Terence was packed in the celebrated wrapper, which once to see was never to forget. A beaver bonnet and veil covered his head. An arm was deftly bandaged. He stepped into the coach, drew up the glasses, and leaning back in the shadow as the coachman whipped his horses, began to collect his thoughts. Whew! What a whirl it was! Why dear Madam Gillin should suddenly become nervous, and wag her plumes so, he could not imagine. Unpleasant things are ofttimes for the best. Concealed in the capital itself he would be all the better able to superintend in person the proceedings of New Year's Eve. Yes! It was quite fortunate that she should thus have sent him off. He would see some of the delegates that very evening; concert passwords and signals. Five minutes' talk is worth a dozen letters. He would send round for Cassidy, who, faithful to his _rôle_, should be able to unravel for them the ins and outs of the Castle tactics, some of which seemed hazy. He would---- What was that? Sirr and his men! Then they had not lingered at the Abbey, but had started Dublinwards before him? No matter. All was right. The major had peered into the carriage, and, perceiving the wounded arm and well-known wrapper, had turned away his head abruptly. How cleverly Mrs. Gillin had managed the whole thing! Why had she taken such a fancy to him? If he were her own son, she could not be more loving and considerate.--What was that? A man bending under a load. Phil, of course. How slow he walked! Sirr's men seemed stepping out. Please Heaven they would not overtake him. No. And if they did, what then? A boor with a burthen of rope. A guilty conscience; how it racks and torments us about nothing! Hark! a sound--audible through the rumbling coach-wheels. A shout--a cry! Unable to resist the impulse, Terence lowered a glass and protruded his head, with the beaver bonnet and veil. Great heavens! The soldiers had gained on Phil, whose burthen impeded movement; had, from sheer brutality, torn it from him and disclosed his features. He had been recognised! Sirr saw through the trick, and shook his fist with balked fury. He was gesticulating in the road. Some soldiers were hailing the coach from afar, but Larry whipped his horses with a will. Some more, jumping a ditch, had broken through a hedge and vanished. Poor Phil! he would be murdered. Was it not base to leave him thus unaided? Yet--the Cause. Terence felt that his life was not his own. Eagerly he looked backwards as the road took a loop-turn. He must see the last of poor Phil--probably the very last of his faithful henchman. Phil had ceased struggling. Terence drew in his head, and, man though he was, burst into a flood of tears. Poor, faithful Phil! What a sad end!