"Go down and make fast his honour's boat, Barry," said my father.

I obeyed reluctantly, for I was curious to know what these three had to say to one another.

I found his honour's boat already fast, and returned as quickly as I could to the cabin.

Biddy's shrill voice, as I came near, rose above the other two.

"It served your turn, Maurice Gorman," said she. "You know as well as me one of the two boys is—"

"Whisht!" exclaimed my father; "there he is."

And as I entered the talk suddenly dropped, and I felt quite abashed to see them all look at me as they did.

"Well, well, Biddy," said his honour presently, "you're a decent woman, and I'll help you. You shall have the forty pounds when you get back to Paris. My agent there will see to it, and you shall have a letter to him."

"Your honour's a gentleman," said Biddy with a courtesy. "Maybe you'll make it a little more, to save a poor widow another journey over to see you. Sure, forty pounds wouldn't keep me in France for six months."

"Well, well, we'll see. Come to Knockowen to-morrow evening, Biddy."

Biddy departed with a curious look in her eyes, and somewhat consoled for my father's indifference to her charms.

"You sail to-morrow?" inquired his honour when she had gone.

"I do," said my father. "I'm away to Sheep Haven to join her at cock- crow."

His honour turned and caught sight of me standing by the fire. He beckoned me to him, as he had done once before, turned my face to the light, and stared at me.

Then he looked up at father.

"He's no look of you, Mike."

"So you may say," replied my father, with a knowing glance at his honour. "Tim's liker me, they say."

His honour looked up with a significant nod.

"Well, Mike, I've said I'll see after one of the lads, for their dead mother's sake. Which will it be?"

"I'm thinking of taking Tim with me," said my father.

"Very good. I'll see to Barry then."

"Och, father," I cried, "take me to sea."

"Howld your tongue, ye puppy," said my father. "Can't you hear his honour say he'll see to you? There's many a lad would be glad of the chance."

"But Tim hates the sea, and I—"

"Be silent wid ye," roared my father, so angrily that he woke Tim.

"Tim," cried I, determined to make one more desperate effort, "you're to go to sea, and I'm to be kept ashore at Knockowen."

"Sea, is it?" roared Tim. "I'll run away—no sea for me."

"And I'll run away too," shouted I. "No Knockowen for me."

But it was of no avail; protest as we would, we had to do as we were bid. That very hour, with nothing but a little book that was once my mother's, and a few poor clothes, and Con the dog at my heels, I followed his honour down to the boat and left my old home behind me. And before dawn of day Tim was trudging surlily at my father's heels across country, on his way to join the Cigale at Sheep Haven.



CHAPTER SIX.

MISS KIT.

His honour, saving his presence! was one of the meanest men I ever met, and I have come across many a close-fisted one in my day. There was nothing large about Maurice Gorman. His little eyes could never open wide enough to see the whole of a matter, or his little mouth open wide enough to speak it. If he owed a guinea, he would only pay a pound of it, and trust to your forgetting the rest. If his boat wanted painting, he would give it one coat and save the other. If his horse wanted shoeing, he would give him three new shoes, and use an old one for the fourth. If he ever gave money, it was by way of a bargain; and if he ever took up a cause, good or bad, it was grudgingly, and in a way which robbed his support of all graciousness.

It took me some months to discover all this about my new master.

When first I found myself an inmate of Knockowen, I was so sore with disappointment and anger that I cared about nothing and nobody. His honour, whose professions of interest in me were, as I well knew, all hollow, concerned himself very little about my well-being under his roof. Why he had taken me at all I could not guess. But I was sure, whatever the reason, it was because it suited his interest, not mine. I was handed over to the stables, and there they made a sort of groom of me; and presently, because I was a handy lad, I was fetched indoors when company was present, and set to wait at table in a livery coat.

The Knockowen household was a small one, consisting only of his honour and Mistress Gorman and the young lady. Mistress Gorman was a sad woman, who had little enough pleasure in this world, and that not of her husband's making. The man and his wife were almost strangers, meeting only at meal-times, and not always then, to exchange a few formal words, and then separate, one to her lonely chamber, the other to his grounds.

The brightness of the house was all centred in my little lady Kit, who was as remote from her mother's sadness as she was from her father's meanness. From the first she made my life at Knockowen tolerable, and very soon she made it necessary.

I shall not soon forget my first meeting with her. She had been away on a visit when I arrived, and a week later I was ordered to take the boat over to Rathmullan to fetch her home.

It was a long, toilsome journey, in face of a contrary wind, against which the boat travelled slowly, and frequently not without the help of an oar. How I groaned as I beat to and fro up the lough, and how I wished I was away with Tim and father on the Cigale.

At last, late in the afternoon, I reached Rathmullan, and made fast my boat to the pier. I was to call at the inn and find my young mistress there.

And there presently I found her, and a bright vision it was for me that dull afternoon. She was a little maid, although she was a month or two my elder. Her dark brown hair fell wildly on her shoulders, and her slight figure, as she stood there gazing at me with her big blue eyes, was full of grace and life. Her lips were pursed into a quaint little smile as she looked at me, and before I could explain who I was, she said,—

"So you are Barry Gallagher? How frightened you look! You needn't be afraid of me, Barry; I don't bite, though you look as if you thought so."

"'Deed, Miss Kit," said I, "and if you did, I'm thinking there's worse things could happen."

She laughed, and then bade me get together her boxes and carry them down to the boat.

Strange! Half-an-hour before I had been groaning over my lot. Now, as I staggered and sweated down to the wharf under her ladyship's baggage, I felt quite lighthearted.

In due time I had all aboard, and called on her to come, which she did, protesting that the water would spoil her new Dublin gown, and that if I sailed home no quicker than I had come, she supposed it would be morning before she got her supper.

This put me on my mettle. I even went ashore for a moment to borrow a tarpaulin to lay over her knees, knowing I should have to make a voyage all the way back to-morrow to restore it. Then, when I had her tucked in, and set the ballast trim, I hoisted the sail, and sat beside her, with the tiller in one hand and the sheet in the other.

She soon robbed me of the former; for with the wind behind us it was plain sailing, and she could steer, she said, as well as I.

"Keep a look-out ahead, Barry," she said, "and see if I don't get you to Knockowen in half the time you took to come. I'll give you a lesson in sailing this evening."

Here she had me on a tender point.

"Begging your pardon, Miss Kit, I think not," said I.

"Are you a seaman, then?" she asked.

"I'd give my soul to be one."

"Your soul! It would be cheap at the price."

"I don't know what that means," said I; "but if your ladyship will put the helm a wee taste more to port, we will catch the breeze better—so, so. Keep her at that!"

We slipped merrily through the water for a while; but it made me uneasy to see the clouds sweeping past us overhead, and feel the sting of a drop or two on my cheek.

I hitched the sheet a little closer, and came astern again to where she sat.

"You'll need to let me take her," said I; "there's a squall behind us."

"What of that?" said she. "Can I not steer through a squall?"

"No, Miss Kit," said I; "it takes a man to send her through when the weather gets up. Pull the wrap well about you, and make up your mind for a wetting."

She sniffed a little at my tone.

"I see you are captain of this ship," said she.

"Ay, ay; and I've a valuable freight aboard," said I.

Whereat she gave it up, and sat with her hair waving in the wind and her sailor's wrap about her shoulders.

It was a nasty, sudden squall, with a shower of hail and half a cap of wind in it. Luckily it was straight behind us. Had we been crossing it, it would have caught us badly. As it was, although it gave us a great toss, and now and then sent a drenching wave over our backs and heads, we were in no real peril. Our only difficulty was that, unless it eased off before we came within reach of Knockowen, we should have to cross it to get home. But that was far enough away yet.

Miss Kit, who for all her pretty bragging had had little commerce in the mighty deep, sat still for a while, startled by the sudden violence of the wind and the onslaught of the waves behind us. But as soon as she discovered that all the harm they did was to wet her pretty head and drench her boxes, and when, moreover, she satisfied herself by a chance glance or two at my face that there was nothing to fear, she began to enjoy the novel experience, and even laughed to see how the boat tore through the water.

"Why can't we go on like this, straight out to the open sea?" said she.

"We could do many a thing less easy," said I. "It's well Knockowen's no nearer the open sea than it is."

"Why?"

"If it was as far as Kilgorman," said I, "we'd meet the tide coming in, and then it would be a hard sea to weather."

"Kilgorman!" said she, catching at the name; "were you ever there, Barry?"

"Once," said I guiltily, "when I should not have been. And I suffered for it."

"How? what happened?"

"Indeed, Miss Kit; it's not for the likes of you to hear; and his honour would be mad if he knew of it."

"You think I'm a tell-tale," said she. "I'm your mistress, and I order you to tell me."

"Faith, then, I saw a ghost, mistress!"

She laughed, and pleasant the sound was amid the noise of the storm.

"You won't make me believe you're such a fool as that," said she. "It's only wicked people who see ghosts."

"Sure, then, I'm thinking it'll be long till you see one, Miss Kit. But mind now; we must put her a little away from the wind to make Knockowen. Sit fast, and don't mind a wave or two."

