“He certainly was a most amiable and affectionate young fellow,” said Woodward, “and, for my part, if he goes from us through the means of that murdering blow, I shall hunt Shawn-na-Middogue to the death.”

“Will you take a friend’s advice?” replied Barney:  “we all of us wish, of coorse, to die a Christian death upon our beds, that we may think of the sins we have committed, and ask the pardon of our Saviour and inthersessor for them.  I say, then, if you wish to die such a death, and to have time to repent of your sins, avoid coming across Shawn-na-Middogue above all men in the world.  I tell you this as a friend, and now you’re warned.”

Woodward paused, and his face became black with a spirit of vengeance.

“How does it happen, Casey,” he asked, “that you are able to give me such a warning?  You must have some particular information on the subject.”

“The only information I have on the subject is this—­that you are set down among most people as the man who destroyed Grace Davoren, and not your brother; Shawn believes this, and on that account, I say, it will be well for you to avoid him.  He believes, too, that you have her concealed somewhere—­although I don’t think so; but if you have, Mr. Woodward, it would be an act of great kindness—­an act becomin’ both a gentleman and a Christian—­to restore the unfortunate girl to her parents.”

“I know no more about her than you do, Casey.  How could I?  Perhaps my poor brother, when he is capable of it, may be able to afford us some information on the subject.  As it is I know nothing of it, but I shall leave nothing undone to recover her if she be alive, or if the thing can be accomplished.  In the meantime all I can think of is the relapse of my poor brother.  Until he gets better I shall not be able to fix my mind upon anything else.  What is Grace Davoren or Shaivn-nu-Middogue—­the accursed scoundrel—­to me, so long as my dear Charles is in a state of danger?”

“Now,” said he, when they parted “now to work earth and hell to secure Shaum-na-Middogue.  He has got my secret concerning the girl Davoren, and I feel that while he is at large I cannot be safe.  There is a reward for his head, whether alive or dead, but that I scorn.  In the meantime, I shall not lose an hour in getting together a band who will scour the country along with myself, until we secure him.  After that I shall be at perfect liberty to work out my plans without either fear of, or danger from, this murdering ruffian.”

CHAPTER XVIII.  The Toir, or Tory Hunt.

Harry Woodward now began to apprehend that, as the reader sees, either his star or that of Shawn-na-Middogue must be in the ascendant.  He accordingly set to work with all his skill and craft to secure his person and offer him up as a victim to the outraged laws of his country, and to a government that had set a price upon his head, as the leader of the outlaws; or, what came nearer to his wish, either to shoot him down with his own hand, or have him shot by those who were on the alert for such persons.  The first individual to whom he applied upon the subject was his benevolent step-father, who he knew was a magistrate, and whose duty was to have the wretched class of whom we write arrested or shot as best they might.