would not ventureto leave his master at such a moment; and as for the fisherman, althoughnot a sworn member of their party, they well knew he would not dare toinform against the meanest amongst them.
Owen listened attentively to all these details, and the accuratedirections by which they instructed him on every step he should take.From the moment he should set foot within the cover to the very instantof firing, each little event had its warning.
"Mind!" repeated Heffernan, with a slow, distinct whisper, "he nevergoes into the house at all; but if the night's cowld--as it's sure to bethis sayson--he'll be moving up and down, to keep his feet warm. Coverhim as he turns round; but don't fire the first cover, but wait tillhe comes back to the same place again, and then blaze. Don't stir then,till ye see if he falls: if he does, be off down the common; but if he'sonly wounded--but sure ye'll do better than that!"
"I'll go bail he will!" said M'Guire. "Sorra fear that Owen Connor'sheart would fail him! and sure if he likes me to be wid him--"
"No, no!" said Owen, in the same hollow voice as before, "I'll do it allby myself; I want nobody."
"'Tis the very words I said when I shot Lambert of Kilclunah!" saidM'Guire. "I didn't know him by looks, and the boys wanted me to takesome one to point him out. 'Sorra bit!' says I, 'leave that to me;' andso I waited in the gripe of the ditch all day, till, about four in theevening, I seen a stout man wid a white hat coming across the fields, towhere the men was planting potatoes. So I ups to him wid a letter inmy hand, this way, and my hat off--'Is yer honner Mr. Lambert?' says I.'Yes,' says he; 'what do ye want with me?' ''Tis a bit of a note I'vefor yer honner,' says I; and I gav him the paper. He tuck it and openedit; but troth it was little matter there was no writin' in it, for hewould'nt have lived to read it through. I sent the ball through hisheart, as near as I stand to ye; the wadding was burning his waistcoatwhen I left him. 'God save you!' says the men, as I went across thepotato-field. 'Save you kindly!' says I. 'Was that a shot we heard?'says another. 'Yes,' says I; 'I was fright'ning the crows;' and sorrabit, but that's a saying they have against me ever since." These lastfew words were said in a simper of modesty, which, whether real oraffected, was a strange sentiment at the conclusion of such a tale.
The party soon after separated, not to meet again for several nights;for the news of Lucas's death would of course be the signal for ageneral search through the country, and the most active measures totrace the murderer. It behoved them, then, to be more than usuallycareful not to be absent from their homes and their daily duties forsome days at least: after which they could assemble in safety as before.
Grief has been known to change the hair to grey in a single night; theannouncement of a sudden misfortune has palsied the hand that held theill-omened letter; but I question if the hours that are passed beforethe commission of a great crime, planned and meditated beforehand,do not work more fearful devastation on the human heart, than all thesorrows that ever crushed humanity. Ere night came, Owen Connor seemedto have grown years older. In the tortured doublings of his harassedmind he appeared to have spent almost a lifetime since the sun lastrose. He had passed in review before him each phase of his formerexistence, from childhood--free, careless, and happy childhood--to daysof boyish sport and revelry; then came the period of his first manhood,with its new ambitions and hopes. He thought of these, and how, amid thehumble circumstances of his lowly fortune, he was happy. What would hehave thought of him who should predict such a future as this for him?How could he have believed it? And yet the worst of all remained tocome. He tried to rally his courage and steel his heart, by repeatingover the phrases so frequent among his companions. "Sure, aint I drivento it? is it my fault if I take to this, or theirs that compelled me?"and such like. But these words came with no persuasive force in thestill hour of conscience: they were only effectual amid the excitementand tumult of a multitude, when men's passions were high, and theirresolutions daring. "It is too late to go back," muttered he, as hearose from the spot, where, awaiting nightfall, he had lain hid forseveral hours; "they mustn't call me a coward, any way."