Now began the dangerous part of our voyage. The moment we put her head in for Knockowen, the waves began to break heavily over the stern, sometimes almost knocking the tiller from my hand, sometimes compelling us to run back into the wind to save being swamped.

She did not talk any more, but sat very quiet, watching each wave as it came, and looking up now and again at my face, as if to read our chances there. You may be sure I looked steady enough, so as not to give her a moment's more uneasiness than she need. But, for all that, I was concerned to see how much water we shipped, and how much less easily the boat travelled in consequence.

Quit the helm I durst not. Yet how could I ask her to perform so menial a task as to bail the boat? But it soon went past the point of standing on ceremony.

"Begging your pardon, Miss Kit," said I, "there's a can below the seat you're on. If you could use it a bit to get quit of some of the water, it would help us."

She was down on her knees on the floor of the boat at once, bailing hard.

"Are we in danger of sinking?" said she, looking up.

"No, surely; but we're better without water in the boat."

Whereat she worked till her arm ached, and yet made little enough impression on the water, which, with every roll we took, swung ankle deep from side to side, and grew every minute.

We wanted a mile of Knockowen still, and I was beginning to think there would be nothing for it but to put out again before the wind, and run the risk of meeting the heavy sea in the open, when the wind suddenly shifted a point, and came up behind us once more. It was a lucky shift for us, for my little mistress was worn-out with her labour, and a few more broadsides might have swamped us.

As it was, we could now run straight for home, and a few minutes would see us alongside the little pier of Knockowen.

I helped her back to her seat beside me, and drew the tarpaulin around her.

Her face, which had been anxious enough for a while, cleared as suddenly as the wind had shifted.

"I declare, Barry, I was afraid just now."

"So you might be; and no shame to you for it," said I.

"Are you ever afraid?" said she.

"Ay, I was at Kilgorman that night."

Again she laughed.

"I'd as soon be afraid of a real peril as of a silly fancy," said she. "I mean to go and see Kilgorman one day."

"Not with my good-will, mistress," said I.

"Well, without it then, Mr Barry Gallagher," she replied with a toss of the head which fairly abashed me, and made me remember that after all I was but a servant-man in my lady's house. The sea, blessings on it! levels all things, and I had almost forgotten this little lady was my mistress. But I recalled it now, and still more when, ten minutes later, we ran alongside his honour's jetty, and my fair crew was taken out of my hands by her parents, while I was left to carry up the dripping baggage, and seek my supper as best I could.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

A BOOK OF FATE.

The coming of Mistress Kit, as I said before, made life at Knockowen tolerable for me. It mattered little if his honour neglected me, and my lady never looked at me; it mattered little if my fellow-servants ill- used me and put upon me; it mattered little that I had not a friend but Con and the horses to talk to, and not a holiday to call my own.

Miss Kit made all the difference. Not that she concerned herself specially about me, or went out of her way to be kind; but it did one good to see her about the place, with a smile for every one and a friendly word for man and beast. She even beat down the gloom that, in her absence, had weighed both on her father and mother. The former, indeed, was as indifferent as ever to his wife and the latter to her husband. But this daughter of theirs was one interest in common for both—perhaps the one object in the world about which both agreed.

It fell to my lot, as my young lady was an ardent horsewoman, to attend her on many a long ride, riding discreetly twenty yards in the rear, and never forgetting my duty so far as to speak when not spoken to.

One day, some weeks after she had come home, as we were riding on the cliffs near Dunaff, she turned in her saddle and beckoned me to approach.

"What road is that?" she said, pointing with her whip to a grass-grown track which led off the shore.

"That's the Kilgorman road," said I, guessing what was to follow.

"Kilgorman!" repeated she. "I should like to see the house."

"By your leave," said I, "his honour forbids any one to go there without his permission."

She tossed her head.

"I am not any one," she said. "I shall go where I please. Fall behind, sir; and if you are afraid to follow, stay where you are till I return."

And without more words, she flicked her horse and cantered over the turf to the road.

Of course I followed. If I feared the place, it was all the less possible to allow her to go there alone.

It was one comfort to me that it was still broad daylight, so that the mystery, whatever it might be, would lose its chief terror.

She looked round once to see if I was following or not, and then, changing her canter to a trot, turned into the road.

Now his honour's order to me about Kilgorman had been a very strict one, so much so that I suspected he had a shrewd idea who it was, eighteen months ago, had broken the window and knocked over the stand of arms in the kitchen.

"Mind, Barry," said he, "I allow no one on the road that leads up to Kilgorman. No one is to go to the house on any excuse. If my orders are disobeyed, he who trespasses will be sorry for it."

This had prevented my going near the place since. But now I followed the little mistress I felt myself in another case, and, any way, Gorman or no Gorman, I was not going to let her go alone.

The year and a half had made little change about the place. Only I noticed some wheel-ruts on the road that were not old, and saw, as we came nearer, that the window over the porch had been mended.

As we entered the avenue, Miss Kit reined up for me to approach.

"It's a finer house than Knockowen," said she. "I never saw it so near before. Why does my father hate it so?"

"'Deed I cannot say, but it's certain he does hate it."

"Help me down, Barry, and fasten the horses. Where do we go in?"

"Faith, that's the puzzle. When I came before I got in by yon window."

She laughed as she looked up.

"You'll have to go the same way again," said she, "and I'll wait here till you open the door for me."

I was in for the venture now! When I looked for the ladder, though, it was not to be seen. But the thick creeper beside the door served the purpose, and by dint of clambering I reached the porch-top in safety.

To my relief, I found that, though the window was mended, it was not bolted, and that I could lift it without breaking a new pane of glass.

I confess, in spite of the bright daylight, it gave me a turn to find myself once more in that fatal room, and recall the terrors of the night when I saw it last. As quickly as possible I left it, and descended the stairs to the hall.

Here a strange perplexity arose. For though I was certain where the door should be, there was never a sign of it inside—nothing but a row of iron-barred windows along the wall, like the corridor of a jail. When I came to look a little closer, I found that the doorway had been bricked up and plastered, so that by the ground-floor there was positively no entrance to the house.

With some misgivings, I wandered on to the great kitchen where Tim and I had had such a fright. But it was empty now, and the sun, as it glanced through the guarded window, fell brightly on the white hearthstone. Nor, though all was still as death, could my ears catch a single sound, except the stamping of the horses without and the idle tapping of my lady's whip against the pilaster of the door.

I traversed the corridor to the other end. It opened into a large room of the same size as the kitchen, evidently a dining-room, for a long table stood in the middle, and a solitary, moth-eaten stag's head, with antlers broken, hung over the chimney-piece.

Other doors opened off the corridor, and beyond them, along the back of the house and overlooking the boggy lake, ran another corridor, out of which no door opened to the outer world.

There was no sign of life anywhere, and the few pieces of furniture, rotten and withered with time, were more deathlike than if the house had been stark empty.

I returned upstairs, and on my way peeped into this room and that out of curiosity. But all was the same. Only in the last of all, at the end of the landing, did I see anything. There, on the window-ledge, covered with dust, which made it seem part of the woodwork it rested on, lay a little shabby book. How it caught my eye I hardly know, except that, believing in Providence as I do, I suppose it had lain there all those years, like the Sleeping Beauty in the fairy tale, waiting for me to discover it.

I remember, as I lifted it, the under cover stuck fast to the window- ledge and parted company with the rest of the book.

It was a common little volume of English ballads, with nothing much to commend it to the book lover. But the sight of it moved me strangely, for not only was it the same work, only another volume, as that I had brought away from the old home at Fanad, but on the front page, in my mother's hand, was written in faded ink, "Mary Gallagher, her book. A gift from her dear mistress." I thrust the precious relic hurriedly into my pocket, and casting a last look round the room, which I now guessed to be that in which I first saw the light, I hurried back to the chamber over the porch.

My little mistress was very vexed and put about when she found that there was no way into the house except the one. Had she been alone, I suspect she would have been up in a trice, and let dignity go; but my presence hindered her, and she chose, I think rather harshly, to blame me as the cause of her disappointment.

"If I were you," said she, with a frown, "and you I, I warrant I could have found some way to let you in."

"Faith, you wouldn't be sorrier to keep me standing out here than I was," said I humbly. "And indeed there's little enough to pay you for the trouble when you're once in. It's a dull, dismal house."

"And how was the ghost?" asked she.

"Whisht, Miss Kit! It wasn't likely any evil spirit could walk abroad while you're about."

"All very fine," said she. "I'll see Kilgorman before I'm much older, cost what it may. And I'll be my own groom, what's more. Fall behind, Barry."

And she set off, looking very mortified and angry.

I don't know if I was more sorry or glad that things had turned out as they had. I dreaded for her to come across sorrow in any form. And this house of mourning, with its mysterious air of terror, with its prison-like bars and bolts, and its time-devoured relics of a life that had gone out all in one day like the wick of a candle, was no place, then, for the bright sunflower of Knockowen.

His honour, happily, was away in Derry, and no one was there to question us as to our expedition. So I put up the horses, and trusted to God there was an end of Kilgorman.

But that very night, as I curled up in my narrow bed above the stable, I recalled my prayer.

