“Why, have you another brother, Cannie?” asked M’Carthy.

“Troth, and I have; and you may thank God that I have, or it isn’t here but in heaven, I hope, you’d be this night.  Well, as I was sayin’, I an’ my other brother spent our whole life in tryin’ to defate him in his plans and skames—­may God forgive him!  We often did, but not always; for sometimes he was too many for both of us.”

“But, Cannie, about the night I was in Frank Finnerty’s, who was it that saved my life twice?”

“One of them—­he that wounded the fellows—­I don’t wish to name—­but, indeed I’m crippled here, bekaise you know, gintlemen, that there are laws in the land.  A friend to your family met Mogue Moylan, and, suspectin’ what was in the wind, sent that friend to assist you, and it was by volunteerin’ to take your life that he was able to save you.  My brother, afther meetin’ him, and hearin’ from him what happened was the man that met you aftherwards, that gave you the passwords, and showed you how to open the windey.  There were others there that knew you, for I hope you don’t think that every man goin’ out at night wid a white shirt and a black face on him is a murdherer.”

“God forbid!” said M’Carthy, “I’ve been disguised by both myself, as it happens.  It is difficult, however, for any country to be happy, or any people either industrious or moral, when such secret confederacies are made the standard of both law and morality.”

“That’s thruth, Mr. M’Carthy, and no man knows it betther than I do; I and my brother—­not him that’s gone to his account to night, but the other—­were forced to join them for our own safety, but, as long as we wor of them, we endeavored to do as much good—­that is, to prevent as much evil—­as we could.  It was I that sent you, Mr. M’Carthy, the letter to Dublin, and it was I that sent the messenger for you this evenin’; I took it for granted that if you had remained in Mr. Purcel’s you’d been shot, and, besides, I wanted you to watch Mogue Moylan, for I had raison to know that he intended to play a trick on me to night in regard to Miss Julia.  I had my doubts all along whether I could come in time to save the whole family and defate my brother, and I could not, for I had an immense number of my own men to get together; however, God’s will be done; I did all that lay in my power.”

On reaching Nassau Lodge, the party anticipated some danger from Fergus O’Driscol’s fire-arms.  Alick, however, knocked, and on hearing the window open, exclaimed:—­

“Don’t be alarmed, Fergus, we are friends.  My mother and sisters are here, and wish to get in.  This has been a dreadful night!—­a night of bloodshed and murder!”

“My God!” exclaimed Fergus, “what is this you tell me?  But why, Alick, are you surrounded by such a number of Whiteboys.  I can see distinctly that they are such by the light of the moon.”

“Boys,” said the Cannie Soogah, “disperse now—­and thank you; I feel your kindness, and I won’t forget it—­you see the people of the house are alarmed—­but that’s not the worst of it—­what,” he added, with a peculiar smile, “if you bring that terrible dare-divil, O’Driscol, upon you!”