r, Fergus; and if Whitecraft should burn my house
to-night or to-morrow, who is to bring him to an account for it? or if
they should, who is to convict him?"

The night had now become very dark, but they knew the country well, and
soon found themselves upon the old road they were seeking.

"I will go up," said Reilly, "to the cabin of poor widow Buckley, where
we will stop until we think those blood-hounds have gone home. She has
a free cottage and garden from me, and has besides been a pensioner of
mine for some time back, and I know I can depend upon her discretion
and fidelity. Her little place is remote and solitary, and not more than
three quarters of a mile from us."

They accordingly kept the old road for some time, until they reached a
point of it where there was an abrupt angle, when, to their utter alarm
and consternation, they found themselves within about twenty or thirty
yards of a military party.

"Fly," whispered Fergus, "and leave me to deal with them--if you don't
it's all up with you. They won't know me from Adam, but they'll know you
at a glance."

"I cannot leave you in danger," said Reilly.

"You're mad," replied the other. "Is it an ould beggar man they'd
meddle with? Off with you, unless you wish to sleep in Sligo jail before
mornin."

Reilly, who felt too deeply the truth of what he said, bounded across
the bank which enclosed the road on the right-hand side, and which, by
the way, was a tolerably high one, but fortunately without bushes. In
the meantime a voice cried out, "Who goes there? Stand at your peril, or
you will have a dozen bullets in your carcass."

Fergus advanced towards them, whilst they themselves approached him at a
rapid pace, until they met. In a moment they were all about him.

"Come, my customer," said their leader, "who and what are you?
Quick--give an account of yourself."

"A poor creature that's lookin' for my bit, sir, God help me."

"What's your name?"

"One Paddy Brennan, sir, please your honor."

"Ay--one Paddy Brennan (hiccough), and--and--one Paddy Brennan, where do
you go of a Sunday?"

"I don't go out at all, sir, of a Sunda'; whenever I stop of a Saturday
night I always stop until Monday mornin'."

"I mean, are you a Papish?"

"Troth, I oughtn't to say I am, your honor--or at least a very bad one."

"But you are, a Papish."

"A kind of one, sir."

"Curse me, the fellow's humbug-gin' you, sergeant," said one of the men;
"to be sure he's a