"Pat, show his honor that born beauty I killed for him this morning."

"Coming, Mr. Scully--I beg ye'r honor's pardon--but ye know that
business must be minded," he said, and hurried off.

No man assumes the semblance of indifference, and masks his feelings
more readily than an Irishman, and Pat Loftus was no exception to his
countrymen. When summoned by the host's whistle, he came to the door
lilting a planxty merrily,--but when he re-entered the stable, the
melody ceased, and his countenance became serious.

"I hid behind the straw, yonder, Colonel, and overheard every syllable
that passed, and under the canopy bigger villains are not than the two
who are together now. There's no time for talking--all's ready," and
he pointed to the harnessed post-horses, "Go in, keep an eye open, and
close mouth--order the carriage round--all is packed--and when we're
clear of the town I'll tell you more."

When my father's determination was made known, feelingly did the host
indicate the danger of the attempt, and to his friendly remonstrances
against wayfaring, Mr. Scully raised a warning voice. But my father
was decisive--Pat Loftus trotted to the door--some light luggage was
placed in the carriage, and three brace of pistols deposited in its
pockets. A meaning look was interchanged between the innkeeper and his
fellow-guest.

"Colonel," said the former, "I hope you will not need the tools. If
you do, the fault will be all your own."