clock in the evening, for I was a-washing in the kitchen, when Mr. Aram called to me, an' desired of me to make a fire up-stairs, which I did: he then walked out. Some hours afterwards, it might be two in the morning, I was lying awake, for I was mighty bad with the tooth-ache, when I heard a noise below, and two or three voices. On this, I was