“Who brought you here to-night?”

“Who brought me here to-night? fwhy, thin, I’ll tell you as much of it as I like—­He did.”

“Be japers it’s a lie, beggin’ your pardon, my worthy Cannaught man. He couldn’t be here to-night.  I know where he was the greater part of the night, and the thing’s impossible.  I don’t know you, but we must know you—­ay, and we will know you.”

“Trath an’ I must know you, thin, and that very soon,” replied M’Carthy.

“Come into the next room, then,” said the other.

“Anywhere you like,” he replied, “I’m wit you; but I’m not the boy to be humbugged, or to bear your thricks upon thravellers.”

“Now,” said the other, when they had got into the room where the corpse lay, “shake hands.”

They accordingly shook hands, and M’Carthy gave him the genuine grip, as he had been taught it by the Whiteboy.

“Right,” said the man, “for so far; now, what’s the hour?”

“Very near the right one.”

“Isn’t it come yet?”

“The hour is come, but not the man.”

“When will he come?”

“He is within sight.”

“It’s all right; come in and take another dhrink,” said the man; “but still, who brought you here? for I know He couldn’t.”

M’Carthy replied, winking towards the kitchen, “Troth she’ll tell you that story; give me another drink o’ fwhiskey and water.  Oh, I’m hardly able to sit up, I’m getthi’ so drowsy.  A wink o’ sleep, I may say, didn’t crass my eye these three nights; an’ I’d wish to stretch myself beside the poor boy widin.  I’m an my keepin’, boys, and fwhin you know that the law was at my heels fwhor the last foive weeks, you’ll allow I want rest:  throth I must throw myself somewhere.”

“Go in, then, poor fellow, and lie down,” said the same individual, who acted as spokesman; “we know how you must feel, wid the hell-hounds of the law affcher you:  here, Jack, hould the candle for him, and help him to move over poor Lanty to make room for him; and Mrs. Cassidy,” he called m a louder voice, “bring us another bottle.”

“Faith, to tell you the truth,” replied Jack, “I’d rather not; I don’t like to go near a dead body.”

“Here,” said the person called Dick, “give me the candle:  poor fellow! it is rest you want, and God forbid we wouldn’t do everything in our power for you.”

They then entered the apartment, and M’Carthy was about to lay himself beside the corpse, when his companion tapped him significantly on the shoulder, and, his finger on his lips pointed to the window and immediately whispered in his ear:  “I will leave the windy so that it will open at wanst:  three of us knows you, Mr. M’Carthy I will sing a song when I go in again, which they will chorus; fly then, for it’s hard to say what might happen:  the day is now breakin’ and you might be known—­in that case I needn’t tell you what your fate would be.”