At this moment an individual made his appearance, whom it was impossible to look upon without being most forcibly struck by his figure.  He was a broad-shouldered, muscular, powerful man, with immensely large limbs; his hair was black, and a huge pair of whiskers of the same color stretched across his cheeks, met at his chin, and ran down in an unbroken line round a huge and remarkably well-set neck.  The moment he entered, and before he had time to speak, two or three of them instantly placed their fingers significantly upon their lips, as if to indicate silence, apprehensive, as M’Carthy at the time thought, lest his voice might be recognised.  Another of them then whispered something to him, and whatever the secret was, it caused him to glance for a moment, and involuntarily, towards the bed.  All that he spoke afterwards was uttered in whispers.

CHAPTER X.—­The Sport Continued.

Finnerty’s house, which had been built for more purposes than were necessary for the accommodation of a caretaker or gamekeeper, was simply a plain apartment, tolerably large, with room enough in it for a couple of beds; to this was added a shooting-lodge for the owner of the mountains, which consisted of three or four bed-rooms opening from a well-sized dining-room, and a kitchen distinct from the apartment which constituted the dwelling of the gamekeeper, being that which Finnerty, as such, then occupied.  It was in the dining-room of the shooting-lodge that the Whiteboy meetings were uniformly held, although of late it had been usual for those who attended them to sit in Finnerty’s house until the hour had arrived for commencing business, when they adjourned to the other.  We should say that the gamekeeper’s house, though under the same roof, as it is termed, with the shooting-lodge, was distinct from it in other respects; that is to say, there was no internal communication between them.

“Who was that fellow that we met with you a while ago?” asked one of them a second time, as if having forgotten his name.

“Poor Mogue Moylan,” replied Finnerty, “and sadly bate down he was wid this day’s Work; I advised him to go to bed as soon as he could, and refresh himself by a good sleep.”

“Advise!” said a voice, that almost made M’Carthy start, “it’s aisier to give good advice than it is to take it; Mogue’s not the only fool in this world that won’t take good advice when it’s given.”

There could be no mistaking his voice.  M’Carthy at once recognized that of the unknown friend who had warned him of danger on the night he encountered the Whiteboys, as already described.

“Come,” proceeded he, “it is time we should commence business and settle the affairs of the nation at wanst; throth,” he added, with a laugh, “if I was the same nation, and had a pair of good legs undher me—­”

“Of what?” said the person with the black whiskers, who was evidently their leader, “of what?”