Page:Irish assassin, or, The misfortunes of the family of O'Donnel (3).pdf/2



Dark was the night, and bleak blew the wind, as the guilty O’Donnel, the mention of whose name instilled dread wherever it was heard, paced to and fro with cautious steps in the front of a splendid mansion, situate in Sackville street, in the city of Dublin; a death-like silence prevailed, and nought but the shrill sighings of the gale occured to interrupt the gloomy broodings of his anguished mind. “Approach! Approach! he cried in a voice of smothered rage, “thou cursed villain, whose, blasted machinations have for ever destroyed the fame and the family of my forefathers, and let the last existing branch of that once proud and distinguished clan finish the catalogue of his crimes, of which thou hast been the primary cause, by sheathing his trusty weapon in thy blackened heart, in which has been engendered all those hell-born schemes of mischief that have made him the wretch he is!”

At that moment, a person whose outward appearance bespoke him of the middling order of life, approached, and ran quickly up the few stone steps that led to the hall-door, before which O’Donnel had been anxiously watching. He had lifted his hand to the knocker, and was about to give the accustomed rap, when he was seized by the sinewy arm of O’Donnel, who. instantly plunged a poignard into his side, and exclaimed with savage exultation: “That, to thy heart, thou fiend of hell, and by this,” repeating his thrusts, “be the mane of murdered innocence appeased!” A hollow groan war the only sound that escaped the stranger, who fell senseless against the railings. O’Donnel contemplated him dreadful work for a few moments with a steady gaze and then directing his impious eyes towards heaven,