eproach, and on neither
side of nothin'?" Larry slapped the table like a prime minister, and
there was no opposition. "Oh, Missis Mulligan, do you think I would
desaive or bethray my fellow-crayture? Oh, no--I would not wrong the
child unborn,"--and this favourite phrase of Larry (and other rascals)
was, and is, unconsciously, true; for people, most generally, must be
born before they _can_ be much wronged.

"Oh, Missis Mulligan," said Larry, with a devotional appeal of his eyes
to the ceiling, "be at war with sin, and you'll be at paice with
yourself!"

Just as Larry wound up his pious peroration, Mick shoved in the door,
against which the cook supported herself, and told Andy the Squire said
he should not leave the Hall that night.

Andy looked aghast.

Again Larry Hogan's eye was on him.

"Sure I can come back here in the mornin'," said Andy, who at the
moment he spoke was conscious of the intention of being some forty
miles out of the place before dawn, if he could get away.

"When the Squire says a thing, it must be done," said Mick. "You must
sleep here."

"And pleasant dhrames to you," said Larry, who saw Andy wince under his
kindly worded stab.

"And where must I sleep?" asked Andy, dolefully.

"Out in the big loft," said Mick.

"I'll show you the way," said Larry; "I'm goin' to sleep there myself
to-night, for it would be too far to go home. Good night, Mrs.
Mulligan--good night, Mickey--come along, Andy."

Andy followed Hogan. They had to cross a yard to reach the stables; the
night was clear, and the waning moon shed a steady though not a bright
light on the enclosure. Hogan cast a lynx eye around him to see if the
coast was clear, and satisfying himself it was, he laid his hand
impressively on Andy's arm as they reached the middle of the yard, and
setting Andy's face right against the moonlight, so that he might watch
the slightest expression, he paused for a moment before he spoke; and
when he spoke, it was in a low mysterious whisper--low, as if he feared
the night breeze might betray it,--and the words were few, but potent,
which he uttered; they were these--"_Who robbed the post-office?_"

The result quite satisfied Hogan; and he knew how to turn his knowledge
to account. O'Grady and Egan were no longer friends; a political contest
was pending; letters were missing; Andy had been Egan's servant; and
Larry Hogan had enough of that mental chemical power, which, from a few
raw facts, unimpor