ell threw a handful of dry furze upon the
smouldering flame, and while he remained concealed himself, took a
deliberate survey of Owen as he stood close to the doorway. "You're
welcome, Owen," said he, in an altered voice, and one which Owen
immediately recognised as that of the old blacksmith, Miles Regan;
"you're welcome, my boy! better late than never, anyhow!"

"What do you mean, Miles? 'Tisn't expecting me here ye were, I suppose?"

"'Tis just that same then, I was expecting this many a day," said Miles,
as with a rugged grasp of both hands he drew Owen within the narrow
cell. "And 't'aint me only was expecting it, but every one else. Here,
avich, taste this--ye're wet and cowld both; that will put life in
ye--and it never ped tha king sixpence."

And he handed Owen a quart bottle as he spoke, the odour of which was
unmistakeable enough, to bear testimony to his words.

"And what brings you here, Miles, in the name of God?" said Owen, for
his surprise at the meeting increased every moment.

"'Tis your own case, only worse," said the other, with a drunken laugh,
for the poteen had already affected his head.

"And what's that, if I might make bould?" said Owen, rather angrily.

"Just that I got the turn-out, my boy. That new chap, they have over the
property, sould me out, root and branch; and as I didn't go quiet, ye
see, they brought the polis down, and there was a bit of a fight, to
take the two cows away; and somehow"--here he snatched the bottle rudely
from Owen's hand, and swallowed a copious draught of it--"and, somehow,
the corporal was killed, and I thought it better to be away for a
while--for, at the inquest, though the boys would take 'the vestment'
they seen him shot by one of his comrades, there was a bit of a smash
in his skull, ye see"--here he gave a low fearful laugh--"that fitted
neatly to the top of my eleven-pound hammer; ye comprehend?"

Owen's blood ran cold as he said, "Ye don't mean it was you that killed
him?"

"I do then," replied the other, with a savage grin, as he placed
his face within a few inches of Owen's. "There's a hundred pounds
blood-money for ye, now, if ye give the information! A hundred pounds,"
muttered he to himself; "musha, I never thought they'd give ten
shillings for my own four bones before!"

Owen scorned to reply to the insinuation of his turning informer, and
sat moodily thinking over the event.

"Well, I'll be going, anyhow," said he rising, for his abhor