t seemed to let the charm work.

"A high price, but the 'dhrop' in Limerick is higher," said Tom, with a
grin.

"Perhaps it may be," rejoined Linton, carelessly; "though I don't
perceive how the fact can have any interest for you or me."

"Be gorra, ye 're a cowld man, anyhow," said Keane, his savage nature
struck with admiring wonder at the unmoved serenity of Linton's manner.

"I'm a determined one," said Linton, who saw the necessity of impressing
his companion; "and with such alone would I wish to act."

"And where would you be, after it was all over, sir?"

"Here, where I am at present, assisting the magistrates to scour the
country,--searching every cabin at Drumoologan,--draining ditches to
discover the weapon, and arresting every man that killed a pig and got
blood on his corduroys for the last fortnight."

"And where would _I_ be?" asked Keane.

"Here too; exactly where you sit this moment, quietly waiting till the
outcry was over. Nor need that make you impatient. I have said already
there is neither wife, nor sister, nor brother, nor child to take up
the pursuit. There are forty people in the great house yonder, and there
would n't be four of them left two hours after it was known, nor one
out of the four that would give himself the trouble of asking how it
happened."

"An' them's _gentlemen!_," said Keane, closing his lips and shaking his
head sententiously.

Linton arose; he did not over-fancy the turn of reflection Tom's remark
implied: it looked too like the expression of a general condemnation of
his class--at the very moment, too, when he was desirous of impressing
him with the fullest trust and confidence in his own honor.

"I believe it's safer to have nothin' to do with it," muttered Keane.

"As you please, friend," replied Linton; "I never squeeze any man's
conscience. _You_ know best what your own life is."

"Hard enough, that's what it is," said the other, bitterly.

"You can also make a guess what it will be in future, when you leave
this."

A deep groan was all that he gave for answer.

"For all that _I_ know, you may have many friends who 'll not see your
wife and children begging along the roads, or sitting in a hole scooped
out of a clay ditch, without food or fire, waiting for the fever to
finish what famine has begun. You have n't far to seek for what I mean;
about two hundred yards from that gate yonder there 's a group exactly
like it."

"Ye 're a terrible man, that's