ith a stroke of his
fist!"

"I wish he wouldn't be drinking so fast!" said another.

"Who won that? who took that thrick?" "Ould Heffernan, divil fear him! I
never see him lose yet."

"There's another; that's Owen's!" "No; by Jonas! 'tis Luke again has
it." "That's Sam M'Quire's! See how aizy he takes them up."

"Now for it, boys! whisht! here's the last round!" and at this moment,
a breathless silence prevailed among the crowd; for while such as were
nearest were eagerly bent on observing the progress of the game, the
more distant bent their heads to catch every sound that might indicate
its fortune.

"See how Luke grins! watch his face!" whispered a low voice. "He doesn't
care how it goes, now, he's out of it!" and so it was. Heffernan had
already won two of the five tricks, and was safe whatever the result of
the last one. The trial lay between M'Guire and Owen.

"Come, Owen, my hearty!" said M'Guire, as he held a card ready to play,
"you or I for it now; we'll soon see which the devil's fondest of.
There's the two of clubs for ye!"

"There's the three, then!" said Owen, with a crash of his hand, as he
placed the card over the other.

"And there's the four!" said Heffernan, "and the thrick is Sam
M'Guire's."

"Owen Connor's lost!" "Owen's lost!" murmured the crowd; and, whether in
half-compassion for his defeat, or grief that so hazardous a deed should
be entrusted to a doubtful hand, the sensation created was evidently of
gloom and dissatisfaction.

"You've a right to take either of us wid ye, Owen," said M'Guire,
slapping him on the shoulder. "Luke or myself must go, if ye want us."

"No; I'll do it myself," said Owen, in a low hollow voice.

"There's the tool, then!" said Heffernan, producing from the breast of
his frieze coat a long horse-pistol, the stock of which was mended by a
clasp of iron belted round it; "and if it doesn't do its work, 'tis the
first time it ever failed. Ould Miles Cregan, of Gurtane, was the last
that heard it spake."

Owen took the weapon, and examined it leisurely, opening the pan and
settling the priming, with a finger that never trembled. As he drew
forth the ramrod to try the barrel, Heffernan said, with a half-grin,
"There's two bullets in it, avich!--enough's as good as a feast."

Owen sat still and spoke not, while the leader and Heffernan explained
to him the circumstances of the plot against the life of Mr. Lucas.
Information had been obtained by some of the pa