“There are occasions,” muttered he to himself, “when the boldest courses are the safest. Is this one of these? Dare I trust that fellow, or would this be better?” And, as if mechanically, he drew forth a double-barrelled pistol from his breast, and looked fixedly at it. He arose from his seat, and sat down again--his mind seemed beset with hesitation and doubt; but the conflict did not last long, for he replaced the weapon, and walking down to the lake, dipped his fingers in the water and bathed his temples, saying to himself,-- “Better as it is: over-caution is as great an error as foolhardiness.” With a dexterity acquired by long practice, he now disguised his features so perfectly that none could have recognized him; and by the addition of a wig and whiskers of bushy red hair, totally changed the character of his appearance. This he did, that at any future period he might not be recognized by the boatmen, who, in answer to his signal, now pulled vigorously towards the shore. He soon bargained with them to leave him at Killaloe, and as they rowed along engaged them to talk about the country, in which he affected to be a tourist. Of course the late murder was the theme uppermost in every mind, and Linton marked with satisfaction how decisively the current of popular belief ran in attributing the guilt to Cashel. With a perversity peculiar to the peasant, the agent whom they had so often inveighed against for cruelty in his lifetime, they now discovered to have been the type of all that was kind-hearted and benevolent; and had no hesitation in attributing his unhappy fate to an altercation in which he, with too rash a zeal, was the “poor man's advocate.” The last words he was heard to utter on leaving Tub-bermore were quoted, as implying a condemnation on Cashel's wasteful extravagance, at a time when the poor around were “perishing of hunger.” Even to Linton, whose mind was but too conversant with the sad truths of the story, these narratives assumed the strongest form of consistency and likelihood; and he saw how effectually circumstantial evidence can convict a man in public estimation, long before a jury are sworn to try him. Crimes of this nature, now, had not been unfrequent in that district; and the country people felt a species of savage vengeance in urging their accusations against a “gentleman,” who had not what they reckoned as the extenuating circumstances to diminish or explain away his guilt. “He was n't turned out of his little place to die on the roadside,” muttered one. “He wasn't threatened, like poor Tom Keane, to be 'starminated,'” cried another. “And who is Tom Keane?” asked Linton. “The gatekeeper up at the big house yonder, sir; one that's lived man and boy nigh fifty years there; and Mr. Cashel swore he 'd root him out, for all that!” “Ay!” chimed in another, in a moralizing whine, “an' see where he is himself, now!” “I wondher now if they'd hang him, sir?” asked one.