“I hid behind the straw, yonder, Colonel, and overheard every syllable that passed, and under the canopy bigger villains are not than the two who are together now.  There’s no time for talking—­all’s ready,” and he pointed to the harnessed post-horses, “Go in, keep an eye open, and close mouth—­order the carriage round—­all is packed—­and when we’re clear of the town I’ll tell you more.”

When my father’s determination was made known, feelingly did the host indicate the danger of the attempt, and to his friendly remonstrances against wayfaring, Mr. Scully raised a warning voice.  But my father was decisive—­Pat Loftus trotted to the door—­some light luggage was placed in the carriage, and three brace of pistols deposited in its pockets.  A meaning look was interchanged between the innkeeper and his fellow-guest.

“Colonel,” said the former, “I hope you will not need the tools.  If you do, the fault will be all your own.”

“If required,” returned my father, “I’ll use them to the best advantage.”

The villains interchanged a smile.

“Pat,” said the host to the postillion, “you know the safest road—­do what I bid ye—­and keep his honor out of trouble if ye can.”

“Go on,” shouted my father—­the whip cracked smartly, and off rolled the carriage.

For half a mile we proceeded at a smart pace, until at the junction of the three roads, Loftus took the one which the finger-post indicated was not the Dublin one.  My father called out to stop, but the postillion hurried on, until high hedges, and a row of ash-trees at both sides, shut in the view.  He pulled up suddenly.

“Am I not an undutiful servant to disobey the orders of so good a master as Mr. Dogherty?  First, I have not taken the road he recommended—­and, secondly, instead of driving this flint into a horse’s frog, I have carried it in my pocket,” and he jerked the stone away.

“Look to your pistols, Colonel.  In good old times your arms, I suspect, would have been found in better order.”

The weapons were examined, and every pan had been saturated with water.  “Never mind, I’ll clean them well at night:  it’s not the first time.  But, see the dust yonder!  I dare not turn back, and I am half afraid to go on.  Ha—­glory to the Virgin! dragoons, ay, and, as I see now, they are escorting Lord Arlington’s coach.  Have we not the luck of thousands?”

He cracked his whip, and at the junction of a cross-road fell in with and joined the travelers.  My father was well known to his lordship, who expressed much pleasure that the journey to the capital should be made in company.