Purcel, to look upon this young man as a person that ought to be got out of his way.  In this manner there was, indeed, a peculiar combination of circumstances against M’Carthy; for it so happened that Moylan, whilst anxious to wreak his own jealousy and hatred upon him, was, at the same time, executing the will of another individual who stood behind the scenes.  On every side, then, M’Carthy was surrounded by mortal dangers that were completely veiled in obscurity.  During this very night it was resolved to assassinate him, be the consequences what they might; and if he should escape, in the one instance, he was to be sought after in whatever house he took refuge, with the exception only of Purcel’s, which his enemies were, for the present, afraid to attack.  Every avenue and road leading to it however, was watched, with a hope that if he escaped elsewhere, they might shoot him down from, behind a hedge.

The condition of all secret and illegal societies in Ireland is, indeed, shocking and most detestable, when contemplated from any point of view whatsoever.  In every one of them—­that is, in every local body or branch of such conspiracy—­there is a darker and more secret class, comparatively few in number, who undertake to organize the commission of crimes and outrages; and who, when they are controlled by the peaceably-disposed and enemies to bloodshed, always fall back upon this private and blood-stained clique, who are always willing to execute their sanguinary behests, as it were, con amore.  In other cases, however, as we have stated before, even the virtuous and reluctant are often compelled, by the dark and stern decrees of these desperate ruffians, to perpetrate crimes from which they revolt.  It was, therefore, in pursuance of these abominable principles that the arrangements for M’Carthy’s murder were made on the night in question.

Jerry Joyce perceiving, as he had feared, that M’Carthy did not return to dinner, at once came to the determination that he would go to Finnerty’s, where, from his connection with Whiteboyism, he knew that a meeting of them was to be held on that night.  He accordingly armed himself with a ease of pistols, which he had been allowed to keep for the preservation of his master’s family and premises, in case they should be attacked.  He had not gone, however, within two miles of the mountains, when he met Mogue on His way home, carrying M’Carthy’s, or rather John Purcel’s double gun, and other shooting gear.

“Why, Mogue,” said he, “how does this come?  Where’s Mr. M’Carthy from you?”

“Oh! that I may never sin—­but sure I know I will—­for I’m a great sinner—­God forgive me!—­but anyhow, that I may never sin, if I’m worth the washin’!  Oh!  Jerry, darlin’, sick a killin’ day as we had I never passed, an’ I’m well accustomed to the mountains.  Sure, now, Jerry, if you have one spunk of common charity in your composition, you’ll take me up on your back and carry me home, otherwise I’ll lie down on the road, and either die at wanst or sleep it out till mornin’.”