rty, that the agent would
leave Galway on the following evening, on his way to Westport, passing
through Oughterarde and their own village, about midnight. He usually
travelled in his gig, with relays of horses ready at different stations
of the way, one of which was about two miles distant from the old ruin,
on the edge of the lake--a wild and dreary spot, where stood a solitary
cabin, inhabited by a poor man who earned his livelihood by fishing.
No other house was within a mile of this; and here, it was determined,
while in the act of changing horses, the murder should be effected.
The bleak common beside the lake was studded with furze and brambles,
beneath which it was easy to obtain shelter, though pursuit was not to
be apprehended--at least they judged that the servant would not venture
to leave his master at such a moment; and as for the fisherman, although
not a sworn member of their party, they well knew he would not dare to
inform against the meanest amongst them.

Owen listened attentively to all these details, and the accurate
directions by which they instructed him on every step he should take.
From the moment he should set foot within the cover to the very instant
of firing, each little event had its warning.

"Mind!" repeated Heffernan, with a slow, distinct whisper, "he never
goes into the house at all; but if the night's cowld--as it's sure to be
this sayson--he'll be moving up and down, to keep his feet warm. Cover
him as he turns round; but don't fire the first cover, but wait till
he comes back to the same place again, and then blaze. Don't stir then,
till ye see if he falls: if he does, be off down the common; but if he's
only wounded--but sure ye'll do better than that!"

"I'll go bail he will!" said M'Guire. "Sorra fear that Owen Connor's
heart would fail him! and sure if he likes me to be wid him--"

"No, no!" said Owen, in the same hollow voice as before, "I'll do it all
by myself; I want nobody."

"'Tis the very words I said when I shot Lambert of Kilclunah!" said
M'Guire. "I didn't know him by looks, and the boys wanted me to take
some one to point him out. 'Sorra bit!' says I, 'leave that to me;' and
so I waited in the gripe of the ditch all day, till, about four in the
evening, I seen a stout man wid a white hat coming across the fields, to
where the men was planting potatoes. So I ups to him wid a letter in
my hand, this way, and my hat off--'Is yer honner Mr. Lambert?' says I.
'Yes,'