To all, the assailants and the assailed, that fatal shot proved the signal. The expected assault was made upon the front, the more daring of the party rushing on with sledge-hammers to try and force an entrance--but not a stroke fell upon the door. From every aperture a withering cross-fire was opened. It was returned by a random volley, which splintered the windows, but inflicted no loss upon those within, who were already carefully protected. In the rear of the building, a still bloodier repulse attended the night attack while their leader reconnoitred, the ruffian group behind had been covered by a dozen muskets, and within a few moments after the robber’s fall, half his companions formed a lifeless heap upon the pavement. [Illustration: 0035] When my father rushed up stairs, the struggle in front was over. Dead and dying men were extended before the door--and in the clear moonlight those who escaped the fire from the house, were seen flying in wild disorder. As in lawless efforts generally, numbers had only produced embarrassment, and rendered failure more fatal. One glance satisfied my father that the attempt had been fearfully repulsed; and he hastened to the sad but safe asylum, where those most dear to him had been placed for their security. My mother and the children had been already removed by the priest and servants to their respective chambers--and Colonel O’Halloran, with a dead and living woman, was left in possession of the melancholy apartment. Mary Halligan was seated as when my father had quitted the room; her eyes were fixed upon the wood-fire--a minute passed--and not a word was uttered. My father laid his hand upon her shoulder, “Mary!” said he, “treachery! and from you!” “And wherefore not?” exclaimed the peasant girl, as she sprang upon her feet, and boldly returned his glance. “Why should not the deceived in turn become deceiver’s?” “Wretched woman! even had I wronged you, would you wreak vengeance on those who never wished you evil?” The girl sighed heavily. “There was a time, Mary, when you would not have betrayed the doomed one to the destroyer, and that victim--me.” Mary Halligan was deeply affected; she sobbed, and tears, like raindrops, fell fast upon the floor. “And could a few brief years change that once gentle nature, and so fearfully? Would nothing satisfy revenge, but death for me--insult for my wife?” “Death--insult!” she repeated. “Neither was intended.” “Read--‘tis the paper you gave me by mistake.” Mary Halligan cast her eyes upon the scroll; her lips and checks grew pale; her hand shook violently; the paper dropped upon the floor; and turning her eyes upwards, she exclaimed, “As I was unconscious that such villany was designed, so may Heaven grant me pardon!” “What brought you here, then?”