Miss Folliard stood with her snowy hand in that of the fortune-teller,
perfectly indifferent to her art, but not without strong feelings of
disgust at the ordeal to which she submitted.

"Now, Molly," said the squire, "what have you to say?"

"Here's love," she replied, "love in the wrong direction--a false step
is made that will end in misery--and--and--and--"

"And what, woman?" asked Miss Folliard, with an indignant glance at the
fortune-teller. "What have you to add?"

"No!" said she, "I needn't speak it, for it won't come to pass. I see a
man of wealth and title who will just come in in time to save you from
shame and destruction, and with him you will be happy."

"I could prove to you," replied the _Cooleen Dawn_, her face mantling
with blushes of indignation, "that I am a better prophetess than you
are. Ask her, papa, where she last came from."

"Where did you come from last, Molly?" he asked.

"Why, then," she replied, "from Jemmy Hamilton's at the foot of
Cullaniore."

"False prophetess," replied the _Cooleen Bawn_, "you have told an
untruth. I know where you came from last."

"Then where did I come from, Miss Folliard?" said the woman, with