“Good morrow!”

“Good morrow mornin’ to you!”

“What Age are you in?”

“The end of the fifth.”

“All right,” said Bartle, aloud; “now, boys,” he whispered to his own party, “we must tell them good-humoredly to pass on—­that this is a runaway—­jist a girl we’re bringin’ aff wid us, an’ to hould a hard cheek (To keep it secret) about it.  You know we’d do as much for them.”

Both parties now met, the strangers consisting of about twenty men.

“Well, boys,” said the latter, “what’s the fun?”

“Devil a thing but a girl we’re helpin’ a boy to take away.  What’s your own sport?”

“Begorra, we wor in luck to-night; we got as party a double-barrelled gun as ever you seen, an’ a case of murdherin’ fine—­pistols.”

“Success, ould heart! that’s right; we’ll be able to stand a tug whin the ‘Day’ comes.”

“Which of you is takin’ away the girl, boys?” inquired one of the strangers.

“Begad, Bartle Flanagan, since there’s no use in hidin’ it, when we’re all as we ought to be.”

“Bartle Flanagan!” said a voice—­“Bartle Flanagan, is it?  An’ who’s the girl?”

“Blur an’ agres, Alick Nulty, don’t be too curious, she comes from Bodagh Buie’s.”

Biddy, on hearing the voice of her brother, made another violent effort, and succeeded in partially working the gag out of her mouth—­she screamed faintly, and struggled with such energy that her hands again became loose, and in an instant the gag was wholly I removed.

“Oh Alick, Alick, for the love o’ God save me from Flanagan! it’s me, your sisther Biddy, that’s in it; save me, Alick, or I’ll be lost; he has cut me to the bone wid a blow, an’ the blood’s pourin’ from me.”

Her brother flew to her.  “Whisht, Biddy, don’t be afeard!” he exclaimed.

“Boys,” said he, “let my party stand by me; this is the way Bartle Flanagan keeps his oath!” (* One of the clauses of the Ribbon oath was, not to injure or maltreat the wife or sister of a brother Ribbonman.)

“Secure Bartle,” said Biddy.  “He robbed Bodagh Buie’s house, an’ has the money about him.”

The horses were already on the road, but, in consequence of both parties filling up the passage in the direction which Bartle and nis followers intended taking, the animals could not be brought through them without delay and trouble, even had there been no resistance offered to their progress.

“A robber too!” exclaimed Nulty, “that’s more of his parjury to’ards uz.  Bartle Flanagan, you’re a thraitor, and you’ll get a thraitor’s death afore you’re much oulder.  He’s not fit to be among us,” added Alick, addressing himself to both parties, “an’ the truth is, if we don’t hang or settle him, he’ll some day hang us.”

“Bartle’s no thraitor,” said Mulvather, “but he’s a thraitor that says he is.”

The coming reply was interrupted by “Boys, good night to yez;” and immediately the clatter of a horse’s feet was heard stumbling and floundering back along the deep stony boreen.  “Be the vestment he’s aff,” said one of his party; “the cowardly villin’s aff wid himself the minit he seen the approach of danger.”