Whilst this manifestation of courage and loyalty was proceeding, his daughter had sent a little girl by a lonely and circuitous way across the fields to Longshot Lodge, with a message to the effect that they had prevailed upon Alick to stop for the night, and that he would also breakfast there the next morning.  The little girl’s absence was very brief, and on her return, Alick had no hesitation in remaining.  The heroic magistrate, having taken another tumbler, began to get drowsy, and with some assistance, was prevailed on to go to bed, where he almost immediately fell asleep.  The two young men then got together all the arms and ammunition in the house, which, having made ready for an attack, they went also to bed, taking only their coats off, where for the present we leave them—­but not asleep—­and return to M’Carthy, for whose absence, no doubt, the reader is anxious that we should account.

CHAPTER XII.—­Out of the Frying-Pan into the Fire.

M’Carthy on that night had not gone far, after having separated from the friendly Whiteboy, when he was met by a powerfully-formed man, who, he thought, bore a considerable resemblance in shape and size to the fellow who had been invested with authority not long before in Finnerty’s.  On seeing that it was M’Carthy, the stranger, whose face was blackened, and who also wore the white shirt outside, approached him coolly but determinedly, and laying his hand upon his shoulder, said—­:  “Your name is Francis M’Carthy’?” and as he spoke, M’Carthy could perceive the ends of a case of pistols projecting from his breast within the shirt, which was open at the neck.

“As I have never knowingly done anything that should occasion me to deny my name, I acknowledge it—­you know me, of course.”

“I know you well.  I meek it a point to know everyone who is worth knowing.  In the meantime, M’Carthy, you’ll come along with me, if you pleese.”

“It is not at all clear that I will,” replied M’Carthy; “you are a perfect stranger to me—­at least your disguise makes you so.  You are out on illegal business, as is evident from that disguise, and you are armed with a case of pistols.  Now, under these circumstances, happen what may, until I know more about you, and who you are, I will not walk one inch in your society, except as a free agent.”

“Hear me,” replied the other; “you were singled out for murdher this night, and you only escaped by a miracle—­by the assistance of a man who is a warm friend to you, and who got information of the danger you wor in from another friend who suspected that you were in that danger.  Two pistols wor loaded to settle you, as they say.  Well, the person that saved your life damped the powder in these pistols—­both wor snapped at you, and they didn’t go off—­am I right?”

“You are right for so far, certainly.”

“Well, then, the other two who followed you—­one of them with a long, sharp dagger—­were shot down—­d—­n your friend that didn’t send the bullets through their brains instead of their hams and limbs; however, they fell and you escaped—­am I right?”