“Oh!” exclaimed the treacherous villain, clapping his hands—­[we translate his words]—­“Oh, Yeeah.  Yeeah! (God, God!) what a bitther loss you’ll be, my darlin’ Madge, to me and your orphan childher, now and for evermore!  Oh, where was there sich a wife, neighbors? who ever heard her harsh word, or her loud voice?  And from mornin’ till night ever, ever busy in keepin’ every thing tight and clane and regular!  Let me alone, will yez?  I’ll go back and sleep upon her grave this night—­so I will; and if all the blasted sogers in Ireland—­may sweet bad luck to them!—­were to come to prevent me, I’d not allow them.  Oh, Madge, darlin’, but I’m the lonely and heartbroken man widout you this night!”

“Come, come,” said the priest, “have firmness, poor man; other people have these calamities to bear as well as yourself.  Be a man.”

“Oh, are you a priest, sir? bekase if you are I want consolation if ever a sorrowful man did.”

“I am a priest,” replied the unsuspecting I man, “and any thing I can do to calm your mind, I’ll do it.”

He had scarcely uttered these words when!  Reilly felt his two arms strongly pinioned, and as the men who had seized him were | powerful, the struggle between him and them was dreadful.  The poor priest at the same moment found himself also a prisoner in the hands of the bereaved widower, to whom he proved an easy victim, as he was incapable of making resistance, which, indeed, he declined to attempt.  If he did not possess bodily strength, however, he was not without presence of mind.  For whilst Reilly and his captors were engaged in a fierce and powerful conflict, he placed his fore-finger and thumb in his mouth, from which proceeded a whistle so piercingly loud and shrill that it awoke the midnight echoes around them.

[Illustration:  PAGE 65—­Dashed up to the scene of struggle]

This was considered by the dragoons as a signal from their friends in advance, and, without the loss of a moment, they set spurs to their horses, and dashed up to the scene of struggle, just as Reilly had got his right arm extricated, and knocked one of his captors down.  In an instant, however, the three dragoons, aided by the other men, were upon him, and not less than three cavalry pistols were levelled at his head.  Unfortunately, at this moment the moon began to rise, and the dragoons, on looking at him more closely, observed that he was dressed precisely as the sheriff had described the person who robbed him—­the brown coat, light-colored breeches, and silver buckles—­for indeed this was his usual dress.

“You are Willy Reilly,” said the man who had been spokesman in their interview with the sheriff:  “you needn’t deny it, sir—­I know you!”

“If you know me, then,” replied Reilly, “where is the necessity for asking my name?”

“I ask again, sir, what is your name?  If you be the man I suspect you to be, you will deny it.”

“My name,” replied the other, “is William Reilly, and as I am conscious of no crime against society—­of no offence against the State—­I shall not deny it.”