“Blast you, you thick-headed vagabone! don’t you know it’s wrong to call me Mark Ratigan—­isn’t Phil Hart my name now?—­no, I tell you, that I can’t join you in a Leadhan wurrah—­nor I didn’t think you wor such a d—­d cowardly hound as you are—­can’t you die—­if you’re goin’ to die—­like a man, an’ not like an ould woman?  Be my sowl, Darby, my boy, afther this night I’ll never trust you again.  It’s yourself that ’ud turn traitor on your country and her cause, if you got the rope and hangman at your nose.”

“Holy Mary, mother of God! pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, amin!  Oh, sweet Jasus! have parsecution on me this night, an’ spare me if it’s your blessed will, till I get time to repint properly anyhow.  Mark, darlin’, are you gettin’ waker, for I am?”

“To blazes wid you, and don’t bother me—­no, I’m not—­I’ve tied my handkerchy about the place I was shot in, an’ stopped the blood—­eh—­here—­well done, Mark—­hem—­Phil Hart, I mane—­bravo—­see—­that now—­instead of bleatin’ like a dyin’ sheep, I’ve stopped the blood, an’ here I am able to stand and walk.  Come,” said he, approaching his companion, “where are you shot?—­let us see?”

He stooped down, and on examining the Wound by the light of the moon, perceived at once that it was not all imagination and evil conscience.  He consequently forced him to his legs, then bound up the wound with the fellow’s handkerchief just as he had done his own, and in a few minutes they were able to resume their journey, slowly, it is true, and on the part of Ratigan, whose wound was the more serious, with a good deal of difficulty and pain, notwithstanding his hardihood.

In the meantime, M’Carthy was soon overtaken by the friendly Whiteboy, whose speed; of foot was indeed extraordinary.  On seeing, the dagger in his pursuer’s hand—­for such he deemed him to be—­he had prepared himself for resistance, the fact being, than in consequence of their blackened faces, and the state of perturbation and excitement in which he felt himself, he was in no condition to recognize any of the party unless by their voices.

“Don’t be alarmed,” exclaimed the stranger, approaching him, “I have saved your life for this night most likely, by takin’ the, life of them that intended to murder you.”

“I certainly feel,” replied M’Carthy, “that I owe my life to you, and I know not what return I can make you for it.  But why should I speak so, since I am ignorant of your name, as well as of everything whatsoever concerning you?  As to the other two persons, I cannot understand why they should attempt to murder me, as I am not conscious of having given offence to, any person.”

“You have never given offence to them,” replied the stranger; “but unfortunately this, part of the country’s in such a state of feelin’ at the present time, that it’s as aisy to find one man to murdher another as it would be to get a man to shoot a dog.  No, sir; you never offended these men, but they were set on to take your life by a man who hates you.”