By the light of a candle I took the book I had found from my pocket to look at it again. My mother's hand on the cover called back all the old memories of my childhood—how she sang to Tim and me these very ballads, and taught us to say them after her; how she always seemed as much a stranger in Fanad as this little English book seemed on the ledge at Kilgorman. There, too, between the leaves, were a few pressed flowers, and—what was this?

A little piece of thin paper fluttered down to my feet, written over in my mother's hand, but, oh, so feebly and painfully. With beating heart I held it to the light, and made out these words,—

"If you love God, whoever you are, seek below the great hearth; and what you find there, see to it, as you hope for grace. God send this into the hands of one who loves truth and charity. Amen."



CHAPTER EIGHT.

A RACE FOR A LIFE.

My impulse, when I read that sad message from my dead mother, was to rise from my bed and saddle the horse and return, cost what it might, to Kilgorman. Had I done so I might perchance have saved myself months, even years, of trouble.

But in a weak moment I let my fatigue and my irresolution and my fear of the ghost get the better of me, and decided to put off till to-morrow what I should have done to-day. If in after years my worst enemy had to confess that what I did I did quickly, it was due to the lesson which this one act of procrastination taught me.

Putting everything together, the meaning of the letter seemed pretty clear. My mother, distraught by the sudden death of her master and mistress, and believing herself to be dying too, had desired to ease her mind of a secret (I knew not what) which lay upon it; but being in dread of it falling into wrong hands, had written it and hidden it in some place, leaving this slender clue to the chance discoverer of her little book of ballads.

How was it possible to believe otherwise than that Providence had, after fourteen years, placed that clue in the hands of her son, and thereby imposed upon me a duty from which, whatever it was, I should have been undutiful, and a coward to boot, had I shrunk?

But, as I tell you, for one night I shrunk from it, resolving that on the morrow I would obey the summons. But many to-morrows were to come and go before the promise could be fulfilled.

His honour returned at dead of night from Derry, and when, as usual, I presented myself to wait at breakfast, I was surprised to find him seated there with his wife and daughter.

Miss Kit was in her wonted high spirits, and alarmed me by plunging at once into the story of yesterday's adventure.

"Father," she said, "why is Kilgorman all barred and bolted against its future mistress? Here was I, yesterday, standing humbly like a beggar on the doorstep of our own house, and obliged to slink away disappointed after all."

His honour looked up with an angry flush on his pale face.

"Kilgorman!" cried he; "what took you there? Don't you know no one is allowed within the grounds?"

"I didn't know till Barry told me. And even then I did not suppose the prohibition applied to me."

His honour rounded angrily on me.

"What does this mean, sirrah? How did you dare to take her to Kilgorman after the charge I laid upon you?"

"Barry take me, indeed!" broke in Miss Kit, with a mighty toss of her head. "Barry takes me nowhere. It was I took him, whether he would or not; and a very poor adventure he made of it. You shall take me yourself next time, father."

"Understand," said his honour, looking very black, "that no one, not even my daughter, is permitted to go where I forbid.—As for you, you prying fool," added he, turning on me, "you shall see whether I am to be obeyed or not."

I deemed it prudent to say nothing, and retired, pretty determined that were his honour Saint Patrick himself he should not keep me out of Kilgorman. But I had missed my chance.

After that day my position at Knockowen became more irksome than ever, for I was taken from my work in the stables, and a new boy appointed in my place to tend the horses and accompany Miss Kit when she rode out. And I was kept all day within doors, at everybody's beck and call, from cock-crow, when I had to light the fires, to midnight, when I had to see his honour's clothes brushed and laid out in his dressing-room.

My only liberty, if liberty it might be called, was when the boat was wanted. There my seamanship made me necessary. But since no one thought of sailing towards the lough mouth, but only across or up towards Rathmullan, there was no chance of my defying his honour's regulations that way.

For a week or two even my mother's message was driven from my head by hatred of my rival, the new groom—a villainous-looking rascal, some years my elder, who yet had not even the merit of being a good horseman to commend him.

Rightly or wrongly, I suspected that part of his business was to keep a watch on me. And if anything could determine me to defiance that was enough. As to Miss Kit, I humbly hoped she liked the change as little as I; for since her liberty was cut off from one road, and her new lackey had neither looks nor conversation to commend him, her love of riding gradually flagged, and presently Martin—that was the fellow's name—had to lead out her riderless horse for exercise.

The trying thing to me was that Martin would not even do me the compliment of recognising me as his enemy. It was not for lack of invitation, nor was it owing to cowardice. But he was a dogged, short- sighted villain, taken up with his own concerns, and not choosing to trouble his head with those of others.

But one day I had the luck to startle him out of his reserve. Miss Kit came down to the yard that morning, and for the first time for more than a week ordered out her horse.

Martin, who was sitting lazily in the kitchen, rose somewhat sulkily and said,—

"It's not the day for a ride. Sure Juno's that saucy with want of work there'll be no holding her in. Besides, the master—"

But the young lady cut him short.

"Get up, sir, at once, and do as you are bid. There's more than Juno is saucy with want of work. Be quick now."

He went off with a scowl, and presently returned, leading out Juno and the horse on which he was to follow—a great-limbed animal called Paddy.

What he had said about my little lady's mare was very true. High- spirited she was at best of times, but a week's idleness and eating had made her fairly wicked; and as I looked out from the kitchen door to watch them start, I wished it was my business and not Martin's to see her safe on her way.

"Hold her head till I mount," said Miss Kit, after trying for a minute or two to coax the mare into peace. "She will be easy enough when I am up."

But though Martin held her head, the animal yet started and shied and curvetted every time Miss Kit gathered the reins in her hand and lifted her foot to the stirrup.

So I came out to the yard and gave her my hand to mount by.

Martin scowled very black at this.

"Go along away out of that," said he, when my lady was fairly perched on the saddle; "the mare's enough to fright her without you."

"Get you up on Paddy," said I, "and don't talk to me.—So, steady there, Juno lass.—Hold her gently, Miss Kit."

Martin, muttering to himself, let go the mare's head and walked over to where Paddy stood.

Just then, as luck would have it, out came Con the dog with a joyous yap.

This sudden noise was too much for the courage of Juno, who, feeling her head free and only a light weight on her back, gave a wild plunge, and next moment was away at a gallop out of the yard gate and down the avenue.

It was no time for halting. The mare must be caught before she could reach the cliffs, or to a certainty she and her rider were doomed.

Martin stood with his hand on Paddy's mane, gaping after the runaway.

With a sudden spring I dashed him aside and vaulted into the saddle, and before he could expostulate or guess what had happened I was away in full chase.

Even in the terror of the moment I could not help laughing to myself at the thought of poor Martin tumbling across the stable-yard, and finding himself out of the hunt. After that he would at least deign to recognise Barry Gallagher.

Though scarcely half-a-minute had elapsed, Juno and her precious burden were at the end of the long avenue before I was at the beginning of it. Paddy, amazed at all the excitement, lost some seconds in plunging before I could induce him to lay himself out for the pursuit. Then, to do him justice, he needed little coaxing from me. If only his wind was as long as his stride, this hue and cry might prove a holiday freak. If not—

It was a moment of keen suspense when at last I got clear of the avenue and looked round in search of the fugitive. There she was, her light figure thrown back as she strained at the reins, and her face turned to the upland ahead. Just beyond Knockowen, on the south side, is a long stretch of smooth turf, lying along the cliff-tops for a mile or more, and then suddenly cut short by a deep chasm in the coast, into which the waters of the lough pour tumultuously even in fair weather, and in foul, rage and boil as if in a caldron. It was a favourite sport of Miss Kit to gallop along this tempting stretch of grass, and Juno knew the way only too well.

As I came into the open, I could see that, in spite of the rider's efforts, the mare was making straight for the dangerous cliffs, and that in a few short minutes, unless a miracle happened, or unless I could reach the spot first, her mad career was likely to end in a way it made me sick to contemplate.

I stood in my stirrups and gave a loud halloo, and could see Miss Kit turn her head for a moment and then settle down again to the task of keeping her seat and pulling frantically at the reins; while I, aiming direct for the point of danger, put Paddy in a straight line across country.

It was a desperate race, that between the mad, high-mettled mare and the canny, raw-boned hunter. Happily he had but a boy's light weight to carry. For a moment or two I lost sight of the runaways. Then as I cleared a rise I saw them, a quarter of a mile away on my right, our courses closing on one another at every yard.

Presently, with a sickening sensation, I caught sight of the solitary beacon-post which marks the edge of the chasm for the unwary traveller. On clear ground I could have been certain of arriving there in time to stop the mare, but, to my dismay, two tumble-down stone walls, of which I had forgotten the existence, lay between me and the goal. The nearer of them was fairly high; the other, only twenty yards beyond, was lower, but more dangerous on account of the loose stones between the two.

I called on Paddy; and, oh, the suspense as he rose at the ugly wall!

Over! Paddy came down with a stagger, and lost a pace as he gathered himself again for the next. None but a born Irishman could have picked his way as he did among the scattered boulders, or chosen his starting- point for the lower yet longer leap.

I remember, as we rose at it, I saw Miss Kit quite close, very white, with her hat gone, and her stirrup swinging loose, but very resolute still, gripping hard at the pommel with one hand as she tried to wave to me with the other.

