The Fortunes of Hector O'Halloran, and His Man, Mark Antony O'Toole. W. H. Maxwell

head at, old boy?”

      “Nothing; but you have bagged the wrong fox,” replied the stranger. “A nice job you have made of it, Murty Doolan!”

      “Why, is’nt that Parker the gauger?”

      “Parker, the devil!” rejoined the old man. “It’s as much Parker as it is my grandmother. Ye blind beggar, this chap has a straight eye, and Parker could squint through a bugle horn. He! he! he!” and he chuckled at his Own wit; “wait till somebody hears it. All, this comes of not taking my advice—this comes of employing strangers.”

      “Well,” said the whipper, “there’s no help for spilt milk. What’s to be done, Gaffer? Can’t we grab the right one yet?”

      “Ay, like enough, after Sullivan is hanged; for nothing can save him now. What will ye do with this lad?” and he nodded carelessly at me.

      “Serve him, I suppose, as ye did —————” He paused and laughed, “He! he! he!”

      “D——n ye, you ould doting scoundrel—how dare ye mention that business?”

      “Phew—how hot ye are, Murty? Well, I must hurry back, or Phaddeein, the fool, will run the still too close, and spoil the whisky with the faints, as he did the last brewing. A nice job! That’s what I call taking the wrong sow by the ear. He! he! he!” and away the old man toddled to attend to his favourite employment.

      “This is a cursed mistake,” remarked the ruffian companion of the whipper; “and when the master hears it, all of us will come to trouble. Come, my friend, let’s have some supper. Your seizure will cause more vexation than your neck is worth,—sit down,” and turning up a keg, he placed himself upon it, and attacked the broiled meat manfully. The whipper, following his example, settled himself upon an inverted cleeve, * pointing out a stool, the seat of honour, for my especial use. Undecided, whether to accept their hospitality and sup in villanous company for once, or hold myself aloof and eschew all fellowship with such scoundrels, I wearied the politeness of the whipper, who, unable to resist temptation longer, assailed the steaks with vigour—when a voice from without caused my companions to spring from their seats as if the food were poisoned. Next moment, a strange personage whom I had not seen before, strode in, fixed an earnest and suspicious glance on me—then, turning to my captors, exclaimed in a voice of thunder,

      * The Irish name for a turf-basket.

      “Villains! Who is this stranger?”

      “The gauger, Parker,” both muttered in a tremulous tone.

      “Ah, you precious scoundrels! Off with you! Take that woman away!”—and waving his hand, my guard of honour vanished at his bidding, attended by the alarmed cook, and leaving the unknown and myself tête-à-tête together.

      Spurning the basket into the corner, which the whipper had respectfully abdicated on his entrance, the unknown walked to the fire with an air that bespoke authority, and which seemed to say, “This island’s mine.” To form any opinion of his face or figure was impossible; a loose-made frieze wrapping-coat concealed the one, while a high collar and slouched hat masked the other effectually. I could observe, however, that in height he was above the middle size, and that his eyes were dark and penetrating. Promptly he commenced a conversation; and his address was haughty, curt, and unceremonious.

      “Pray, sir, who are you!”

      “A stranger, brought here against his will; and wherefore—you, sir, can best tell.”

      “Pray,” continued the unknown, “inform me under what circumstances you have been arrested?”

      “And do you require any information on that subject?’’

      “If I did not, I need not have asked you to detail them. Be quick, sir; it will save me time, and probably do you some service.”

      I simply narrated the recent occurrences, from my meeting with the strangers at the lonely inn, until I had been enlarged upon the island. At different parts of my detail the muffled stranger exhibited symptoms of displeasure, and once or twice I could hear his teeth grind, as if he struggled to suppress a burst of passion.

      “Well, sir,” said he, as I ended the narrative of my captivity, “you are a young soldier, it would appear; and this is an excellent earnest of the troublesome profession you have chosen. But, jesting apart, you have received much ill-usage, and been stupidly and unnecessarily deprived of liberty and effects. Both shall be restored; and all the satisfaction which circumstances will admit of, shall be offered in atonement for an unintentional aggression.”

      He drew a whistle from his bosom; and its shrill summons was promptly answered by a smart, active lad, dressed in a sailor’s jacket and trowsers.

      “Man the boat, and give the signal.” The sailor disappeared, and the unknown again addressed himself to me.

      “Will you accompany me, and trust for your night’s entertainment to my good offices—or, would you rather remain and share that inviting-looking supper which by my visit, I fear, has not been much improved?”

      I smiled, and assured him I had not the least ambition to cultivate a farther intimacy with those worthy gentlemen who had already taken too much trouble on my account.

      “Come along, then—the boat is ready,” he said, as a piercing whistle was heard from the shore. “Follow me, closely; the path, though short, is difficult even in daylight to a stranger.”

      Entering the copse and pushing through thick underwood, we reached a sandy beach, where a gig, with four rowers seated on the thwarts, was waiting. I was ceremoniously handed in and accommodated with a boat cloak; while the unknown took the yoke-ropes of the rudder, and desired the men to “give way.” The crew “flung from their oars the spray,” and broke the water with a regular stroke, which showed them to be practised pullers. Away we shot across the lake,—and, to my infinite satisfaction, left “the lonely isle,” which, even under an assurance that it possessed another Calypso, I should not have been tempted to revisit.

      The night was dark and still, but through the haze the outline of the shore was seen ahead. I looked towards the island we were leaving; but, excepting a feeble glow of red still visible upon the dusky sky, there was nothing to betray its secret, or intimate that this solitary place had been chosen for “lawless intent.”

      We neared the shore, and entered a narrow inlet that penetrated, as it seemed, by an opening in the hill side, into a wood of full-grown forest timber. Gradually the passage became more confined, until the oars had scarcely space to pull between the banks, while branches of oak and beech uniting above our heads, gave an additional darkness to the evening. In a few moments we reached its termination,—a small natural basin with a jetty of rough masonry. The steersman ran the boat alongside, landed on the wharf, and desired me to follow. I willingly obeyed, and the unknown led the way in silence, until we were beyond the hearing of the boatmen, when, suddenly stopping, he thus addressed me:

      “I am not a resident here—this country is not my own, but although I cannot offer you hospitality myself, I shall yet manage to obtain it. Scarcely a gun-shot distance from this place there stands a solitary mansion-house, embosomed in this oak wood. That road will conduct you to it. Go, knock at the door, and ask for Mr. Hartley. Tell him simply that you are a stranger,—that you need food and lodging,—and, if I be not deceived, you will have little occasion to urge the request a second time. Of what has occurred, say little; of what may occur, say less. I shall have your mare attended to, and your property recovered and restored; ay, were its value ten times greater. We may meet under more agreeable circumstances than we did this evening. Farewell. Stay—one word more. You will probably be introduced to a lady at Mr. Hartley’s, some two or three years younger than yourself. She is an only daughter, educated in retirement, unacquainted with the world, and her existence, beyond the inmates of yonder mansion, actually unknown. Gentlemen of the sword, deal, I am told, extensively in gallantry. If this be so, reserve yours; for Mr. Hartley, as I have heard, wishes that his daughter shall continue ‘of worldly