scent than his fellows, discovered my sister’s track—­made himself familiar with her person and apparel—­and announced her movements with a mournful accuracy.  He conjectured, not unjustly, that my haunts must be near the scene of her wanderings.  Completely absorbed by the one idea of gratifying the curiosity of his readers, he seemed indifferent to the conclusion, which, to a mind less engaged, would appear palpable, and inevitable—­namely, that what was information to our anxious friends would equally serve the purpose of our watchful pursuers.

It became, therefore, dangerous to have her continue any longer with or near us.  A hasty dinner was prepared, and we arranged to meet our host next day within a mile of Dungarvan.  Never did parting look more like a last one than mine with my sister, on that occasion.  For some time I thought she would be the first victim of our hard destiny.  She seemed incapable of withstanding the agony that shook her frame.  While sharing in the hardships and the hazards of my struggle for life, her heart, sustained by its own deep enthusiasm, triumphed over every obstacle.  But she was returning to a house of mourning and of woe, where life would be one blank of desolation and stupor, to be wakened to bitter consciousness by intelligence of our doom.  The sense of my responsibility, the full appreciation of the living death which, through my agency, had fallen upon a home as hallowed as ever love and joy consecrated to happiness, had burned up my eyeballs and my brain.  I went forth into the recommencing storm, utterly unconscious of its rage and equally indifferent to fate.  My comrade, who had no life to lose but his own, and who of that was recklessly prodigal, provided he could dispose of it to good account, stepped blithely along and uttered no complaint, although he left behind him traces marked with blood.  His terrible indifference soon restored my self-possession, and we found shelter for the night in a house near the spot designated for the next day’s interview.  Just as we arrived there, the chief magistrate and police had completed a search of the house.  We entered as they retired, told who we were, and claimed hospitality, which we readily obtained.  The night passed as many a similar one did afterwards.  Let our hardships be what they might during the day, we invariably enjoyed ourselves at night, and went to bed without a fear.  On the following morning we sent our hostess into the town for shoes and other matters which were indispensable to our further progress.  She returned, evidently alarmed to death, having read on the walls the viceregal threats against all who harboured the “traitors.”  She scarcely allowed us to remain until the time appointed for the interview, which was of short duration.  We were informed that there was no hope from that quarter, and that our safety for one hour was extremely precarious.  This intelligence and a copy of the World newspaper, completed the information communicated by our former host.