Paddy performed his task nobly, and never broke stride as he settled down for the few remaining yards of that great race.

We had won, but only just. I had barely time to rein up at a safe distance from the edge, and turn to meet the oncomers, when there they were.

Juno, finding her way suddenly obstructed, flung up her head and swerved inland, and before she could gather herself I had leaned across and lifted her panting burden in my arm.

Juno might go now for me!

As for Paddy, no one knows how much at that critical moment I owed to his steady help.

The little lady looked up with a half smile as I set her before me on the saddle. Then her head fell back on my shoulder in a faint, and I had the sweetest and (for all we walked the whole way) the shortest ride home I ever knew.

It was with a sore heart that presently I surrendered my burden to her mother's arms, and addressed myself to the task of recompensing my brave Paddy for that day's feat.

While I rubbed him down, up came Martin, and my spirits rose.

"Go along away out of that, you blundering spalpeen," said he, with a cuff on the ear. "I'll learn you to meddle, so I will. Go and clean the pots, and let the horse alone."

"Clean the pots yourself," said I, pretty hot, "and leave the horse to one that can ride him."

He gaped at me in his stupid way.

"You'll swallow it in time," said I, having finished my rubbing down. "Wait out there, like a jewel, till I put the beast away, and then you shall call me spalpeen again."

I think he was more astonished to be defied than he chose to confess. Anyway he waited for me.

"Now," said I, "Mister Martin, I'm waiting for you."

He made a lunge at me, which I dodged, and before he knew where he was I had him on the cheek-bone so suddenly that he slipped and tumbled on the ground.

I was two years older than the day I had fought Tim, poor Tim, on the cliff at Fanad. And to-day I was so uplifted I could have fought an army.

So it was a disappointment when Martin stumbled to his feet and sheered off with a threat of vengeance.

What cared I? Paddy and I had won a race, and my little mistress was safe.

Yet Martin, as will appear presently, was a man of his word.



CHAPTER NINE.

BEHIND THE INN DOOR AT RATHMULLAN.

I know not what account of our adventure was given by my little mistress to her parents, but certain it was I found myself risen in the good graces of the mother, if not in those of his honour. As to the latter, his graces, good or bad, were hard to calculate. Perhaps he disliked me less than before, rather than liked me better. He said nothing, except to reprimand me for assaulting Martin. But I suspected it was no special love for Martin which called forth the rebuke.

And now, for a time, things went uneasily at Knockowen. For a sour man, his honour kept a good deal of company; and I, who waited upon them, with eyes and ears open, could see that my master was playing a difficult and dangerous game.

One week certain mysterious persons would drop in, and sit in long confabulation. Another week some fellow-justice of his honour's would claim his hospitality and advice on matters of deep importance. Sometimes a noisy braggart from the country side would demand an audience; and sometimes an officer in his Majesty's uniform would arrive as an honoured guest.

On all such occasions the tenor of the talk was the growing unrest of the country, and the gathering of that great storm which was soon to turn the whole country into a slaughter-house.

But the difficult task which Mr Gorman set before himself was to agree with everybody.

That he was deep in league with the smugglers on the coast I myself knew. But to hear him talk to the revenue officers who visited him, one might think that he spent his days and nights in seeking to put down this detestable trade. That he had a hand in the landing of foreign arms the reader knows as well as I. But when his brother magistrates came to lay their heads with his, none was more urgent than he to run down the miscreants. Indeed, he went to more than empty words; for once, when a rumour spread that a cargo of powder and shot was expected off Malin, he himself led the party which for three days lay in wait to intercept it. And no one knew except himself and me that during those very three days, while he kicked his loyal heels on Malin Head, the Cigale ran quietly into Lough Swilly, and after resting a few hours, ran as quietly out, with a good deal less ballast in her than she came with.

I remember that well, for it was a day when I was secretly plotting to take advantage of my master's absence to steal up to Kilgorman. I had indeed got not far from the place when, to my disgust, Martin and another man overtook me on horseback, and ordered me to return at once to Knockowen at my mistress's bidding.

I durst not disobey, or betray my purpose, so turned back sulkily, leaving them to canter on; and, to add to my chagrin, as I looked round presently from the hill-top, I recognised the flaunting sails of the Cigale standing in for the shore. This sight filled me with a new longing to see Tim, on whom for two years now I had only once, for an hour, set eyes. Come what would, I must steal away and hail him as soon as ever I could escape for an hour or so. Alas! it was easy to promise.

The reason of my mistress's summons was for me to take an officer, who had just ridden over in hot haste from Carndonagh, by boat to Rathmullan. He was to rejoin his regiment that night, and being a distant kinsman of my lady had presumed on his relationship to beg a passage across the lough by the shortest way.

You may guess if I cast loose the boat with a merry heart, and bade farewell to my chance of seeing Tim, let alone of obeying my mother's call to Kilgorman.

More than that, this voyage to Rathmullan reminded me of another time when my crew was more to my taste than this lumbering trooper; and, as if to complete my trouble, Miss Kit came down gaily to the jetty to speed the parting guest.

"It's a pity we could not keep you, Captain Lestrange, till my father returned. You must come again when times are quieter."

"That'll not be this year or next," said the young officer; "but whenever it is, I could hardly find you looking prettier than you are now, Miss Gorman."

"Wait till you see," said she, with a saucy laugh, waving her hand as we pushed off.

I had it in my heart to upset the boat as the fellow stood and kissed his hand.

"Sit down, sir, if you please, and trim the boat," I said. "By your leave, sir, till I haul the sail."

And before he was aware of it I hauled away, and left him kissing his hand to a sheet of white canvas that interposed between him and my little mistress.

That solaced me vastly.

Once out on the lough I found my passenger, who was little more than a lad of twenty, friendly enough, and inclined to while away the voyage with chat.

"So the master's at Malin, after the smugglers?" said he.

"Troth, yes," said I; "but they're hard boys to catch."

"I wouldn't thank you for fools that ran into your arms," said he.

"'Deed you won't find many such in these parts."

"What's that building on the far point there?" he asked presently, pointing to Kilgorman.

"That's Kilgorman House, colonel."

"Oh! There's some story about that house surely. Somebody was murdered or robbed—what was it?"

"His honour's brother, Terence Gorman, owned it. And he was shot on the hill fifteen years ago; and nobody will go near the place since."

"Oh, I remember now," said he. "And there was something about a lady and child that died too. I heard about it from a cracked body that was servant to my sister-in-law in Paris."

"Biddy McQuilkin," said I. "Sure she's in France still!"

"What, do you know her?"

"She's from these parts, colonel."

"Well, she may be there still, unless they're all dead. Paris is a hot place for any one just now. When they kill kings, and cut off heads like turnip-tops, it's no place for strangers."

"They do say the French will be this length before long," said I, recalling some of the talk I had heard at his honour's table.

He eyed me sharply.

"They do, do they? And how come you to know it?"

"Sure, it's common talk," said I; "and more by tokens, they've sent their guns before them."

"The less you talk about what you don't understand the better," said the officer, looking glum; "but I'd give any one a hundred pounds to tell me where they put the arms when they land them."

Here I thought it wise to be silent. I could have earned a hundred pounds easily that afternoon.

When we reached Rathmullan, a sergeant was down on the pier awaiting Captain Lestrange.

"There's wild work going, captain," I heard him say; "the boys are getting to a head, and every mother's son of them with a gun in his hand. The troop's been ordered over to Letterkenny, and they're away already to watch the fun. Begging your pardon, captain, you must take your dinner in the saddle this day."

The captain took this news, especially the end of it, bravely, and tossed me down a shilling.

"Good-bye, my lad; and carry my respects to your young mistress."

And he strode away to the inn where the horses waited, and in a few minutes was clattering at full speed down the road that leads to Letterkenny.

Now, thought I, was my chance, with a favouring breeze, to slip down the lough and carry out my purpose of speaking the Cigale.

I would spend my shilling, or part of it, in drinking his Majesty's health, by which time it would be dusk enough to enable me to pass Knockowen unobserved.

In the inn, however, I found a great disturbance going on; so much so that I was crowded behind the door, and forced to stay there, first because I must, and presently because I would. What the trouble was I could not at first ascertain; but it soon came out that at Sheep Haven a gang of smugglers had been trapped, and their skipper swung at his own yard-arm. That was bad enough; but what was worse, he was a Rathmullan man, and the warrant for his capture had been given a week ago by a magistrate across the lough.

"I'll warrant you that was Maurice Gorman did it," said some one.

At the name I crept further back behind the door, and stood like a mouse.

"The very man," said another. "He's a dirty thraitor. He can let the boys well enough alone when he loikes."

"Whisht!" said another; "he's away at Malin this very week after more, and his men with him. I tell you what I'm thinking, Larry," continued the speaker, who had drunk somewhat, "this—"

"Howld yer tongue," said the first speaker in a whisper. "Do you know no better than blather at the top of your voice like that?"

"I'm thinking," continued the other, retreating towards the door, and beckoning the others around him, "that it'd do Maurice a world of good to have his winders broken."

"Ay, and not by pebbles. There's lead enough to spare in the country, praise God."

"And fire enough to warm his bones if he should be feeling cold," said another.

