“And this I take to be as free of any allegiance to the king as yourself,” said Daly, as he poured out a wineglass-ful of “poteen” from a short black bottle. “You 're right, sir,” said Freney, with a laugh. “We 're both duty free. Let me help you to an egg.” “I never ate better bacon in my life,” said Daly, who seemed to relish his supper with considerable gusto. “I'm glad you like it, sir. It is a notion of mine that Costy Moore of Kilcock cures a pig better than any man in this part of Ireland; and though his shop is next the police-barracks, I went in there myself to buy this.” Daly stared, with something of admiration in his look, at the man whose epicurism was indulged at the hazard of his neck; and he pledged the robber with a motion of the head that betokened a high sense of his daring. “I've heard you have had some close escapes, Freney.” “I was never taken but once, sir. A woman hid my shoes when I was asleep. I was at the foot of the Galtee mountains: the ground is hard and full of sharp shingle, and I could n't run. They brought me into Clonmel, and I was in the heaviest irons in the jail before two hours were over. That's the strong jail, Mr. Daly; they 've the best walls and the thickest doors there I have ever seen in any jail in Ireland. For,” added he, with a sly laugh, “I went over them all, in a friendly sort of a way.” “A kind of professional tour, Freney?” “Just so, sir; taking a bird's-eye view of the country from the drop, because, maybe, I would n't have time for it at another opportunity.” “You 're a hardened villain!” said Daly, looking at him with an expression the robber felt to be a finished compliment. “That's no lie, Mr. Daly; and if I wasn't, could I go on for twenty years, hunted down like a wild beast, with fellows tracking me all day, and lying in watch for me all night? Where we are sitting now is the only spot in the whole island where I can say I 'm safe. This is my brother's cabin.” “Your brother is the same man that opened the door for me?” Freney nodded, and went on: “He's a poor laboring man, with four acres of wet bog for a farm, and a young woman, in the ague, for a wife, and if it was n't for myself he 'd be starving; and would you believe it, now, he 'd not take to the road for one night--just one single night--to be as rich as the Duke of Leinster; and here am I”--and, as he spoke, his chest expanded, and his dark eyes flashed wildly--“here am I, that would rather be on my black mare's back, with my holsters at the saddle, watching the sounds of wheels on a lonely road, than I 'd be any gentleman in the land, barring your own self.” “And why me?” said Daly, in a voice whose melancholy cadence made it solemn as a death-bell.