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"The place is haunted."- Hood.
THE Master's trot proved to be a mere flash in the pan, and after a mile the aged animal subsided into his normal pace,-namely, a desultory and erratic stroll. His driver, wearied by this monotonous crawl, alighted, and accompanied the cart on foot, walking at the mule's head, with her sun-bonnet tilted over her face, and her thoughts miles away-say as far as Ballyredmond. Proceeding in this somewhat absent fashion, it came to pass, that in turning a corner she nearly fell into the arms of Barry Sheridan, who, taking her for what she represented at the first glance, exclaimed, "Hullo, my Beauty, 'tis yourself;" but, "The deuce!" "The devil!" were his concluding ejaculations, as he recognized the Crowmore mule, and something familiar in the cut of the market-girl's pink sun-bonnet-not to mention the face that was under it. Finding herself fairly caught, and that escape was out of the question, Helen resolved to make a virtue of necessity, and to brazen it out to the best of her ability.