"He's to be back to-morrow. I heard that from Martin, who's been left to take care of the place."

"Sure, Martin's a right boy for us. He'd never spoil sport for the likes of Gorman."

"Not he. I warrant you Martin will be waiting on us, for I'll step across and tell him myself. There's no one else to mind but the women and a fool of a boy."

"Begorrah, thin, we'll stand by you, Larry. If Pat Corkill swings to plaze Maurice Gorman, Maurice shall roast to plaze us. But whisht! I'll have a boat for the eight of yez at this time to-morrow."

Then, one by one, they slunk off out of the dark shanty, leaving me behind the door in a fever of excitement and impatience.

I durst not go all at once, or be seen in the place; so I waited on till the road was clear and the host was away putting up his shutters.

Then I slipped out, and slouched quietly down to the pier. By good luck I had moored my boat under the side of an old hull that lay there, where she could hardly be noticed by any who did not look for her. I was thankful, aided by the friendly night, to reach it safely, and was soon speeding up the lough as fast as my sail would carry me, with my big budget of news for Knockowen.



CHAPTER TEN.

A NIGHT ATTACK.

I think, had the wind only favoured, I might have been tempted, notwithstanding the risk of it, to venture up in my boat as far as Kilgorman for the sake of getting a word with Tim, even if I could not hope to follow my quest up to the house itself. But the breeze dropped slack before I was well clear of Rathmullan, and it took me many hours of hard pulling, with the chance aid of an occasional puff, to make as far as Knockowen; and by that time the dawn was beginning to show in the east, and my chance of passing undetected was gone.

Besides, the news I bore, and the importance of it to the little, unprotected family at Knockowen, would hardly allow of delay. I slipped into the house and curled myself up in my corner, but not to sleep. Supposing, as was likely, his honour was not back by night, it would be left to me to defend the house and the women as best I could. And how was I to do it?

The first thing I saw when I arose at the summons of the cock was the white sails of the Cigale in the distance standing out for the mouth of the lough. So there was an end of Tim for the present. I confess I was almost glad; for had he been still within call, I should have been tempted all day long to desert my post to get at him. Now I had nothing to take my mind from the business of the night that was coming.

By mid-day his honour had not returned. And then it seemed to me I must do something, if the danger was to be averted. So I saddled Juno (who, by the way, had quietly trotted home to her stable the morning after her runaway race with Miss Kit three months ago), and despite Martin's questions and objections, to which I replied that I was on my lady's business, rode as hard as the mare would carry me to the barracks at Fahan.

There I boldly reported what I knew, and in my mistress's name bade the sergeant in charge send half-a-dozen armed men to protect the house. The sergeant answered that all his men were away, and that unless they returned soon he would have no one to send.

Then I demanded a brace of guns, and a promise that, failing any others, he would come himself. To this he agreed that he certainly would, and bade me keep my own counsel and not alarm the women. As to Martin, I would do well, he said, to make sure of him before he could do any harm. He gave me the guns done up in a truss of straw to avoid detection, and with this clumsy parcel slung across the mare's back I trotted home.

As I came near the avenue I noticed a skulking figure step quickly behind the trees, and guessed this was probably the messenger who had promised to come over to warn Martin of what was in store. I doubted whether I ought not to attack him there and then. But had I done so I might have given an alarm, and lost my guns into the bargain. So I pretended to see nothing, and passed on, whistling to myself, up to the house.

The afternoon was already well advanced before I dismounted in the stable-yard. Martin, as I expected, stood there waiting for me. It was as much his object to get me disposed of as it was mine to dispose of him. My only chance was to seem to know nothing, and keep a sharp look- out on him.

"You're fond of riding," said he with a sneer; "it's worth a ride to Fahan to fetch a truss of straw when there's plenty in the stable."

"There's more than straw in this," said I, lifting it up and carrying it up to the house. "Man, dear, it's full of guns."

He was not to be taken in by chaff like that, he said. And indeed he fully believed, as I hoped he would, that I was making a fool of him.

"Since you don't believe me, you might carry it indoors for me, while I put up the mare," said I, risking a little more to make sure of him.

"You may carry your own litter," said he, "and hold your tongue over it."

So I carried the truss into the kitchen, and laid it in the corner there, and presently returned to the yard.

He had taken Juno into the stable, and was unsaddling her there.

"Come here," he called, "and put up your own beast."

I guessed pretty well what he meant by that. The stable was a small one, with only one little grated window high up, and a thick door. Could he lock me in there, I should be quiet enough for the rest of the evening.

Happily for me Martin was a dull fool as well as a great villain, and he betrayed his purpose by the glitter of his eye too clearly for any one to mistake him. I strolled carelessly up towards the door, and as I did so he left the horse and came to meet me.

"Come in here," said he, "and let's see how you can rub down a horse."

"I don't need you to show me," said I. "Look at her there, with her mane all in a twist and her fetlock grazed by your clumsy pail."

He turned round to look, and in that moment I had the door shut on him and the key turned on the outside. I knew that the door, which was thick enough to stand a horse's kick, had nothing to fear from his. And as to his noise, there would be no one to heed that. He would be safe there till morning, and there were oats enough in the place to keep him and Juno both from starving.

This business done, I hastened back to the house, and sought Miss Kit, to whom I told everything.

"Father will not be home to-night," said she bravely. "We must do the best we can, Barry."

"We'll do better than that, plaze God," said I.

Then followed an anxious council of war. Besides our two selves, there were my lady and three maid-servants in the house. Mistress Gorman was too nervous and delicate to count upon for help, but the maids were all three sturdy wenches. So our garrison was five souls, and, counting the two guns I had brought, there were eight stands of arms and ammunition to match in the house.

The danger to be feared was not so much from the invaders' shooting as from the possibility of their carrying out their threat to fire the house. Our only hope seemed to lie in frightening them off at the onset by as formidable a show of resistance as possible. Failing that, we should have to protect ourselves as best we could.

Fortunately we could at least prevent their surrounding the house; for by closing and barricading the garden doors on either side, all approach would be limited to the water-front, unless a very wide circuit was made outside the grounds. The drawing-room in which the family usually spent their evenings was on the first floor at this side, and here no doubt the enemy would direct their first attack.

I therefore resolved to have the candles lit as usual and to keep the blinds up, so as to give no hint that we were forewarned of their visit.

Below, on the ground-floor, there were two windows on either side of the door, with shutters in which we bored some hasty loopholes, at each of which we could station one of our party. And the more effectively to keep up an appearance of being in force, I placed a loaded gun, pointed towards the door, on the outer wall at each side, which, by an arrangement of string attached to the triggers, I should be able to let off from within, and so give the party the discomfort of believing themselves taken in the rear.

For the rest, we removed everything inflammable, such as curtains and bedding, as far from the windows as possible, and trusted to a supply of well-filled buckets stationed in every room to help us in case of fire. And as an additional defender against a forcible entry from any unexpected quarter, I brought Con the dog (who seemed to understand all that was going forward) into the house, and stationed him in the hall.

By the time these preparations were all complete it was quite dark, and I knew we might expect our visitors at any moment.

I begged Miss Kit to see her mother disposed of in an apartment as far from the point of danger as possible, while I lit the candles in the drawing-room, and stationed the maids at their posts in the darkened hall below.

My little mistress came to the drawing-room to report her task done.

"If you are not afraid," said I, "it would be well to move about in this room near the window for a little, so as to let ourselves be seen by any one who approaches. They may be in view of us already."

She seated herself boldly at the window, while I, in my livery coat, waited on her with a tray.

"Afraid!" said she, taking up my words; "that would be difficult. I do not forget that afternoon in the boat, or the gap in the cliff."

If anything could have put me more on my mettle, these words and the smile that accompanied them sufficed. I could have received an army single-handed.

We waited silently after that. Presently Con below gave a low growl, and Miss Kit's eyes met mine. "Listen, and you'll hear them," said I. Sure enough, through the open window there came the steady plash of oars, and the sound of voices across the water.

It was an uneasy moment, especially when we heard the grating of the boat alongside the jetty.

"It's time now we went below," said I. "Leave me here to close the window and pull down the blinds. And, Miss Kit," said I as she rose, "if any one is hurt this night it shall not be you."

She laughed a brave little laugh, and replied, "You want too much for yourself, Barry. We'll share and share alike."

Then with her cheeks somewhat pale, and her eyes very bright, she went below, and groped her way to her station in the hall.

Meanwhile, as ostentatiously as I could, I closed the window and lowered the blinds; and after moving from one place to another between them and the candles so as to throw as many shadows as possible, I slipped from the room, and ran down the stairs.

At first nothing could be seen, and we only had Con's growing uneasiness to warn us of the danger approaching. Then through my loophole I saw among the trees a moving light, evidently a lantern, and presently seven or eight dark forms moving doubtfully along the little jetty.

They halted at a little distance to reconnoitre, and perhaps to wonder why Martin, on whom they depended to conduct them, did not appear.

At last we could discern a movement and the sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel. My orders were that no sign should be given by any of us in the house till they had expended their first shot. And this, as it happened, turned out to be good advice.

Presently we could see them ranged in a row, about twenty yards from the house. Then one stepped forward cautiously, and rapped at the door behind which we stood.

