At this moment several men arrived in front of the edifice, and, to the horror of Smyth proceeded first to the outhouse:  the door was banged open, and after muttering something, a heavy substance was thrown in and the door again pulled to.  Presently they entered the kitchen, and Smyth’s heart beat high when his own name was mentioned.  In the confusion of voices, he could not make out much of their brogue, but it appeared that the messenger sent by Colonel ——­ had been waylaid, and the fellow that attempted his life was sent in his stead:  this party had arranged to meet him at a certain place, on his return, but after waiting three hours, apprehending treachery, they came away.  He could make out little else, except a volley of outlandish oaths at their unsuccessful trip.  It appeared evident from this that the temptation of plunder had induced the guide to make the attack beforehand.

Every moment, however, that Smyth lingered in this den lessened his chance of escape.  Immediately above him hung a piece of rope, and after a violent effort, he succeeded in getting his head once more into the fresh air; but just as he clambered out upon the turf, the noise aroused the dogs in the kitchen, and their furious barking, accompanied by a great stir amongst the men, gave wings to Smyth’s feet, and he plunged forward at random again into the waste.  At that moment the moon fell full upon his path, though dense masses of clouds were sailing across the sky.  He soon found they had struck on his track, and already the yelling of dogs and men boomed distinctly on his ears.  By that instinct with which men are often gifted in such cases, the footsteps of his pursuers already trod, as it were, upon his heart.  The voices of the bloodhounds which were considerably in advance of the men, had an awful effect in the stillness of the night.  His strength now began to give way—­his heart beat thicker—­he almost grew desperate, and more than once resolved to make a stand, and sell his life dearly.  From the rapidity of the chase, a considerable distance had been traversed, and the sky which had long been threatening, now began to exhibit warnings of a storm.  The moon was obscured by a vast gathering of clouds, and the deep stillness which had prevailed in the earlier part of the evening was succeeded by violent gusts of wind and large pattering drops.  It was a dreary moment.  The dogs were fast drawing on their victim, and nothing but despair and death stared him in the face.  The ground now began to get irregular and varied, and a hope arose in his heart that he was getting on the verge of the moors.  Still he was entirely ignorant as to the direction.  The clouds then burst with a violence which their threatening aspect had long foretold, and in an instant Smyth was drenched to the skin; the ground became slippery, and the footing was precarious.  Still he burst wildly onwards; he fancied he heard the noise of running water—­he redoubled his now slackening speed, and in another