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ing quickly round, they beheld her with one of the clenched hands of the corpse between hers, gazing on it in stirless amazement. Between the dead-stiff fingers, appeared something of a bluish colour slightly protruded. Using the utmost strength of which she was mistress, Ellen forced open the hand, and took from it a small part of the lappel of a coat, with a button attached. And letting the hand fall, she rushed through the crowd, putting all aside without looking at one, until she stood before Yamon. A glance was sufficient. In the death-struggle, the unhappy Moran had torn away this portion of his murderer's dress, and the rent was visible at the moment.

"The murderer! blood for blood!" shrieked the frantic girl, grasping his garment, and looking almost delirious with passion. All was confusion and uproar. Yamon darted one fierce glance around, and sprung toward the open door, but Ellen Sparling still clung as with a drowning grasp to her hold. He put forth the utmost of his giant strength to detach himself from her, but in vain. All his efforts seemed only to increase her strength, while they di

minished his own. At last he bethought him of his fishing-knife, he plucked it from his belt, and buried it in her bosom. The unfortunate girl relaxed her hold, reeled, and fell on the corpse of her lover, while Yamon bounded to the door. Poor Terry crossed his way, but one blow laid him sprawling senseless on the earth, and no one cared to tempt a second. The rifles of the guard were discharged after him, as he darted over the sand-hills, but just before the triggers were pulled, his foot tripped against a loose stone, he fell, and the circumstance perhaps saved his life, (at least the marksmen said so). He was again in rapid flight before the smoke cleared away.

"Shuil! Shuil!* The sand-hills! the cliffs!" was now the general shout, and the chase immediately commenced. Many minutes elapsed ere they arrived at the cliffs, and half a dozen only of the most nimble-footed just reached the spot in time to witness the last desperate resource of the murderer. He stood and looked over his shoulder for an instant, then rushing to the verge of the cliff, where it walled in the

*Come! Come!

land to a height of forty feet, he waved his hand to his pursuers, and cast himself into the sea.

The general opinion was that he had perished, but there was no trace ever seen that could make such a consummation certain. The body was never found, and it was suspected by a few, that, incredible as the story might appear, he had survived the leap, and gained the little rocky island opposite.

The few who returned at dusk to Mr. Sparling's house, found it the abode of sorrow, of silence, and of death. Even the voice of the hired keener was not called in on this occasion to mock the real grief that sat on every brow, and in every heart. The lovers were waked together, and buried in the same grave at Kilfiehera.

ST. MARTIN'S DAY.

Pericles. That's your superstition!

Sailor.-Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it still hath been ob

served, and we are strong in earnest.

Pericles, Prince of Tyre.

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