His only answer was a growl from Con.

"Boys," whispered he, "there's not a sound stirring. You'll need to rap at yon window to find if his honour's at home. All together now."

Whereupon, with a hideous noise, seven guns were let off, and we heard the bullets crash into the room overhead.

One of the maids lost her nerve, and shrieked. But if they heard it, they thought nothing of it.

"Are you a goose?" cried Miss Kit angrily. "Stand steady now, like a woman."

This reassured the girl, and at the same time I gave the order to fire.

Our object was not to kill but to frighten. And I knew well enough the women would aim wild. But for myself, I confess I had no scruples in covering the man who carried the lantern.

The effect of our volley was amazing. The villains had barely grounded their arms, and were proceeding leisurely, with their eyes still upturned to the shattered windows, to reload, when we let fly.

My man fell back with a yell, so did one of the others. The rest yelled in chorus, and stood a moment stupified. Quick as thought I pulled my strings right and left, and completed their consternation by a flank fire, which, had it been aimed by a marksman, could not have been more decisive. For one other of the party fell without even a cry, and at the same moment the rest rushed gasping and stumbling over one another down to the boat.

It was the shortest battle I ever took part in. Within three minutes of the first attack the invaders were flying for their lives across the lough. Three of their number were left on the field senseless, and for all we knew stone dead.

I confess that victory is sometimes more terrible than defeat, and any relief our little garrison felt in the danger averted was lost in the counting of the cost. My little mistress, especially, was not to be held till the door was opened, and she could go out to where the victims lay.

Of the three, one—he who had caught the fire of the gun on the wall— was dead. The other two were senseless, but only slightly wounded. The one, whom I had brought down, was bleeding from a wound in the forearm; and the other, who was shot with no will of her own by the frightened servant-maid, was deeply grazed on the cheek.

We had scarcely carried the two wounded men inside, when a clatter of hoofs in the avenue warned us that the sergeant, true to his promise, had come to our succour, and not alone. He was not well pleased to find himself too late for the fighting, and only in time to tend a couple of bruised men, and carry off the body of another. But for this duty he might at least have given chase to the fugitives, and gained a little credit to himself by their capture. As it was, my lady, who in her husband's absence, and then only, spoke with his authority, would hear of no such attempt, and ordered the immediate removal of the body to Fahan, pending the necessary inquiry, while two of the soldiers were to be left in the house to protect it and see to the wounded.

As for these, a little whisky and bandaging soon set them right; and when next morning his honour, who had already been met by the news of the night's adventure, reached home, he was able to send them off to jail in the custody of the soldiers.

"There'll be trouble enough to us out of all this," said he to me that day, as we followed to the court of inquiry. "I wish to God I had left you where I found you."

That was the least I expected of his honour. His gratitude counted for very little beside the look Miss Kit had given me the night before, when the danger was yet to come.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

FUGITIVE BUT NOT VAGABOND.

His Honour was quite right; there was trouble enough out of that night's business. But more for me than for him.

For him, as he was then situated, playing a fast and loose game between the side of order and the side of treason, the fact that his house had been attacked by friends of the latter party stood him in good stead with the former. And if any of his brother magistrates had been inclined to suspect him of half-heartedness before, this outrage might be counted on to confirm his zeal for the right cause.

Under cover of this new security he was able to play even more than before into the hands of the lawless party. His first act was to hush up the affair of the night attack and procure the release of the two prisoners. His next was to abandon me to the tender mercies of those who sought vengeance for the blood of the dead man.

Once as I crossed the lough in a boat on his honour's business a shot across the water, which buried itself in the gunwale, made me look round, and I perceived one of the Rathmullan long-boats, manned by four of the party I had overheard in the inn weeks before, in full chase. The wind was slack, and escape was almost impossible. Could I only have used my sail I might have led them a pretty dance out into the open. As it was, without arms, one to four, and in a little, broad-beamed tub, I could do nothing but haul down my sail and wait their pleasure.

"Martin was right this time," I heard him who had fired the shot say, as he leisurely reloaded.

I was in doubt whether I was to be made an end of then and there, or allowed the mockery of a trial.

"What's your will?" said I, as they came alongside. "You've no need to scratch the paint of his honour's boat, anyway."

They said nothing, but hauled me bodily into their own craft, and tied me hand and foot.

"Save your breath," said one presently, "till it's wanted."

And I was flung like a sack on the floor of the boat.

"What'll we do with yon?" said another, knocking his oar against the Knockowen boat.

"Capsize her and let her drift," said the leader of the party.

So my old craft, which had carried me so often, and not me only but my little lady whom it seemed I was never to see more, was upset and turned adrift, to carry, for all I knew, the message of my fate to any whom it might concern.

It was almost dark already, and by the direction my captors rowed I concluded I was to be taken, not to Rathmullan, but to a landing-place nearer the lough mouth. They cruised about till it was quite dark, and then put in for a point called Carrahlagh, some miles south of my old home on Fanad. Here my feet were loosed and I was ordered to march with my company inland. The man with the gun walked by my side. The others, who as we went along were joined by some half-score of confederates at various points, who all gave a watchword on joining, talked among themselves eagerly.

Presently we came to a hill—one I knew well—and here the stragglers began to muster in larger numbers, till as we came to the hollow basin below the top I counted nearly fifty. A few of them I recognised as old gossips of my father's, but for the most part they were strangers who seemed to have come from a distance.

About ten of the number carried guns, the rest were all armed with either clubs or sticks, while one or two carried rude pikes.

I noticed that one of my captors, not he who guarded me, was looked up to as the leader of the gathering; and when by common consent a circle was formed, and sentinels posted, one on either side of the hollow, it was he who stepped forward and spoke.

If he was an Irishman, his voice did not betray him. Indeed, he spoke more like an Englishman, with a touch of the foreigner at the tip of his tongue.

The first part of his speech was about matters I little understood— about some Bill before the Irish Parliament at Dublin, and the efforts of the friends of the people to defeat it. Then he went on to talk of the great events taking place in Paris:—How the whole people were up in arms for liberty; how the king there had been beheaded, and the streets were flowing with the blood of the friends of tyranny. From end to end of France the flag of freedom was floating. Was Ireland to be the only country of slaves in Europe? She had a tyrant worse than any of whom France had rid herself. The English yoke was the one secret of the misery and troubles of Ireland, and so on. "Boys!" cried he, "the soldiers of liberty are looking at you. They're calling on you to join hands. Are you afraid to strike a blow for your homes? Must I go and tell them that sent me that the Irishman is a coward as well as a slave? There's fighting to be done, if there's only men to do it—fighting with the men who wring the life's blood out of you and your land— fighting with the toadies who are paid by England to grind you down— fighting with the blasphemers who rob your priests and your chapels— fighting with the soldiery who live on you, and tax you, and insult your wives and daughters. It's no child's play is wanted of you. We want no poltroons in the cause. We know the people's friends, and we know their enemies; and it's little enough quarter will be going on the day we reckon accounts. Arrah, boys!" cried he, letting go his foreign air for a moment and dropping into the native, "it's no time for talking at all. There's some of yez armed already; there's a gun for any mother's son here that will use it for the people, and swear on the book to leave the world with one tyrant less upon it. Come up, boys, and take the oath, and shame to them that hang back."

Instantly there was a forward movement in the audience, as with shouts and cheers they pressed towards the speaker.

He held aloft a book and recited the oath in a loud voice. As far as I remember it bound every one to be a loyal member of the society organised in that district to put down the tyrant and free Ireland from the English yoke. It bound him, without question, to obey any command or perform any service demanded of him in the cause. It pledged him to utter secrecy as to the existence and actions of the society. And it doomed him to the penalty of death for any breach of his vow.

In fours, each with a hand on the book, the company advanced and took the vow, each man's name as he did so being written down and publicly announced. Even the two sentinels were called from their posts and replaced, in order that they might join.

Finally the leader cried,—

"Is that the whole of ye?"

"No," cried my custodian, pushing me forward with the butt-end of his gun. "There's a boy here, plaze your honour, captain, that we took this day. It's him that gave Larry Dugan his death that night we visited Knockowen."

The leader turned me to the moonlight and scrutinised my face sharply.

"I had forgotten him," said he; "he should have been left behind.—That was a bad business at Knockowen."

"'Deed, sir," said I, plucking up a little heart at the mildness of his manner, "I did no more than your honour would have done in my shoes; I defended the women. And as for Larry Dugan, it was a mischance he was hit."

A hurried consultation took place among the chief of the confederates, during which I was left standing in suspense.

It was against me that I had been present and overheard all this business of the oath. That, it was evident, weighed more against me than the part I had taken in the defence of the Knockowen women. Were they to let me go now, the society would be at the mercy of my tongue. It would be simpler, as some advised, to put me out of harm's way then and there with an ounce of lead in my head.

Presently the consultation ended.

"Give him the oath," said the leader; and the book was held out to me, while a couple of guns were pointed at my head.

It was an ugly choice, I confess. Little as I understood the nature of the work in hand, I had gathered enough to know that the oath sold me body and soul to men who would stick at nothing to gain their end, and that in taking it I became not only a traitor to the king, but an accomplice of murder and outrage.

