t he been here this afternoon?"

"Yes; some 'the time. Come in and stayed durin' the leevy you was
holdin', and saw the extra off all right."

"When will he be back?"

"Sence it's be'n a daily he gits here by eight, after supper, but don't
stay very late; the new man and old Mr. Fisbee and Parker look after
whatever comes in late, unless it's something special. He'll likely be
here by half-past eight at the farthest off."

"I can't wait till then." John took a quick turn about the room.
"I've been wanting to see him every minute since I got in," he said
impatiently, "and he hasn't been near me. Nobody could even point him
out to me. Where has he gone? I want to see him _now_."

"Want to discharge him again?" said a voice from the door, and turning,
they saw that Mr. Martin stood there observing them.

"No," said Harkless; "I want to give him the 'Herald.' Do you know where
he is?"

Mr. Martin stroked his beard deliberately. "The person you speak
of hadn't ort to be very hard to find--in Carlow. The committee was
reckless enough to hire that carriage of yours by the day, and Keating
and Warren Smith are setting in it up at the corner, with their feet
on the cushions to show they're used to ridin' around with four white
horses every day in the week. It's waitin' till you're ready to go out
to Briscoe's. It's an hour before supper time, and you can talk to young
Fisbee all you want. He's out there."

As they drove along the pike, Harkless's three companions kept up a
conversation sprightly beyond the mere exhilaration of the victorious;
but John sat almost silent, and, in spite of their liveliness, the
others eyed him a little anxiously now and then, knowing that he had
been living on excitement through a physically exhausting day, and they
were fearful lest his nerves react and bring him to a breakdown. But the
healthy flush of his cheek was reassuring; he looked steady and strong,
and they were pleased to believe that the stirring-up was what he
needed.

It had been a strange and beautiful day to him, begun in anger, but the
sun was not to go down upon his wrath; for his choleric intention had
almost vanished on his homeward way, and the first words Smith had
spoken had lifted the veil of young Fisbee's duplicity, had shown him
with what fine intelligence and supreme delicacy and sympathy young
Fisbee had worked for him, had understood him, and had _made_ him. If
the open assault on McCune had been pressed, an