Smyth paused not to reflect.  Dart was no where visible.  He, therefore, descended as fast as possible, and after one or two falls occasioned by his impatience and the darkness of the night, at last entered on what appeared to be a vast moor.  In a short time the moon rose.  Two immense parallel masses of dense clouds stretched across the entire horizon; the upper limb of the planet, of a deep crimson, was alone visible betwixt them, and shed a sombre light over the waste.  He thought he had seldom seen any thing so impressive; combined with the low moaning of the night-breeze, which rose and sank at intervals, with a wild and wailing murmur.  The light was so indistinct that he could discover nothing of his horse, and in the lawless state of the country no time was to be lost in getting to a place of safety.  But, the direction?

After wandering on for several miles, he at last struck on a path, and following it a short way, his attention was attracted to a glow of light, which rose just before him, on what appeared to be the surface of the moor.  He cautiously advanced several steps, and perceived that the light rose near the edge of a declivity, and the noise of human voices was now distinctly apparent.  Little doubt could exist that it was a haunt either of smugglers or insurgents, with the description of some of which the situation accurately corresponded.  It would have been more prudent to have instantly retreated; but the organ of inquisitiveness was, we presume, very fully developed in Smyth; he stepped forward a little to have a better survey of the locale, when the ground or rather turf roof of a sort of outhouse, suddenly gave way under him, and he gently descended among some hay, with which the place was nearly filled.  It may be supposed his curiosity received a sudden check by this adventure.  An imperfectly constructed partition divided him from the party whose voices he had heard aloft.  You might have heard his heart beat for two or three minutes, as it was very probable that the noise of his fall would have disturbed the inmates—­but the conversation went on in the same monotonous tone.

“Och, Brine Morrice, avic, sure an that thief o’ the worl’, Will Guire, hasn’t been after letten’ the soger-officer com’ over him?”

“Bad luck to him, Misthress Burke, agra, in troth I was jist awond’ring what keeps Tom Daly and the b’ys out—­and them were to have had the red-coat these three hours agone!”

“Hisht jewel, I heard a noise—­och, musha, its the b’ys sure enough—­and the ——­ Saxon with ’em, I’ll be bail!”