then. Sive passed on along the road to the north-east, bending forward for speed. It was the Dublin road. No one has seen her since, dead or alive, and I have not heard that any one else saw her that morning except Poll here."
"Why did you not speak to her, Poll?" said Cormac.
"Indeed, I don't know," said Poll, slowly.
"As sure as there is a ferrule on a tramp's stick," said Cormac, "it is in pursuit of that Sheeghy she is gone—and it is not through love of him, nor for his welfare. Many a clever trick he has played during his life, but I give him my hand and word that the trick he played upon Sive on the fair day is the sorest trick to him that he ever played. If it is in pursuit of him she has gone,—and it is—if he were to go into an auger-hole to hide from her, it won't do him any good. She will come up with him and put a narrow necktie on him as sure as he has a throat. Cut off my ear from my head if she doesn't. I think if he had known what sort she is he would have passed her by. It is too late for him now."
"Nonsense, Cormac, nonsense!" said the nurse. "Don't be making yourself ridiculous. What business would Sive have in Dublin? What could she do there? Whom does she know there? How would she find her way through that city, she that was never within a hundred miles of it? Whereas there is not even a rat-hole in any part of the city which that fellow is not acquainted with. Believe me if he finds her in pursuit of him, either he or some one of his gang will very soon put an end to her—if it is in that direction she has gone, which indeed I suppose it is not, of course."
