on. But now he had of
his own accord committed that crime; and how had he done it? In such
a manner that he could by no possibility escape detection. Then
again he tried to comfort himself by reflecting that it was not
murder--that his intention had not been to murder the man; but his
father's horrid words again rang through his ears, and he felt that
there was no hope for him but in flight.

The moon got up when he was about half-way to his destination, and
he left the road lest by chance there might be any one out at that
hour who would recognise him. He crept on by the hedges and ditches,
sometimes running along the bits of grass between the tillage and
fences--sometimes having almost to wade through the wet bottoms
which he crossed, often falling, in his hurry and in the imperfect
light of the cloudy moon, till at last, tired, hot, and covered with
dirt, pale with fear, and nearly overcome by the misery of his own
reflections, he reached Corney Dolan's cabin. It was now about eleven
o'clock; it had been past ten when he left Ballycloran, and in the
interval he had traversed above five Irish miles. There was no light
in the cabin, which was a solitary one, standing on the edge of a
bog. Now he was there he feared to knock, as he did not know what to
say to Corney when he should come to the door. Besides, he was aware
that his hands and coat were soiled with blood, and he was unwilling
that the inmates of the cabin should see him in that plight.

He had, however, no time to spare, and as it was necessary that he
should do something, after pausing a few minutes, he knocked at the
door. No one answered, and he had to knock two or three times before
he was asked in a woman's voice who he was, and what he wanted there
at that hour of the night. He stated that he wanted to see Corney
Dolan. The woman told him that Corney Dolan wasn't at home, and that
he couldn't see him. Thady knew that he lived alone with his mother,
an aged woman, nearly eighty years old, and that it was she who was
speaking to him now.

"Nonsense, mother," said he; "he's at home I know, and I must see
him. Don't you know me?"

"Faix, then, I don't--and I don't want," said the old hag. "At any
rate, Corney's not here; so you may jist go back agin, whoever you
call yerself."

"But where is he, then? Can you tell me where I'll find him?"

"I can't tell you thin. What should I know myself? So now you know as
much about it as I do."

"Well, then,