As Owen reached the valley the darkness spread far and near, not a starcould be seen; great masses of cloud covered the sky, and hung downheavily, midway upon the mountains. There was no rain; but on the windcame from time to time a drifted mist, which shewed that the air wascharged with moisture. The ground was still wet and plashy from recentheavy rain. It was indeed a cheerless night and a cheerless hour; butnot more so than the heart of him who now, bent upon his deadly purpose,moved slowly on towards the common.
On descending towards the lake-side, he caught a passing view of thelittle village, where a few lights yet twinkled, the flickering starsthat shone within some humble home. What would he not have given tobe but the meanest peasant there, the poorest creature that toiled andsickened on his dreary way! He turned away hurriedly, and with his handpressed heavily on his swelling heart walked rapidly on. "It will soonbe over now," said Owen; he was about to add, with the accustomed pietyof his class, "thank God for it," but the words stopped in his throat,and the dreadful thought flashed on him, "Is it when I am about to shedHis creature's blood, I should say this?"
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He sat down upon a large stone beside the lake, at a spot where the roadcame down to the water's edge, and where none could pass unobserved byhim. He had often fished from that very rock when a boy, and eaten hislittle dinner of potatoes beneath its shelter. Here he sat once more;saying to himself as he did so, "'Tis an ould friend, anyway, and I'lljust spend my last night with him;", for so in his mind he alreadyregarded his condition. The murder effected, he determined to makeno effort to escape. Life was of no value to him. The snares of theconspiracy had entangled him, but his heart was not in it.
As the night wore on, the clouds lifted, and the wind, increasing toa storm, bore them hurriedly through the air; the waters of the lake,lashed into waves, beat heavily on the low shore; while the howlingblast swept through the mountain-passes, and over the bleak, wideplain, with a rushing sound. The thin crescent of a new moon could beseen from time to time as the clouds rolled past: too faint to shed anylight upon the earth, it merely gave form to the dark masses that movedbefore it.
"I will do it here," said Owen, as he stood and looked upon the darkwater that beat against the foot of the rock; "here, on this spot."
He sat for some moments with his ear bent to listen, but the storm wasloud enough to make all other sounds inaudible; yet, in every noise hethought he heard the sound of wheels, and the rapid tramp of a horse'sfeet. The motionless attitude, the cold of the night, but more thaneither, the debility brought on by long fasting and hunger, benumbed hislimbs, so that he felt almost unable to make the least exertion, shouldany such be called for.
He therefore descended from the rock and moved along the road; at first,only thinking of restoring lost animation to his frame, but at length,in a half unconsciousness, he had wandered upwards of two miles beyondthe little hovel where the change of horses was to take place. Just ashe was on the point of returning, he perceived at a little distance, infront, the walls of a now ruined cabin, once the home of the old smith.Part of the roof had fallen in, the doors and windows were gone, thefragment of an old shutter alone remained, and this banged heavily backand forwards as the storm rushed through the wretched hut.
Almost without knowing it, Owen entered the cabin, and sat down besidethe spot where once the forge-fire used to burn. He had been there, too,when a boy many a time--many a story had he listened to in that samecorner; but why think of this now? The cold blast seemed to freezehis very blood--he felt his heart as if congealed within him. He satcowering from the piercing blast for some time; and at last, unableto bear the sensation longer, determined to kindle a fire with thefragments of the old shutter. For this purpose he drew the charge ofthe pistol, in which there were three bullets, and not merely two, asHeffernan had told him. Laying these carefully down in his handkerchief,he kindled a light with some powder, and, with the dexterity of one not
unaccustomed to such operations, soon saw the dry sticks blazing on thehearth. On looking about he discovered a few sods of turf and some dryfurze, with which he replenished his fire, till it gradually became awarm and cheering blaze. Owen now reloaded the pistol, just as he hadfound it. There was a sense of duty in his mind to follow out everyinstruction he received, and deviate in nothing. This done, he held hisnumbed fingers over the blaze, and bared his chest to the warm glow ofthe fire.
The sudden change from the cold night-air to the warmth of the cabinsoon made him drowsy. Fatigue and watching aiding the inclination tosleep, he was obliged to move