“Troth, and I’m very fond o’ the vagabone, although he’s the worst friend I ever had.  But you won’t tell me where he is? and I know why, because, with all your pretended knowledge, the devil a know you know.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Ay, cocksure.”

“Then I can tell you that he is sitting on the chair there, opposite me.  Go about your business, Rody, and rant elsewhere; you may impose upon others, but not upon a man that can penetrate the secrets of human life as I can.  Go now; there is a white wand in the corner,—­my conjuring rod,—­and if I only touched you with it, I could leave you a cripple and beggar for life.  Go, I say, and tell Caterine Collins how much she and you gained by this attempt at disgracing me.”

Rody, for it was he, was thunderstruck at this discovery, and, springing to his feet, disappeared.

“Well, Rody,” said the crowd, “how did you manage?  Did he know you?”

Rody was as white in the face as a sheet.  “Let me alone,” he replied; “the conjurer above is the devil, and nothin’ else.  I must get a glass o’ whiskey; I’m near faintin’; I’m as wake as a child; my strength’s gone The man, or the devil, or whatsomever he is, knows everything, and, what is worse, he tould me I am to be hanged in earnest.”

“Faith, Rody, that required no great knowledge on his part; there’s not a man here but could have tould you the same thing, and there’s none of us a conjurer.”

Rody, however, immediately left them to discuss the matter among themselves, and went, thoroughly crestfallen, to give an account of his mission to Caterine Collins, who had employed him, and to reassume his own clothes, which, indeed, were by no means fresh from the tailor.

The last individual whose interview with the conjurer we shall notice was no other than Harry Woodward, our hero.  On entering he took his seat, and looked familiarly at the conjurer.

“Well,” said he, “there was no recognition?”

“How could there?” replied the other; “you know the thing’s impossible; even without my beard, nobody in the town or about it knows my face, and to those who see me in character, they have other things to think of than the perusal of my features.”

“The girl was with you?”

“She yes, and I feel that, unless we can get Shawn-na-Middogue taken off by some means or other, your life will not, cannot, be safe.”

“She won’t betray him, then?  But I need not ask, for I have pressed her upon that matter before.”

“She is very right in not doing so,” replied the conjurer; “because, if she did, the consequence would be destruction to herself and her family.  In addition to this, however, I don’t think it’s in her power to betray him.  He never sleeps more than one night in the same place; and since her recent conduct to him—­I mean since her intimacy with you—­he would place no confidence in her.”

“He certainly is not aware of our intimacy.”