"Faithful!" he exclaimed. "By all the books that was ever opened an'

shut, I'm thruth and honesty itself, so I am--howandiver, you said I was betrayed?"

"But I can't tell you the man that toald me. Whether you're able to guess at him or not, I don't know; but the thruth is, Rody, I've taken a likin' to you--an' if you'll just stand the trial I'm goin' to put you to, I'll be a friend to you--the best you ever had too."

"Well, Charley," said the other, plucking up courage a little, for the fellow was a thorough coward, "what is the thrial?"

"The man," continued Hanlon, "that betrayed you gave me one account of what you're about; but whether he tould me thruth or not I don't know till I hear another, an' that's yours. Now, you see clearly, Rody, that I'm up to all as it is, so you need not be a bit backward in tellin' the whole thruth. I say you're in danger, an' it's only trustin' to me--mark that--by trustin' faithfully to me that you'll get out of it; an', plaise the fates, I hope that, before three mouths is over, we'll be both safe an' comfortable in America. Do you undherstand that? I had my dhrames, Rody; but if I had, there must be n.o.body but yourself and me to know them."

"It wasn't I that first thought of it, but Donnel Dhu," replied Kody; "I never dreamt that he'd turn thraitor though."

"Don't be sayin' to-morrow or next day that I said he did," replied Hanlon. "Do you mind me now? A nod's as good as a wink to a blind horse."

Rody, though cowardly and treacherous, was extremely cunning, and upon turning the matter over in his mind, he began to dread, or rather to feel that Hanlon had so far over-reached him. Still it might be possible, he thought, that the prophet had betrayed him, and he resolved to put a query to his companion that would test his veracity; after which he would leave himself at liberty to play a double game, if matters should so fall out as to render it necessary.

"Did the man that tould you everything," he asked, "tell you the night that was appointed for this business?"

Hanlon felt this was a puzzler, and that he might possibly commit himself by replying in the affirmative.

"No," he replied, "he didn't tell me that."

"Ah, ha!" thought his companion, "I see whereabouts you are."

He disclosed, however, the whole plot, with the single exception of the night appointed for the robbery, which, in point of date, he placed in his narrative exactly a week after the real time.

"Now," he said to himself, "so far I'm on the safe side; still, if he has humbugged me, I've paid him in his own coin. Maybe the whole haul, as he calls it, may be secured before they begin to prepare for it."

Hanlon, however, had other designs. After musing a little, they sauntered along the garden walks, during which he proposed a plan of their own for the robbery of Henderson; and so admirably was it concocted, and so tempting to the villainous cupidity of Duncan, that he expressed himself delighted from the commencement of its fancied execution until their ultimate settlement in America.

"It was a treacherous thing, I grant, to betray you, Rody," said Hanlon; "an' if I was in your place, I'd give him t.i.t for tat. An', by the way, talkin' of the Prophet--not that I say it was he betrayed you--for indeed now it wasn't--bad cess to me if it was--I think you wanst said you knew more about him than I thought."

"Ah, ha," again thought Rody, "I think I see what you're afther at last; but no matther, I'll keep my eye on you. Hut, ay did I," he replied; "but I forget now what's this it was. However, I'll try if I can remember it; if I do, I'll tell you."

"You an' he will hang that murdherin' villain, Dalton--"

"I'm afeard o' that," replied the other; "an' for my part, I'd as soon be out of the thing altogether; however, it can't be helped now.'"

"Isn't it sthrange, Rody, how murdher comes out at last?" observed Hanlon; "now there's that ould man, an' see, after twenty years or more, how it comes against him. However, it's not a very pleasant subject, so let it dhrop. Here's Masther Richard comin' through the private gate,"

he added; "but if you slip down to my aunt's to-night, we'll have a gla.s.s of something that'll do us no harm at any rate, and we can talk more about the other business."

"Very well," replied Rody, "I'll be down, so goodbye; an' whisper, Charley," he added, putting on a broad grin; "don't be too sure that I tould you a single word o' thruth about the rob--hem--ha, ha! take care of yourself--good people is scarce you know--ha, ha, ha!"

He then left Hanlon in a state of considerable doubt as to the discovery he had made touching the apprehended burglary; and his uncertainty was the greater, inasmuch as he had frequently heard the highest possible encomiums lavished upon Duncan's extraordinary powers of invention and humbug.

Young Henderson, on hearing these circ.u.mstances, did not seriously question their truth; neither did they in the slightest degree shake his confidence in the intentions of the Prophet with respect to Mave Sullivan. Indeed, he argued very reasonably and correctly, that the man who was capable of the one act, would have little hesitation to commit the other. This train of reflection, however, he kept to himself, for it is necessary to state here, that Hanlon was not at all in the secret of the plot against Mave. Henderson had, on an earlier occasion sounded him upon it, but perceived at once that his scruples could not be overcome, and that of course it would be dangerous to repose confidence in him.

The next evening was that immediately preceding the a.s.sizes, and it was known that Dalton's trial was either the second or third on the list, and must consequently come on, on the following day. The pedlar and Hanlon sat in a depressed and melancholy mood at the fire; an old crone belonging to the village, who had been engaged to take care of the house during the absence of Hanlon's aunt, sat at the other side, occasionally putting an empty dudeen into her mouth, drawing it hopelessly, and immediately knocking the bowl of it in a fretful manner, against the nail of her left thumb.

