mmunicate information
upon the subject. The reader already knows with what success that
application had been made.

Day after day had elapsed, and the priest, notwithstanding repeated
visits, could never find him at home. The simple-hearted man had
whispered to him in the watch-house, that he wished to speak to him
upon that very subject--a communication which filled the old fellow with
alarm, and the consequence was, that he came to the resolution of not
seeing him at all, if he could possibly avoid it.

One day, however, when better than a week had passed, Father M'Mahon
entered his shop, where he found a woman standing', as if she expected
some person to come in. His wife was weighing huckstery with her back to
the counter, so that she was not aware of his presence. Without speaking
a word he passed as quietly as possible into the little back parlor, and
sat down. After about fifteen minutes he heard a foot overhead passing
stealthily across the room, and coming to the lobby, where there was a
pause, as if the person were listening. At length the foot first came
down one stair very quietly, then another, afterwards a third, and again
there was a second pause, evidently to listen as before. The priest kept
his eyes steadily on the staircase, but was placed in such a position
that he could see without being visible himself. At length Corbet's
long scraggy neck was seen projecting like that of an ostrich across the
banisters, which commanded a view of the shop through the glass door.
Seeing the coast, as he thought, clear, he ventured to speak.

"Is he gone?" he asked, "for I'll take my oath I saw him come up the
street."

"You needn't trust your eyes much longer, I think," replied his wife,
"you saw no such man; he wasn't here at all."

"Bekaise I know it's about that poor boy he's coming; and sure, if
I stir in it, or betray the others, I can't keep the country; an',
besides, I will lose my pension."

Having concluded these words he came down the stairs into the little
parlor we have mentioned, where he found Father M'Mahon sitting, his
benevolent features lit up with a good deal of mirth at the confusion of
Corbet, and the rueful aspect he exhibited on being caught in the trap
so ingeniously laid for him.

"Dunphy," said the priest, for by this name he went in the city,
"you are my prisoner; but don't be afraid in the mane time--better my
prisoner than that of a worse man. And now, you thief o' the world, why