Martin, whom the reader will remember, and who, despite his connection with the marauders and his bad odour with the police, continued to retain his place in his honour's service, was nowhere to be found. He had been absent, said the boy, since the afternoon, when he had taken off Tara for exercise. I was obliged, therefore, to put up with an inferior animal, and to saddle him myself. But I was too impatient to be off to allow of any further delay. "At what hour is the tide full?" I asked of one of the servants. "Half-an-hour after midnight," was the reply. As he spoke, the clock in the hall struck half-past nine. "In three hours," said I to myself, as I galloped down the avenue, "the Dutchman at Malin weighs anchor." It was well for me I was no stranger to the rough, mountainous road I had to travel, for the night was pitch dark, and scarcely a soul was afoot at that late hour. I did, indeed, encounter a patrol of troopers near the Black Hill, who ordered me to halt and dismount and give an account of myself. But his honour's passport satisfied them, as it did the sentry who challenged me on entering the little town of Carndonagh. Thence to Malin it is but two leagues; but my wretched beast was so spent that, unless I wished to leave it on the road, I was compelled to take it most of the way at a foot's pace; so that when at last I pulled up before the little inn at Malin, it was on the stroke of midnight. "Faith, Mr Gorman's fond of sending messengers," said the landlord. "There was another of his here two hours since." "What!" I exclaimed, springing up from the bench at which I was partaking of a hurried supper. "Ay; he came with a message for the young lady up yonder at Mr Shannon's." "What sort of man was he?" "Much like yourself--a common-looking man, with a shaven face and a nose that turns up." "Did he ride an iron-grey mare?" said I. "Faith, a beauty." "It's Martin!" I exclaimed, confirmed more than ever in my suspicions of foul play. "Show me Mr Shannon's house, like a decent man," said I to mine host. "There'll be no one stirring there at this hour. His honour's away with Mr Gorman, and the women folks will be a-bed long since." "Never mind about that," said I; "show me the house." The landlord grumblingly turned out and walked with me to the Hall, which was some half-mile beyond the village. "Yonder's the house," said he, stopping short, and pointing to a clump of trees just discernible in the darkness. "You'll not be wanting me further?" I hastened on, and was presently knocking loudly at the door of the Hall. The house was quite dark, and every one had evidently retired for the night. Nearly ten minutes elapsed before a window opened, and a surly voice called out,-- "Well? Who's there, disturbing decent folk at this hour?" "A messenger from Mr Gorman. Is the young lady at home? I must see her instantly."