the fair-haired girleen, an' her goold, an' what's betther, I know,
to you, her goodwill; an' the land, an' the laugh at Lysaght"----and
Cahill ran on rising towards his climax.

"I can't stand this; d--n you," cried his hearer. "Since you won't aid
me, I must try the old treasury once more."

"An' you're the boy to have your dhrafts honoured, never fear, Capting."

"Will you escort me to the bank?" asked Hewitt with a savage sneer.

"He! he! he!" laughed the worthy Cahill. "My road home lies partly that
way; an' if I don't lend you my note-o'-hand, at all events I've no
objection to witness the deed, Capting."

"Go out and get your horse, then, and I shall be ready in a few minutes,"
said Hewitt, with something like a sigh.

CHAPTER VII.

A post-chaise with two stout horses, and as stout a man to drive them, was
standing before the door of Jackson's Inn, in the then little village of
Fermoy, at the close of a dry and frosty February day. In the parlour of
the inn, two or three gentlemen stood watching or eagerly conversing with
a couple of tall and powerful-looking men, who were engaged with a
beef-steak, which it seemed--from a watch being placed before them on the
table--they had but a limited time to discuss.

"Then you are really determined on it, Mr Skelton?" said one of the
standers-by to the elder and busier of the banqueters.

"Quite," answered the person addressed, speaking as rapidly as he fed.
"What's to be done?--road stopp'd up--business checked--six months
gone--mails cut off--guard killed--alarm increasing"----

"If it continues much longer," interrupted his slower companion, "all
communication with the capital will be at an end, unless a blow be
struck," he said, looking round him loftily, "that will paralyze the
enemy, gentlemen."

"Now for it, Rudd," said Skelton rising; "our time's up--twenty-five
minutes past five," and he pocketed the watch by which he counted.

"I'm your man," answered Rudd, as he swallowed his last glass of sherry,
and jumped up: "have you the blunderbuss?"

"Ay have I."

"I have the dirk and pistols, then: so bolt at once. Good-by, gentlemen;"
and without waiting for the "good-bys" and "successes" that were showered
on them, Messrs Skelton and Rudd hurried into the attendant post-chaise,
and, giving some earnest directions in a whisper to the driver, dashed
rapidly over the bridge which crossed the Blackwater, and took the road
leading north, over Kilworth moun