Yet what could I do? Young life is sweet, and hope is not to be thrown away like a burned-out match. Besides, I longed to see Tim once more before I died, and—I blushed in the midst of my terror—my little mistress.

"Loose my hands," said I, "and give me the book."

The muzzles of the guns laid their cold touch on my cheeks as the cord was unfastened.

Then in a sort of dream I held the book and began to repeat the words. I know not how far I had gone, or to what I had pledged myself, when a sudden shout from one of the sentries brought everything to an end.

"Whisht—soldiers!" was the shout.

In a moment the hollow was almost empty. Men scuttled away right and left like sheep at the alarm of the dog. Those who guarded me let me go and raced for the gap. The clerk left paper and pen and lantern on the ground and slunk towards the rocks. I was left standing, book in hand, with but one of the party, and that one the leader, beside me.

"Kiss the book," said he in a menacing tone.

I looked at him. He was not armed, and I was as free a man as he. Quick as thought I seized the list which the clerk had dropped on the ground.

"Your secret is safe," said I, flourishing it in his face, "so long as the women at Knockowen are unhurt. But my soul and my hand are my own."

So saying I flung the book and struck him a blow on the breast which sent him reeling back against the rock. And off I went among the bracken, thanking God for this peril escaped.

As I have often proved many a time since, the road to safety lies often on the side of danger. Most of the fugitives had made for the hills in an opposite direction to that towards which the sentinel had pointed. I went the other way, and hid myself under a broad flat rock near the roadside, guessing that no one would ever look for lurkers there.

And in so doing I was able to discover what the others would have given something to be sure of:—that the sentinel's alarm had been a false one altogether, and that what he took for soldiers was no more than a party of revellers returning from a harvest dance in high good spirits along the road. I even recognised some of the familiar faces I had known at Fanad in the old days, and was sorely tempted to claim acquaintance.

But prudence forbade. As sure as daylight came no effort would be spared to hunt me down. For had I not the secret of this society in my own hands, down to the very list of its members? A word from me could smoke them in their holes like rats in a drain. It was not likely I should be allowed to remain at large; and when caught next time, I might promise myself no such good luck as had befallen me to-night.

So I lay low till the road was clear, and then struck north for Fanad, where I knew nooks and crannies enough to keep me hid, if need be, for a month to come.

For a week I lodged uncomfortably enough in one of the deep caves that pierce the coast, which at high tide was unapproachable except by swimming, and at low so piled up with sea-weed at its mouth as to seem only a mere hole in the cliff. Here, on a broad ledge high beyond reach of the tide, I spent the weary hours, living for the most part on sea- weed, or a chance crab or lobster, cooked at a fire of bracken or hay, collected at peril of my life in the upper world.

Once as I peeped out I saw a boat cruising along the shore, and discovered in one of its crew no other than he who had acted as leader of the gathering of a week ago. So near did they come that I could even hear their voices.

"You're wastin' your time, captain, over a spalpeen like that. Sure, if he's alive he's far enough away by this time."

The leader turned to the speaker and said,—

"If I could but catch him he would not travel far again. Was there no news of him at Knockowen?"

"'Deed no; only lamenting from the ladies when his empty boat came ashore."

Then they passed out of hearing, never even looking my way. At last, when I judged they had abandoned the pursuit for a time and were returned to Rathmullan, I ventured out on to the headland, and one day even dared to walk as far as to the old cabin at Fanad.

It had become a ruin since I saw it last. The winter's winds had lifted the thatch, and the wall on one side had tumbled in. There was no sign of the old life we lived there. The little window from which the guiding light had shone so often was fallen to pieces. Even the friendly hearth within was filled with earth and rubbish.

I left it with a groan; it was like a grave. As I wandered forth, turning my way instinctively to the old landing-place, a flash of oars over the still water (it was a day of dead calm) sent my heart to my mouth. The place was so desolate that even this hint of life startled me. Who could it be that had found me out here?

Quick as thought I dropped on my hands and knees and crawled in among the thick bracken at the path-side. There was one place I remembered of old where Tim and I had often played—a deep sort of cup, grown full of bracken, and capped by a big rock, which to any one who did not know it seemed to lie flat on the soil. Hither I darted, and only just in time, for the boat's keel grated on the stones as I slipped into cover.

I peered out anxiously and as best I could without showing myself. By their footsteps and voices there were two persons. And when they came nearer, and I caught a momentary glance as they climbed the path to the cabin, I recognised in one of them the face of one of my late captors.

Whether they were here after me or on some other mischief I could not guess. But I hid low, as you may fancy.

Then a sudden thought came to me. The boat was down at the pier. Why should I stay where I was, hunted like a partridge, while across the lough I should at least be no worse off, and have seven clear miles of water between me and my pursuers? Now was my time if ever. Besides— and once more I think I blushed, even under the bracken—on the other side of the lough was my little Lady Kit.

So while the two men walked up the steep path to the cabin I slipped from my hiding-place and ran down to the boat. And a minute later I was clear of the land, with my bows pointing, as they had pointed so often before, for the grim turrets of Kilgorman.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

HOW I JOINED THE GOOD SHIP "ARROW."

It was a still, sultry afternoon, and as I lay on my oars half-a-mile from shore I made up my mind I had little help to look for from the breezes; nor, as the tide was then running, could I afford to drift. I must row steadily, unless I wished to find myself out in the open, without supplies, before nightfall. However, that was no great hardship, and after my idle week in the cave I was glad enough (had my stomach only been a little less empty!) of a little hard work.

Whether the two men whose boat I had borrowed discovered their loss sooner or later I do not know to this day. But they might have left me a handier craft. I knew her of yore, an old Rathmullan tub, useful enough to ferry market women across to Inch, but ill-suited for a single rower on a windless sea.

For all that I was glad enough to have her, and feel myself once more my own master.

I would fain have put her head to Knockowen had I dared. But there I knew I could not look for safety. His honour, no doubt thankful to be allowed to consider me dead, would resent my return, and a way would soon be had of handing me over to the League, who by this time were in hue and cry to have my life. Martin, fool as he was, could be trusted to see to that business, while his honour received the compliments of his brother magistrates on his loyalty and sacrifices.

No; if I landed anywhere it must be at Kilgorman, where I should hardly be looked for, or if I was, should possibly pass for one of the ghosts of the place.

It was a dark night, without even a moon, before the distant light of Knockowen far up the lough showed me I must be coming within reach of my destination. A little breeze was now coming in from the open, which would, did I only dare to take it, carry me to my little lady's side in less than an hour. Alas, it was not for me! and I pulled toilfully on.

It was not without some groping that at last I found the little creek into which the Cigale was wont to creep on her secret visits; and here at last, worn-out with fatigue and hunger, and still more with care, I ran my boat and landed.

What to do next I hardly knew. Food was what I needed most; after that, sleep; and after that, safety. It seemed as if I was to sup off the last, which was poor comfort to an empty stomach. I felt my way as quietly as I could up the track which led from the creek, and found myself presently on the cliff above, close to my dear mother's grave. I might as well sleep here as anywhere else, and when they found me dead in the morning they would not have far to carry me.

Was I turning coward all of a sudden—I, who had looked down the barrel of a gun a week ago and not quailed? The gleam of the white cross on the Gormans' tomb made me start and shiver. I seemed to hear footsteps in the long grass, and detect phantom lights away where the house was.

Presently I felt so sure that I heard steps that I could stay where I was no longer, and hurried back by the way I had come towards the boat. Then gathering myself angrily together, and equally sure I had heard amiss, I turned back again and marched boldly up towards Kilgorman House.

Whether it was desperation or some inward calling, I know not, but my courage rose the nearer I came. What had I to fear? What worse could happen to me in the house of my birth than out here on the pitiless hillside?

Even when I found the avenue-gate locked and barred I did not repent. It was easily climbed.

Soon I came under the grim walls, and, as if to greet me, a wandering ray of the moon came out and fell on the window above the hall-door. It even surprised me how little fear I felt as I now hauled myself up by the creepers and clambered on to the porch. But here my triumph reached its limit.

The window this time was closely barred. His honour had no doubt guessed how, on my former visits, I had found entrance, and had taken this means to thwart my next. No shaking or pulling was of any avail. Kilgorman, by that way at least, was unassailable.

Yet I was not to be thwarted all at once. My courage, I confess, was a little daunted as I clambered down to earth, and proceeded to feel my way carefully round the house for some more likely entry. But entry there was none. Every window and door was fast. The moonlight, which swept fitfully over the stagnant swamp, struck only on sullen, forbidding walls, and the breeze, now fast rising, moaned round the eaves to a tune which sent a shudder through my vitals.

My courage seemed to die away with it. But I determined to make one more round of the walls before I owned myself beaten. I tried the bar of every window. One after another they resisted stiffly, till suddenly I came on one (that below the room where I had found the strange relic of my mother months ago) which yielded a little in my hand, and seemed to invite me to test it again. The second time it gave more, and after a while, being eaten through with rust, it broke off.

The bars on either side of it proved equally yielding, and though some cost more trouble than others, I succeeded in about half-an-hour in breaking away sufficient to effect an entrance. The window behind the bars was easily forced, and once more I found myself standing inside Kilgorman.

