“Well, but the thruth is, Mogue,” replied his companion, “that I got a message from my mother, sayin’ that she’s not well, and wishes most partiklarly to see me about my sisther Shibby’s marriage.  Now, Mogue, you’re a pious and religious boy, an’ would be the last to encourage me to neglect a parent’s wishes:  ay, or that would allow me to do so, even if I intended it; throth I know it’s a scoulden’ you’d give me if I did.”

Mogue’s flank was completely turned; he was, in fact, most adroitly taken upon his own principle; his egregious vanity was ticked by this compliment to his piety; and, as he was at no time a person of firm character, he gave way.

Thought Jerry to himself, as he left this plausible hypocrite, to proceed home under his affected fatigue, “I know there’s mischief on foot to-night, for if there wasn’t I an’ others ’ud be summoned to this meetin’; there will be nobody there, I suppose, but the black squad or the bloodmen.  It’ll go hard wid me, at any rate, but I’ll send one there that’ll bring Mr. M’Carthy from among them without suspicion; an’ so here goes to lose no time about it.”

He then plunged into the most solitary and remote fields, and pursued his way, anxious, if possible, to meet no one, much less any of those who belonged, as he said, “to the black squad.”

Of late, the state of public feeling upon the subject of tithes had become so violent and agitated, that Mr. Purcel’s immediate friends found it almost a matter involving their personal safety to dine with him.  At all events, such of them as accepted his hospitality took care to leave his house very early, and to keep themselves well armed besides.  On the evening in question, no one had been invited but M’Carthy and Fergus O’Driscol.  The heroic magistrate, however, ever since the receipt of the threatening letter, would not suffer his son (who certainly participated in none of his father’s cowardice), to dine abroad at all, lest his absence and well-known intrepidity might induce the Whiteboys, or other enemies of law, to attack the house when its principal defence was from home.  The evening, therefore, hung heavy on their heads at Longshot Lodge, which was the name of Purcel’s residence, especially upon that of the fair Julia, who felt not merely disappointed, but unusually depressed’ by the unaccountable absence of her lover, knowing as she did, the turbulence which prevailed in the country.  She scarcely ate any dinner, and in the course of a short time retired to her own room, which commanded a view of the way by which he should approach the house, where she watched, casement up, until she heard a foot in the avenue, which, however, her acute ear, well accustomed to McCarthy’s, soon told her was not that of her lover.  On looking more closely she perceived, however, that it was Mogue Moylan; and, unable to restrain her impatience, she raised the window still higher, and called down as Mogue passed under it, on his way round to the kitchen, but in a low, earnest voice, with, as Mogue thought, a good deal of confidential in it, “Is that Mogue?”