About three hours or better had elapsed, and our two friends were still seated, maintaining the usual chat with Mrs. Buckley, who had finished her prayers and once, more rejoined them.

“Fergus, like a good fellow,” whispered Reilly, “slip out for a minute or two; there’s—­a circumstance I wish to mention to Molly—­I assure you it’s of a very private and particular nature and only for her own ear.”

“To be sure,” replied Fergus; “I want, at all events, to stretch my legs, and to see what the night’s about.”

He accordingly left the cabin.

“Mrs. Buckley,” said Reilly, “it was not for nothing I came here to-night.  I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Your favor’s granted, sir,” she replied—­“granted, Mr. Reilly, even before I hear it—­that is, supposin’ always that it’s in my power—­to do it for you.”

“It is simply to carry a letter—­and be certain that it shall be delivered to the proper person.”

“Well,” she replied, “sure that’s aisily done.  And where am I to deliver it?” she asked.

“That I shall let you know on some future occasion—­perhaps within the course of a week or so.”

“Well, sir,” she replied, “I’d go twenty miles to deliver it—­and will do so wid a heart and a half.”

“Well, Molly, I can tell you your journey won’t be so far; but there is one thing you are to observe—­you must never breathe it to a human creature.”

“I thought you knew me better, Mr. Reilly.”

“It would be impossible, however, to be too strict here, because you don’t know how much depends upon it.”

At this moment Fergus put in his head, and said, “For Christ’s sake, snuff out the candle, and Reilly—­fly!—­There are people in the next field!—­quick!—­quick!”

Reilly snatched up his hat, and whispered to the widow, “Deny that you saw me, or that there was any one here!—­Put out the candle!—­they might see our figures darkening the light as we go out!”

Fergus and Reilly immediately planted themselves behind a whitethorn hedge, in a field adjoining the cabin, in order to reconnoitre the party, whoever they might be, which they could do in safety.  This act of reconnoitering, however, was performed by the ear, and not at all by the eye; the darkness of the night rendered that impossible.  Of course the search in the widow’s cabin was equally fruitless.

“Now,” whispered Reilly, “we’ll go in a line parallel with the road, but at a safe distance from them, until they reach the cross-roads.  If they turn towards my house, we are forewarned, but if they turn towards Sir Robert’s, it is likely that I may have an opportunity of securing my cash and papers.”  On reaching the cross-roads alluded to, the party, much to the satisfaction of Reilly and his companion, did turn towards the residence of Sir Robert Whitecraft, thus giving the fugitives full assurance that nothing further was to be apprehended from them that night.  The men in fact felt fatigued and were anxious to get to bed.