It would be a lie to say that I felt no fears. Indeed every step I took along the dark passage helped to chill my blood, and long before I had reached the door of the great kitchen I wished myself safe outside again.

But shame, and the memory of that pathetic message from my dead mother, held me to my purpose. And, as if to encourage me, the candle stood where I had found it once before on the little ledge, and beside it, to my astonishment, a small crust of bread. It must have stood there a week, and was both stale and mouldy. But to my famishing taste it was a repast for a king, and put a little new courage into me.

It surprised me to find the great apartment once again crowded with arms, stacked all along the sides and laid in heaps on the centre of the floor. What perplexed me was not so much the arms themselves as the marvel how those that brought them entered and left the house.

But just now I had no time for such speculations. I was strung up to a certain duty, and that I must perform, and leave speculation for later. My mother's letter, if it meant anything, meant that I was to seek for something below or behind the great hearth; and as I peered carefully round it with my candle I could not help recalling the ghost which Tim and I had both heard, years ago, advance to this very spot and there halt.

Save the deep recess of the fireplace itself, there was no sign above or below of any hiding-place. The flagstones at my feet were solid and firm, and the bricks on either side showed neither gap nor crack. I pushed the candle further in and stepped cautiously over the crumbled embers into the hollow of the deep grate itself.

As I did so a blast from above extinguished the light, and at the same moment a sound of footsteps fell on my ear, not this time from the outer passage, but apparently from some passage on the other side of the wall against which I crouched.

I felt round wildly with my hands for the opening by which I had entered. Instead of that I found what felt like a step in the angle of the wall, and above it another. An instinct of self-preservation prompted me to clamber up here, and ensconce myself on a narrow ledge in the chimney, some six feet above the level of the ground.

Here I waited with beating heart as the footsteps came nearer. I could judge by the sound that they belonged not, like the last I had heard, to a wandering woman, but to two men, advancing cautiously but with set purpose, and exchanging words in whispers.

Presently, to my amazement, a ray of light shot through the blackness of the recess below me, followed by a creaking noise as a part of the floor of the hearth swung slowly upwards, and revealed to my view a dimly-lit, rocky passage below, slanting downwards, and leading, as I could judge by the hollow sound that came through it, towards the shore of the lough.

I could now understand how it came that a house so closely barred and bolted was yet so easily frequented. And, indeed, the whole mystery of the smuggled arms became clear enough.

The two men who now clambered up, carrying a lantern, which illuminated the whole of the recess, and (had they only thought of looking up) the very ledge on which I sat, were sailors; and in one I recognised the foreign-looking fellow who, years ago, had commanded the Cigale and attended my mother's wake. I knew from what I had overheard at his honour's that, since my father had given himself up to the smuggling of arms, and received charge of the Cigale, this worthy fellow had left, that ship and devoted himself to the more perilous occupation of robbing his Majesty's subjects indiscriminately on the high seas. His companion was evidently, by his villainous looks, a desirable partner in the same business.

"I told you so," said the latter, turning his lantern into the room. "Guns enough for a regiment. Luck for us."

"We have room enough for the lot," growled the Frenchman in pretty plain English. "Monsieur Gorman shall find that two can play at one game. He smuggles the guns in in the Cigale, I smuggle them out in the Arrow. Parbleu! we are quits."

And he laughed a loud laugh at his own jest. Then they proceeded to count their booty, and while so engaged it seemed to me that I had better escape before my position became more exposed, as it would be sure to be as soon as the business of carrying the guns through the recess began. So I took advantage of the darkness, when they were engaged at the far end of the kitchen, to drop from my perch and slip through the trap-door.

The peril of this movement only dawned on me when I found myself in the narrow, rocky cave. If this secret passage were guarded at the other end, as was most likely, by sentinels from the ship, what was to become of me? However, there was no retreating now. So I groped my way forward, down the ever-widening passage, till at last I found myself in a great wide-mouthed cave, full of water, in the middle of which ran a smooth causeway of stones, forming a kind of natural pier and landing- place. The rocky ledges running out beyond on either side formed a little harbour, in which, in the roughest weather, the water was fairly calm; and a further tongue of rock beyond that, rising some thirty or forty feet, and seeming to any one approaching it from without to be part of the cliffs, offered a safe riding-place for a ship of moderate draught.

As good luck would have it, the cave was empty. The Arrow must have come in after I had crossed the lough that evening. And the French skipper and his mate had evidently left their crew to anchor and clear the vessel in the roads while they reconnoitred the house.

I could see very little of the ship through the darkness, and, indeed, was too busy making myself scarce to heed her.

Nor had I much time to spare. For almost before I had got round the ledge and clambered partly up the cliff at the top of the cave mouth, I heard a boat putting off and voices making for the little harbour.

After that, fatigue and hunger did their work with me, and despite the peril of my position I fell asleep, and never woke till the sun was high and hot in the heavens.

Then, when I looked out, I saw as pretty a little schooner as I had ever set eyes on lying in the roads. I used to think it hard to beat the Cigale for looks, but the Arrow was her superior in every way. She was a bigger vessel, and armed at every port. Her lines were both light and strong, and by the cut of her rigging I could fancy she had the speed of a greyhound.

The sight of her set all my old sea-longing aflame. Pirate as she was, it would be good, I thought, to be on her and face the open sea, far away from my persecutors and enemies—away from Knockowen, and Kilgorman, and—

Here I stopped short. Knockowen, next to the Cigale where Tim was, held what counted most to me of this world's good. Kilgorman held the spirit of my dead mother, waiting to be relieved of its trouble. How could I desert the one or the other and call myself a brave man?

What I could not decide, fate decided for me. The cave below me was guarded by the pirate's men, who clattered their muskets on the stones and kept a keen look-out on all sides for any chance intruder. To quit my present perch would be certain death. So I lay and watched the boat as she plied backwards and forwards with the guns, and wondered how soon the task of loading would be done.

It went on all the day, and every hour I felt myself grow fainter and more sick with hunger. For nearly two days, except last night's crust, I had tasted nothing; and before that, sea-weed had been the chief article of my diet. The scene presently seemed to swim before me, and at last, what with the heat and famine, I fairly swooned away.

When I came to, two curious faces were bent over me, and my bed was no longer the rocky cliff side, but the hard floor of a boat as it danced over the waves.

"He looks a likely lad," said one voice.

"He's safer with us than ashore," said another. "I warrant he was put there to spy on us."

"Come, lad," said the first speaker, shaking me not altogether roughly; "we have you safe this time."

"'Deed, sir," said I, "as long as you give me some food you may do what you like with me."

And with this I rolled over again and all grew dim. When I opened my eyes next it was dark, and by the motion under me I guessed I was on the ship. A lantern swung dimly overhead, and a loud snoring below me showed me I was not alone in my bunk. What was of more interest just then, a piece of a loaf and some salt meat stood within reach of where I lay, and had evidently been put there for my use. You may guess if I let them stand long.

This refreshment, with the sleep I had had, and a few drops of rum in the tail of a bottle that stuck from my messmate's pocket, made a new man of me. And I sank back to my rest with a sense of comfort I have rarely known the like of since.

In the morning a rough hand roused me.

"Come, you have had enough coddling, my hearty. The captain wants you. And, if you'll take my advice, you'll say your prayers before you go on deck, as he'll likely drop you overboard."

This failed to frighten me, as it was meant to do; and I gathered myself together and climbed the hatchway, feebly enough, I confess, but with good cheer, and stood on the deck of the Arrow.

The coast of Donegal was clear over our stern, and a smart breeze from the east filled our sails and sent us spanking through the water.

The skipper was sitting aft, pipe in mouth, and waiting for me. I resolved to take the bold course and not wait to be spoken to.

"The top of the morning to you, captain," said I, saluting; "and it's well you're looking since you were at my mother's wake."

He stared at me, and then seemed to understand.

"You—you are Gallagher's boy, then?"

"The same, captain," said I; "and I'm obliged to you for this day's food."

"Gallagher was no friend of mine," said he; "but since he is dead, that shall not be against you, if you sail with me."

"Dead!" I exclaimed. "Is my father dead?"

"The Cigale went down off Foreland Head a month since."

"And Tim, my brother, was he drowned?"

"Likely enough, if he was aboard. Only two of the crew escaped.—So you sail under my orders?"

"I have nothing else to do," said I.

"You may swing at the yard-arm, if you prefer it," said he.

"Thanking you all the same, I'll sail where I am," said I.

So, with a very heavy heart, I found myself one of the crew of the Arrow.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE GUARD-HOUSE AT BREST.

Captain Cochin—for so the commander of the Arrow styled himself, though I always had my doubts whether he had any right to one title or the other—was too well aware of the value of his cargo to risk it in pursuing his ordinary calling of a pirate on the present voyage. So he stood well out to sea, ostentatiously flying the English flag, and giving friendly salutes to any chance vessels that came in his course.

"Parbleu!" said he, "England owes me one debt for taking the guns away from those who would have used them against her, and selling them to my poor countrymen, who will use them against one another. But there is no gratitude in England, and if I want payment I must help myself. But not this voyage—by-and-by."