home. She will be safer there."

"Stay, Gallagher," said his honour, as I saluted and turned to go; "you
must not go like this. I have questions to ask you."

"And I," said Miss Kit. "Don't go, Barry."

"The gig will only hold two," said I; "but if his honour gives me leave,
I'll be at Knockowen to-morrow."

"Certainly," said Gorman. "And, Barry, say nothing of this. Leave me
to deal with it."

"As your honour pleases. Besides these two by the roadside, you'll find
a boy on the top of yonder boulder who wants a lift to the lock-up."

"Don't forget to-morrow, Barry," said my lady with her sweetest smile
and wave of the hand, as she gathered the reins together.

I stood cap in hand till they had disappeared round the bend, and then
took a final look at my captives.

"So you are Barry Gallagher?" snarled the secretary.

"What of that?"

"Just this, that unless you let me go, and say not a word, your brother
Tim shall swing for a rebel before a week's out."

It must have been satisfaction to him to see how I was staggered by
this. I had never thought that what I had done to-day might recoil on
the head of my own brother. However, I affected not to be greatly
alarmed at the threat.

"Tim can take care of himself," said I, sitting down to load my pistol;
"but since that is your game, I'll save the hangman a job."

And I levelled the weapon at his face.

"Mercy, Mr Gallagher," he cried all in a tremble. "Sure, I was only
joking. I wouldn't let out on Captain Tim for the world. Come now,
won't you believe me?"

His face was such a picture of terror and panic that I was almost sorry
for him. His fellow-prisoner, too, who stood a good chance of the fag-
end of my bullet, was equally piteous in his protestations.

"Mark this," said I, lowering the pistol, to their great relief,
"there's more eyes on you and your confederates than you think. Murder
is no way to help Ireland. Tell on Tim if you dare. My pistol can
carry in the dark, and the first of you that has a word to say against
him may say his prayers."

And I left them rolling back to back on the roadside. As for Paddy
Corkill, when I went to look for him where he had fallen, there was no
sign of him but a pool of blood and a track of footsteps, which
presently lost themselves in the bog.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

MARTIAL LAW.

I spent the rest of that day in wandering over the familiar haunts on
Fanad, in the vain hope of encounter