arning "Larry," and, hanging his head,
moved away without a word.

"That's right, Larry," Walter said approvingly. "I was afraid for a
moment that you were going to spring at that fellow. If you had you would
have been in a lockup in five minutes, and as you could have given no
good account of yourself, there you might have remained for weeks."

"If ever I meet that fellow outside Dublin," Larry muttered savagely, "I
will pay him for the blow he gave me."

Seeing the risk of another encounter of the same kind, Walter led the way
down to the bank of the river, and there they remained, chatting, until
it became dusk.

"Now, Larry, I must begin my work. My first visit is to be to a merchant,
who lives in a street close to where the ships discharge. While I am in,
do you sit down on a doorstep near, and keep a sharp lookout to see
whether the house is watched. It is not likely, but all the better class
of Catholics who remain in the town are regarded with suspicion."

Walter had no trouble in finding the house he was in search of, and,
knocking at the door, he told the servant who opened it that he wanted to
see the master.

"You must come in business hours," the man said. "He can't see you now."

"I have a letter to him, from his friend Mr. Fitzgerald of Waterford. If
you tell him that, I think he will see me now."

"That's all right," the man said. "He tould me if anyone came with a
letter from that gentleman, I was to show him up."

So saying, he led him upstairs.

"Here's a young man, your honour, with the letter you tould me about,
from Mr. Fitzgerald."

"Show him in," a voice said; and Walter entered a sitting room. The
gentleman who was with him said nothing, until the door was closed behind
him. Then he asked:

"Has the ship come in?"

To which Walter replied:

"She is sailing slowly, but she will come."

"That's right," the merchant said, rising. "Where do you come from?"

"I am Walter Davenant, a cornet in my father's troop of horse, and I have
come direct from Limerick. I have a letter for you, in my collar."

He pulled off his coat, the merchant handed him a knife, he ripped open
the collar, and, taking out the papers concealed there, picked out that
intended for Mr. O'Brian, which was not directed, but had only a slight
mark upon it to distinguish it from the others. The merchant read it in
silence.

"I am disappointed, Mr. Davenant," he said, as he finished it. "I had
hoped that a dash w