St. Patrick''s Eve

there,where he could safely remain till morning. An hour's walking brought himto the little gate, the last time he had entered which, was at his poorfather's funeral. His reflection, now, was rather on his own alteredcondition since that day; but even on that thought he suffered himselfnot to dwell. In fact, a hardy determination to face the future, inutter forgetfulness of the past, was the part he proposed to himself;and he did his utmost to bend his mind to the effort.

  As he drew near the little crypt I have mentioned, he was amazed to seethe faint flickering of a fire within it. At first a superstitious fearheld him back, and he rapidly repeated some prayers to himself; but theemotion was soon over, and he advanced boldly toward it. "Who's there?stand! or give the word!" said a gruff voice from within. Owen stoodstill, but spoke not. The challenge was like that of a sentry, and hehalf-feared he had unwittingly strayed within the precincts of a patrol."Give the word at once! or you'll never spake another," was the savagespeech which, accompanied by a deep curse, now met his ears, while theclick of a gun-Cock was distinctly audible.

  "I'm a poor man, without a home or a shelter," said Owen, calmly; "andwhat's worse, I'm without arms, or maybe you wouldn't talk so brave."

  "What's yer name? Where are ye from?"

  "I'm Owen Connor; that's enough for ye, whoever ye are," replied he,resolutely; "it's a name I'm not ashamed nor afraid to say, anywhere."

  The man within the cell threw a handful of dry furze upon thesmouldering flame, and while he remained concealed himself, took adeliberate survey of Owen as he stood close to the doorway. "You'rewelcome, Owen," said he, in an altered voice, and one which Owenimmediately recognised as that of the old blacksmith, Miles Regan;"you're welcome, my boy! better late than never, anyhow!"

  "What do you mean, Miles? 'Tisn't expecting me here ye were, I suppose?"

  "'Tis just that same then, I was expecting this many a day," said Miles,as with a rugged grasp of both hands he drew Owen within the narrowcell. "And 't'aint me only was expecting it, but every one else. Here,avich, taste this--ye're wet and cowld both; that will put life inye--and it never ped tha king sixpence."

  And he handed Owen a quart bottle as he spoke, the odour of which wasunmistakeable enough, to bear testimony to his words.

  "And what brings you here, Miles, in the name of God?" said Owen, forhis surprise at the meeting increased every moment.

  "'Tis your own case, only worse," said the other, with a drunken laugh,for the poteen had already affected his head.

  "And what's that, if I might make bould?" said Owen, rather angrily.

  "Just that I got the turn-out, my boy. That new chap, they have over theproperty, sould me out, root and branch; and as I didn't go quiet, yesee, they brought the polis down, and there was a bit of a fight, totake the two cows away; and somehow"--here he snatched the bottle rudelyfrom Owen's hand, and swallowed a copious draught of it--"and, somehow,the corporal was killed, and I thought it better to be away for awhile--for, at the inquest, though the boys would take 'the vestment'they seen him shot by one of his comrades, there was a bit of a smashin his skull, ye see"--here he gave a low fearful laugh--"that fittedneatly to the top of my eleven-pound hammer; ye comprehend?"

  Owen's blood ran cold as he said, "Ye don't mean it was you that killedhim?"

  "I do then," replied the other, with a savage grin, as he placedhis face within a few inches of Owen's. "There's a hundred poundsblood-money for ye, now, if ye give the information! A hundred pounds,"muttered he to himself; "musha, I never thought they'd give tenshillings for my own four bones before!"

  Owen scorned to reply to the insinuation of his turning informer, andsat moodily thinking over the event.

  "Well, I'll be going, anyhow," said he rising, for his abhorrence ofhis companion made him feel the storm and the hurricane a far preferablealternative.

  "The divil a one foot ye'll leave this, my boy," said Miles, graspinghim with the grip of his gigantic hand; "no, no, ma bouchai, 'tisn't soeasy airned as ye think; a hundred pounds, naboclish!

  "Leave me free! let go my arm!" said Owen, whose anger now rose at theinsolence of this taunt.

