My father walked carelessly away, unclosed the garden gate, and left the dark stranger with his former whipper-in.  Throwing himself on a bench in a rude summer-house, he began to think over the threatening aspect of affairs, and devise, if he could, some plan to deliver his family from the danger, which on every side it became too evident was alarmingly impending.

He was speedily rejoined by his old domestic.

“Marked ye that dark man well?”

“Yes; and a devilish suspicious-looking gentleman he is.”

“His looks do not belie him.  No matter whatever may occur through it, you must quit the town directly.  Call for post-horses, and as mine is the first turn, I’ll be postillion.  Don’t show fear or suspicion—­and leave the rest to me.  Beware of the landlord—­he’s a colonel of the rebels, and a bloodier-minded villain is not unhanged.  Hasten in—­every moment is worth gold—­and when the call comes, the horses will be to the carriage in the cracking of a whip, Don’t notice me, good or bad.”

He spoke, hopped over the garden hedge to reach the back of the stables unperceived, while I proceeded along the gate; it was opened by the host in person.  He started; but, with assumed indifference, observed, “What sad news the dragoon has brought!”

“I don’t believe the half of it.  These things are always exaggerated.  Landlord, I’ll push on a stage or two, and the worst that can happen is to return, should the route prove dangerous.  I know that here I have a safe shelter to fall back upon.”

“Safe!” exclaimed the innkeeper.  “All the rabble in the country would not venture within miles of where ye are; and, notwithstanding bad reports, there’s not a loyaler barony in the county.  Faith!  Colonel, although it may look very like seeking custom, I would advise you to keep your present quarters.  You know the old saying, ’Men may go farther and fare worse.’  I had a lamb killed when I heard of the rising, and specially for your honor’s dinner.  Just look into the barn as ye pass.  Upon my conscience! it’s a curiosity!”

He turned back with me; but before we reached the place, the dark stranger I had seen before beckoned from a back window.

“Ha! an old and worthy customer wants me.”

Placing his crooked finger in his mouth. he gave a loud and piercing whistle.  The quondam whipper appeared at a stable-door with a horse-brush in his hand.

“Pat, show his honor that born beauty I killed for him this morning.”

“Coming, Mr. Scully—­I beg ye’r honor’s pardon—­but ye know that business must be minded,” he said, and hurried off.

No man assumes the semblance of indifference, and masks his feelings more readily than an Irishman, and Pat Loftus was no exception to his countrymen.  When summoned by the host’s whistle, he came to the door lilting a planxty merrily,—­but when he re-entered the stable, the melody ceased, and his countenance became serious.