sor, Oi
thought it must be ather thee or Sor Fridrick. Thin, thinks Oi to
moysilf, what in the divil's name doth make Sor Walter or Sor Fridrick
walk so cautious loike? He jist takes a stip in the doiriction o'
thee, sor, and thin he stops and waits, whoilst wan moight count a
score, as though he was alistenin' fer somethin'. 'Tis moighty strange
that ather wan o' yer honours would go on loike that in yer own tint,
sez Oi, to moysilf. This koind o' made me curious loike, so Oi jist
sits up and watches him. Thin, Mither-o'-Gawd, sor! the blissid moon
shines on a dagger in the varmint's hand. Thin, sor, Oi pounces upon
him, and the varmint troid to stab me with his damned dagger. This
made me lose moy timper, loike; so Oi jist gives him a rap on the arm,
and sure, sor, the thing snapped loike a rotten branch astickin' from
out the soide o' a dead tree. Thin, sor, Oi lays him down, akoind o'
rough loike, and he thought he'd bitter stay thare. Jist at that toime
yer honours wakened up, and ye know the rist as will, or bitter, than
Oi do."

"Ah! Michael, my faithful friend, what should I do without thee? Thou
hast saved my life, this night, and repaying that is beyond my power;
unless thou art ever threatened, when I would save thee and risk mine
own life, as thou hast done for me."

"Uh! sure, yer honour, dount talk loike that; Oi have no moure than
done moy dooty. Sure it's ashamed o' moysilf Oi should be if Oi didn't
crush a snakein' varmint loike that, whin he comes acrawlin' into moy
master's tint, and roight ouver me, as though I wasn't thare to guard
the door."

I could not help but laugh at the easy way in which Michael turned all
the credit from himself. I grasped his hand, and slapped him on his
huge shoulder. 'Twas useless to say anything more; and indeed my heart
took all my speech away.

For this Michael seemed thankful. He betook himself to his position,
across the opening of the tent, and, stretching himself at his ease, he
soon forgot the part he had played in that night's almost tragedy.

However, Frederick and I sat up and conversed in low tones for some
time after Michael had entered that happy land of oblivion, where
troubles or plots--except sometimes those that have no reality--intrude
not.

"Was it Catesby, thinkest thou?" asked Harleston. "The person was
about his stature; and he spoke not even when his arm was broken; a
circumstance that points to his fear of his voice being k