A species of desperate determination had influenced the men in their return march, rendering them reckless of discovery, or its consequences; a circumstance that had greatly favoured their object; the adventurous and bold frequently encountering fewer difficulties, in the affairs of war, than the cautious and timid.  But an embarrassment now presented itself that was far more difficult to encounter than any which proceeded from personal risks.  The loving family of the deceased was to be met; a wife and daughters apprised of the fearful loss that, in the providence of God, had suddenly alighted on their house.

“Lower the body, men, and come to a halt,” said Joyce, using the manner of authority, though his voice trembled “we must consult together, as to our next step.”

There was a brief and decent pause, while the party placed the lifeless body on the grass, face uppermost, with the limbs laid in order, and everything about it, disposed of in a seemliness that betokened profound respect for the senseless clay, even after the noble spirit had departed.  Mike alone could not resist his strong native propensity to talk.  The honest fellow raised a hand of his late master, and, kissing it with strong affection, soliloquized as follows, in a tone that was more rebuked by feeling, than any apprehension of consequences.

“Little need had ye of a praist, and extreme unction,” he said.  “The likes of yerself always kapes a clane breast; and the knife that went into yer heart found nothing that ye need have been ashamed of!  Sorrow come over me, but yer lass is as great a one to meself, as if I had tidings of the sinking of ould Ireland into the salt say, itself; a thing that niver can happen, and niver will happen; no, not even at the last day; as all agree the wor-r-ld is to be burned and not drowned.  And who’ll there be to tell this same to the Missus, and Miss Beuly, and phratty Miss Maud, and the babby, in the bargain?  Divil bur-r-n me, if ’t will be Michael O’Hearn, who has too much sorrow of his own, to be running about, and d’aling it out to other people.  Sarjeant, that will be ver own jewty, and I pities the man that has to perform it.”

“No man will see me shrink from a duty, O’Hearn,” said Joyce, stiffly, while with the utmost difficulty he kept the tears from breaking out of a fountain that had not opened, in this way, for twenty years.  “It may bear hard on my feelings—­I do not say it will not—­but duty is duty, and it must be done.  Corporal Allen, you see the state of things; the commanding officer is among the casualties, and nothing would be simpler than our course, were it not for Madam Willoughby—­God bless her, and have her in His holy keeping—­and the young ladies.  It is proper to deliberate a little about them.  To you then, as an elderly and experienced man, I first apply for an opinion.”