  "I'll break it across my knee, first," said the infuriated ruffian, ashe half imitated by a gesture his horrid threat.

  There was no comparison in point of bodily strength between them; foralthough Owen was not half the other's age, and had the advantage ofbeing perfectly sober, the smith was a man of enormous power, and heldhim, as though he were a child in his grasp.

  "So that's what you'd be at, my boy, is it?" said Miles, scoffing; "it'sthe fine thrade you choose! but maybe it's not so pleasant, after all.Stay still there--be quiet, I say--by----," and here he uttered a mostawful oath--"if you rouse me, I'll paste your brains against thatwall;" and as he spoke, he dashed his closed fist against the rude andcrumbling masonry, with a force that shook several large stones fromtheir places, and left his knuckles one indistinguishable mass of bloodand gore.

  "That's brave, anyhow," said Owen, with a bitter mockery, for his owndanger, at the moment, could not repress his contempt for the savageconduct of the other.

  Fortunately, the besotted intellect of the smith made him accept thespeech in a very different sense, and he said, "There never was the manyet, I wouldn't give him two blows at me, for one at him, and mine to bethe last."

  "I often heard of that before," said Owen, who saw that any attemptto escape by main force was completely out of the question, and thatstratagem alone could present a chance.

  "Did ye ever hear of Dan Lenahan?" said Miles, with a grin; "what I didto Dan: I was to fight him wid one hand, and the other tied behind myback; and when he came up to shake hands wid me before the fight, I justput my thumb in my hand, that way, and I smashed his four fingers overit."

  "There was no fight that day, anyhow, Miles."

  "Thrue for ye, boy; the sport was soon over--raich me over the bottle,"and with that, Miles finished the poteen at a draught, and then layback against the wall, as if to sleep. Still, he never relinquished hisgrasp, but, as he fell off asleep, held him as in a vice.

  As Owen sat thus a prisoner, turning over in his mind every possiblechance of escape, he heard the sound of feet and men's voices rapidlyapproaching; and, in a few moments, several men turned into thechurchyard, and came towards the crypt. They were conversing in a lowbut hurried voice, which was quickly hushed as they came nearer.

  "What's this," cried one, as he entered the cell; "Miles has a prisonerhere!"

  "Faix, he has so, Mickey;" answered Owen, for he recognised in thespeaker an old friend and schoolfellow. The rest came hurriedly forwardat the words, and soon Owen found himself among a number of his formercompanions. Two or three of the party were namesakes and relations.

  The explanation of his capture was speedily given, and they all laughedheartily at Owen's account of his ingenious efforts at flattery.

  "Av the poteen held out, Owen dear, ye wouldn't have had much trouble;but he can drink two quarts before he loses his strength."

  In return for his narrative, they freely and frankly told their ownstory. They had been out arms-hunting--unsuccessfully, however--theironly exploit being the burning of a haggard belonging to a farmer whorefused to join the "rising."

  Owen felt greatly relieved to discover, that his old friends regardedthe smith with a horror fully as great as his own. But they excusedthemselves for the companionship by saying, "What are we to do withthe crayture? Ye wouldn't have us let him be taken?" And thus they werecompelled to practise every measure for the security of one they had nolove for, and whose own excesses increased the hazard tenfold.

  The marauding exploits they told of, were, to Owen's ears, not devoid ofa strange interest, the danger alone had its fascination for him; and,artfully interwoven as their stories were with sentiments of affectedpatriotism and noble aspirations for the cause of their country, theyaffected him strongly.

  For, strange as it may seem, a devotion to country--a mistaken sense ofnational honour--prompted many to these
lawless courses. Vague notionsof confiscated lands to be restored to their rightful possessors;ancient privileges reconferred; their church once more endowed withits long-lost wealth and power: such were the motives of the morehigh-spirited and independent. Others sought redress for personalgrievances; some real or imaginary hardship they laboured under; or,perhaps, as was not unfrequent, they bore the memory of some old grudgeor malice, which they hoped now to have an opportunity of requiting.Many were there, who, like the