The two entrances were a mile asunder. Sir Ulick looked for footsteps on the grass. It was a fine moonlight night. He saw footsteps on the path leading to the gardener’s house. “Stay here, ladies, and I will bring you intelligence as soon as possible.” “This way, Sir Ulick--they are coming,” said Miss Annaly, who had now recovered her presence of mind. Several persons appeared from a turn in the shrubbery, carrying some one on a hand-barrow--a gentleman on horseback, with a servant and many persons walking. Sir Ulick hastened towards them; the gentleman on horseback spurred his horse and met him. “Marcus!--is it you?--thank God! But Ormond--where is he, and what has happened?” The first sound of Marcus’s voice, when he attempted to answer, showed that he was not in a condition to give a rational account of any thing. His servant followed, also much intoxicated. While Sir Ulick had been stopped by their ineffectual attempts to explain, the people who were carrying the man on the hand-barrow came up. Ormond appeared from the midst of them. “Carry him on to the gardener’s house,” cried he, pointing the way, and coming forward to Sir Ulick. “If he dies, I am a murderer!” cried he. “Who is he?” said Sir Ulick. “Moriarty Carroll, please your honour,” answered several voices at once. “And how happened it?” said Sir Ulick. “The long and the short of it, sir,” said Marcus, as well as he could articulate, “the fellow was insolent, and we cut him down--and if it were to do again, I’d do it again with pleasure.” “No, no! you won’t say so, Marcus, when you are yourself,” said Ormond. “Oh! how dreadful to come to one’s senses all at once, as I did--the moment after I had fired that fatal shot--the moment I saw the poor fellow stagger and fall--” “It was you, then, that fired at him,” interrupted Sir Ulick. “Yes, oh! yes!” said he, striking his forehead: “I did it in the fury of passion.”