g-place in search of a
light, when the crunching of footsteps on the path without and the
flitting of a lantern past a window sent me back suddenly into
retirement.

A moment's consideration told me that it was easy to guess who the
intruders might be. The night that Maurice Gorman had been laid in his
grave would be a grand night for the rebels of Fanad. And who could say
whether the object of their meeting might not be to consider the fate of
Miss Kit herself, who, now that her father was dead, was no longer a
hostage or the price of a ransom in their hands? There might at least
be news of her, and even of Tim.

So I stood close, and waited as still as a mouse.

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

THE FIGHT IN KILGORMAN.

I had not long to wait before the footsteps sounded in the long passage
which led to the kitchen, and a dim streak of light appeared at the
doorway. Two of the company, rather by their voices than their faces, I
recognised--one as Martin, the other as Jake Finn, the treasurer of the
rebels, whom I had last seen in this very place on the night that Paddy
Corkill was appointed to waylay and shoot his honour on the Black Hill
Road. The other two, who carried cutlasses at their belts, were
strangers to me, but seemed to be men of importance in the rebel
business. Evidently a fifth man was expected.

"Sure, he'll come," said one.

"It's myself met him this blessed day no farther than Malin, and he
promised he'd be here."

"Did he know this about Gorman?"

"How should he? Sure, I didn't know it myself. Besides, he's just from
the Foyle, and our news doesn't travel east."

"How will he take it?"

"Whisht!" cried Martin. "There he is."

Three low taps sounded at the window, and Martin, taking the candle,
hurried down the passage to admit the new arrival.

The other three men advanced to the door.

A quick, jaunty step sounded down the passage. The door opened, the men
drew themselves up and saluted, Martin held the candle above his head,
and there entered--Tim! At the sight of him the great fount of
brotherhood that was in me welled up and nearly overflowed.

Tim was in the dress of a merchant sailor, and very handsome he looked,
although the cut of his beard gave him a half-foreign look. His frame
was knit harder than when I saw him last. His open face, tanned by the
weather, was as fearless and serene as ever, and the toss of his head
and the spring of his step were those rather of th