“Mike good” he answered, with emphasis.  “Long tongue—­short t’ink.  Say much; mean little.  Heart sound, like hard oak—­mind, like spunk—­burn quick, no too much strong.”

This sententious and accurate delineation of the county Leitrim-man’s characteristics induced a smile in the captain; but, O’Hearn entering at the moment, and possessing his entire confidence, he saw no use in replying.  In another minute the two worthies were left in possession of the bed-room, Michael having received a most solemn injunction not to be tempted to drink.

It was now so late, the captain determined to let the regular watches of the night take their course.  He held a short consultation with Joyce, who took the first ward, and then threw himself on a mattrass, in his clothes, his affectionate wife having done the same thing, by the side of her daughters and grandson in an adjoining room.  In a short time, the sounds of footsteps ceased in the Hut; and, one unacquainted with the real state of the household, might have fancied that the peace and security of one of its ancient midnights were reigning about the Knoll.

It was just two in the morning, when the serjeant tapped lightly at the door of his commanding officer’s room.  The touch was sufficient to bring the captain to his feet, and he instantly demanded the news.

“Nothing but sentry-go, your honour,” replied Joyce.  “I am as fresh as a regiment that is just marching out of barracks, and can easily stand the guard till daylight.  Still, as it was orders to call your honour at two, I could do no less, you know, sir.”

“Very well, serjeant—­I will just wash my eyes, and be with you in a minute.  How has the night gone?”

“Famously quiet, sir.  Not even an owl to trouble it.  The sentinels have kept their eyes wide open, dread of the scalping-knife being a good wakener, and no sign of any alarm has been seen.  I will wait for your honour, in the court, the moment of relieving guard being often chosen by a cunning enemy for the assault.”

“Yes,” sputtered the captain, his face just emerging from the water—­“if he happen to know when that is.”

In another minute, the two old soldiers were together in the court, waiting the return of Jamie Allen with his report, the mason having been sent round to the beds of the fresh men to call the guard.  It was not long, however, before the old man was seen hastening towards the spot where Joyce had bid him come.

“The Lord ha’ maircy on us, and on a’ wretched sinners!” exclaimed Jamie, as soon as near enough to be heard without raising his voice on too high a key—­“there are just the beds of the three Connecticut lads that were to come into the laird’s guard, as empty as a robin’s nest fra’ which the yang ha’ flown!”

“Do you mean, Jamie, that the boys have deserted?”

“It’s just that; and no need of ca’ing it by anither name.  The Hoose o’ Hanover wad seem to have put the de’il in a’ the lads, women and children included, and to have raised up a spirit o’ disaffection, that is fast leaving us to carry on this terrible warfare with our ain hearts and bodies.”