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But Max was stopped by Breffny, who almost shouted in excitement: "And the name of the son of McKeown & Ferriss, of Glasgow, in whose shipyard was employed as timekeeper the Donald Wilson " "Donald Wilson was the name of the man who met his wife that night in front of the Midnight Mission," said I, in further confirmation. It was remarkable.
One of the three chapters of this tragic story had entered into the experience of each of us three who sat there emptying stone mugs. Now, for the first time, was the story complete to each of us. "But what became of the man?" asked Breffny. "When the police lieutenant spoke of having her body interred in Potter's Field, the husband spoke up indignantly.
"I did know of one case of a husband starting off at random to find his runaway wife," observed Breffny. "As there's yet an hour to midnight, we have time for one of your stories." "I can tell this in five minutes. All I know of the story is the beginning. No one ever heard of the end. It was like this: "When I lived in Glasgow, I knew a young fellow there who was timekeeper in a shipyard.
Brian's old Irish nurse had often told him of the "Breffny lily," and it was bitter and hard to realize that this ancient hag, withered and shrunk and done to death by the Dark Master's men, had been the fairest maid in Ulster.
Himself and his men travelled it, and they never met with anything that had human breath put in it by God till they came to Breffny, and they saw smoke from a chimney, and they surrounded the house and went into it. And what they saw was a skeleton over the fire roasting, and the people of the house picking flesh off it with the bits of a hook. And when they saw that, they left them there.
McCarthy, king of Desmond, was the first Irish prince to pay homage to Henry. While the king was spending the Christmas festivities in Dublin, many other chieftains arrived; among them O'Carrol of Oriel and O'Rourke of Breffny.
Their co-relatives, sometimes their rivals, but oftener their allies, were the O'Ruarcs of Breffny, McDermots of Moylurg, the O'Flahertys of Iar or West Connaught, the O'Shaughnessys, O'Heynes, and O'Dowdas. The great neighbouring family of O'Kelly had sprung from a different branch of the far-spreading Gaelic tree.
This old hag had been that Noreen of Breffny of whom he had heard much the fairest maid of the North, whom the great earl had loved to the last, though the church had not blessed their union.
Suddenly he straightened up again with a wild cry. "Noreen of Breffny! By my hand, it is the earl's love!" "Aye, the earl's love!" she gasped out, falling back. "I was his love in truth, Yellow Brian, and he loved me above all the rest, though another's hand closed his eyes and laid him to earth in Rome.
The talk ran to the imposture recently attempted by young Mr. Herdling, who claimed that the dead body found at Tarrytown was that of his wife. "A very touching fake," said Max. "Yes; thanks to the skill of the reporters who wrote up his story," cried Breffny. "We visited many morgues in search of her, Louise and I," said I, quoting the most effective passage of the narrative.
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