After approaching Reilly’s house very cautiously, and with much circumspection—­not an outhouse, or other place of concealment, having been left unexamined—­they were about to enter, when Reilly, thinking that no precaution on such an occasion ought to be neglected, said: 

“Fergus, we are so far safe; but, under all circumstances, I think it right and prudent that you should keep watch outside.  Mark me, I will place Tom Corrigan—­you know him—­at this window, and if you happen to see anything in the shape of a human being, or to hear, for instance, any noise, give the slightest possible tap upon the glass, and that will be sufficient.”

It was so arranged, and Reilly entered the house; but, as it happened, Fergus’s office proved a sinecure; although, indeed, when we consider his care and anxiety, we can scarcely say so.  At all events, Reilly returned in about half an hour, bearing under his arm a large dark portfolio, which, by the way, was securely locked.

“Is all right?” asked Fergus.

“All is right,” replied the other.  “The servants have entered into an arrangement to sit up, two in turn each night, so as to be ready to give me instant admittance whenever I may chance to come.”

“But now where are you to place these papers?” asked his companion.  “That’s a difficulty.”

“It is, I grant,” replied Reilly, “but after what has happened, I think widow Buckley’s cabin the safest place for a day or two.  Only that the hour is so unseasonable, I could feel little difficulty in finding a proper place of security for them, but as it is, we must only deposit them for the present with the widow.”

The roads of Ireland at this period—­if roads they could be called—­were not only in a most shameful, but dangerous, state.  In summer they were a foot deep with dust, and in winter at least eighteen inches with mud.  This, however, was by no means the worst of it.  They were studded, at due intervals, with ruts so deep that if a horse! happened to get into one of them he went down to the saddle-skirts.  They were treacherous, too, and such as no caution could guard against; because, where the whole surface of the road was one mass of mud, it was impossible to distinguish these horse-traps at all.  Then, in addition to these, were deep gullies across the roads, worn away by small rills, proceeding from rivulets in the adjoining uplands, which were; principally dry, or at least mere threads of | water in summer, but in winter became pigmy torrents that tore up the roads across which they passed, leaving them in the dangerous state we have described.

As Reilly and his companion had got out upon the road, they were a good deal surprised, and not a little alarmed, to see a horse, without a rider, struggling to extricate himself out of one of the ruts in question.  “What is this?” said Fergus.  “Be on your guard.”

“The horse,” observed Reilly, “is without! a rider; see what it means.”