"What's the matther, Ailey?" asked the pedlar; "are you out o' tobaccy?"

"Throth it's time for you to ax--ay am I; since I ate my dinner, sorra puff I had."

"Here then," he replied, suiting the action to the word, and throwing a few halfpence into her lap; "go to Peggy Finigan's an' buy yourself a couple of ounces, an' smoke rings round you; and listen to me, go down before you come back to Bamy Keeran's an' see whether he has my shoes done or not, an' tell him from me, that if they're not ready for me tomorrow mornin', I'll get him exk.u.mmunicated."

When the crone had gone out, the pedlar proceeded:

"Don't be cast down yet, I tell you; there's still time enough, an' they may be here still."

"Be here still! why, good G.o.d! isn't the thrial to come on to-morrow, they say?"

"So itself; you may take my word for it, that even if he's found guilty, they won't hang him, or any man of his years."

"Don't be too sure o' that," replied Hanlon; "but indeed what could I expect afther dependin' upon a foolish dhrame?"

"Never mind; I'm still of the opinion that everything may come about yet. The Prophet's wife was with Father Hanratty, tellin' him something, an' he is to call here early in the mornin'; he bid me tell you so."

"When did you see him?"

"To day at the cross roads, as he was goin' to a sick call.

"But where's the use o' that, when they're not here? My own opinion is, that she's either sick, or if G.o.d hasn't said it, maybe dead. How can we tell if ever she has seen or found the man you sent her for? Sure, if she didn't, all's lost."

"Throth, I allow," replied the pedlar, "that things is in a distressin'

state with us; however, while there's life there's hope, as the Doctor says. There must be something extraordinary wrong to keep them away so long, I grant--or herself, at any rate; still, I say again, trust in G.o.d. You have secured Duncan, you say; but can you depend on the ruffian?"

"If it was on his honesty, I could not, one second, but I do upon his villainy and love of money. I have promised him enough, and it all depends on whether he'll believe me or not."

"Well, well," observed the other, "I wish things had a brighter look up.

If we fail, I won't know what to say. We must only thry an' do the best we can, ourselves."

"Have you seen the agint since you gave him the pet.i.tion?" asked Hanlon.

"I did, but he had no discoorse with the Hendherson's; and he bid me call on him again."

"I dunna what does he intend to do?"

"Hut, nothing. What 'id he do? I'll go bail, he'll never trouble his head about it more; at any rate I tould him a thing."

"Very likely he won't," replied Hanlon; "but what I'm thinkin' of now, is the poor Daltons. May G.o.d in his mercy pity an' support them this night!"

The pedlar clasped his hands tightly as he looked up, and said "Amen!"

"Ay," said he, "it's now, Charley, whin I think of them, that I get frightened about our disappointment, and the way that everything has failed with us. G.o.d pity them, I say, too!"

The situation of this much tried family, was, indeed, on the night in question, pitiable in the extreme. It is true, they had now recovered, or nearly so, the full enjoyment of their health, and were--owing, as we have already said, to the bounty of some unknown friend--in circ.u.mstances of considerable comfort. Dalton's confession of the murder had taken away from them every principle upon which they could rely, with one only exception. Until the moment of that confession, they had never absolutely been in possession of the secret cause of his remorse--although, it must be admitted, that, on some occasions, the strength of his language and the melancholy depth of his sorrow, filled them with something like suspicion. Still such they knew to be the natural affection and tenderness of his heart, his benevolence and generosity, in spite of his occasional bursts of pa.s.sion, that they could not reconcile to themselves the notion that he had ever murdered a fellow creature. Every one knows how slow the heart of wife or child is to entertain such a terrible suspicion against a husband or a parent, and that the discovery of their guilt comes upon the spirit with a weight of distress and agony that is great in proportion to the confidence felt in them.

The affectionate family in question had just concluded their simple act of evening worship, and were seated around a dull fire, looking forward in deep dejection to the awful event of the following day. The silence that prevailed was only broken by an occasional sob from the girls, or a deep sigh from young Con, who, with his mother, had not long been returned from Ballynafail, where they had gone to make preparations for the old man's defence. His chair stood by the fire, in its usual place, and as they looked upon it from time to time, they could not prevent their grief from bursting out afresh. The mother, on this occasion, found the usual grounds for comfort taken away from both herself and them--we mean, the husband's innocence. She consequently had but one principle to rely on--that of single dependence upon G.o.d, and obedience to His sovereign will, however bitter the task might be, and so she told them.

"It's a great thrial to us, children," she observed; "an' it's only natural we should feel it. I do not bid you to stop cryin', my poor girls, because it would be very strange if you didn't cry. Still, let us not forget that it's our duty to bow down humbly before whatever misfortune--an' this is indeed a woeful one--that it pleases G.o.d in His wisdom (or, may be, in His mercy), to lay in our way. That's all we can do now, G.o.d help us--an' a hard thrial it is--for when we think of what he was to us--of his kindness--his affection!----"