"It will be a bad winter, I fear," says the squire shaking his head. "A lively one, no doubt. I quite envy you. I should rather like to stay here and see you through it. My dear sir, if you and that enormous chair are inseparables, let me entreat you to move it at least a _little_ to the left." "'I love it, I love it, and who shall dare To chide me from loving this old arm-chair?'" quotes the squire, with quite a jolly laugh. "Eh? well, Kelly, this is hardly a pleasant time to ask a fellow on a visit, and I expect you'll be glad to get back to more civilized parts; but we'll write and tell you how we're getting on, my lad, from time to time. That is, as long as we are alive to do it." "You shall hear of our mishaps," says Brian laughing too. "It is rather inhospitable of you not to take the hint I have thrown out," says Kelly, with a faint yawn. "_Won't_ you ask me to spend this winter with you?" "My _dear_ fellow, you really mean it?" says Brian, looking at him. "Oh, yes, I really mean it. Excitement of the sort I have been treated to to-night seldom comes in my way. I should like to see this affair through with you." "You're a brave lad!" says the squire; "but there is always a risk in this kind of thing, and it is quite probable you will have the roof burned over your head one of these dark nights to come. You will have to chance that if you stay, as I intend to persevere with these blackguardly tenants and fight it out with them to the last." "To the very last," says Brian, regarding his friend meaningly. "That's why I'm staying," returns his friend, languidly. Which is half, but not the whole, truth, as the fact that Mrs. Bohun and her cousin Hermia are going to spend the winter at Aghyohillbeg has a good deal to do with it too. CHAPTER XXVI. How rations fall short in the enemy's camp; and how Monica, armed with a strange ammunition, marches into the hostile land. "Did ye hear, miss? Oh, faix, there's terrible news, ma'am!" says old Timothy, trotting into the breakfast-room at Moyne the following morning, his face pale with excitement. "You alarm me, Ryan! what is it?" says Miss Priscilla, laying down her fork. "Oh, it's beyant everything, ma'am! Oh, the blackguards o' the world! It was last night, miss, it happened. The ould squire, there below, was sittin' in his library, as paceable as ye plaze, ma'am, when they fired a bullet at him, an' shot him an' wounded Misther Brian----No, be the powers, I b'lave I'm wrong; they kilt Misther Brian an' wounded the Squire; an' there's the greatest commotion ye iver see down below, miss."