Nanny—­iv you had seen the little angel how she stood before me, an’ cried out ‘shame!’ an’ held up the pitcher for me to dhrink, an’ helped me to rise, offerin’ me the shelter of her father’s house, little dhramin’ ov whom she was spakin’ to—­you wouldn’t have a thought ov hurtin’ her—­bud—­no one—­no one could harm Minny!—–­she is too sweet, too pure, too like a little angel!”

“A hair of the child’s head shall not be touched!” said the same deep voice that had before made Nanny start; “bud he, the informher an’ the prosecuthor, must feel our vengeance!”

Nanny was silent—­she saw that further parley was useless, and was obliged to bear with the concession she had already obtained.  Meanwhile, the men having ascertained that it was time they were stirring, hastily equipped themselves, and prepared to start.  When. they were leaving the house, the stranger, whose voice had so startled her, took her hand, and though his face was studiously averted, she heard him say solemnly’—­

“Nanny, good bye!—­my promise I’ll keep sacred—­the good child shall not be touched!”

She had not time to utter her thanks, for his hand as hastily relinquished its hold, and ere she could speak, all were gone, and she heard the buzz of their voices, as in a group they descended the mountain.

The bright moonbeams silvered the motionless leaves of the trees that surrounded Whelan’s cottage—­there was not a stir within—­no light gleamed from the lattice, and the small thin brook that bubbled through the long grass a little in its front, seemed to hush its merry song to a mere low trickling sound, as if in unison with the universal repose.  A dark group of figures stood in the little garden before the door, as if debating how they should act.  Two of them, separated a little from the rest, conferred together, one of whom was the stranger we have already noticed, and the other the man we have spoken of as seeming to possess some command over them all.  Suddenly the latter started, and exclaimed in the quick, sharp tone of command—­

“Advance, men, an’ smash the door—­there’s no use in delayin’ longer.”

An almost instantaneous crash was the answer, and the door flew from its hinges, and four or five of the men rushed into the cottage, while the rest kept watch outside.  Exclamations of surprise, mingled with harsh, epithets, were heard within; and then they appeared a second time, dragging with them the unfortunate and trembling owner, whom they had just torn from his bed.  A loud shout from the rest spoke their eagerness for his punishinent; and amidst prayers for mercy, and entreaties, he was dragged to the centre of the garden, placed on his knees; and his hands firmly tied behind his back.

“Now, Misther Whelan, acushla,” asked! one, in a jeering tone, “would you be jist pleased to make yer choice between two purty little invintions of ours—­cardin an ear-ticklin’.”