“That fellow's fate will lie heavily on your heart yet,” said Daly, in a voice whose solemn tones at once arrested Freney's merriment, while the “gossoon,” with increased animation and in a wilder strain, burst forth,-- “My Lord cheats at play like a rogue, And my Lady flings honor behind her; And why wold n't I be in vogue, And sing, Tally-high-ho the Grinder!” “Come,” said Daly, turning away, for, amid all his disgust, a sense of the ludicrous was stealing over him, and the temptation to laugh was struggling in him,--“come, let us be off; you have nothing to wait for, I suppose?” “Nothing, sir; I'm ready this instant. Here, Jemmy, take this portmanteau, and meet us outside of Maynooth, under the old castle wall.” “Stay,” cried Daly, whose misgivings about the safe arrival of his luggage would have made him prefer any other mode of transmission; “he 'll scarcely be in time.” “Not in time! I wish I'd a bet of fifty guineas on it that he would not visit every stable on the road, and know every traveller's name and business, and yet be a good half hour before us. Off with you! Away!” Diving under the two horses, the “gossoon” appeared at the other side of the road, and then, with a wild spring in the air, and an unearthly shout of laughter, he cleared the fence before him and disappeared, while as he went the strain of his slang song still floated in the air, and the refrain, “Tally-high-ho the Grinder,” could be heard through the stillness of the night. “Take the dark horse, sir; you 're heavier than me,” said Freney, as he held the stirrup. “A clever hack, faith,” said Daly, as he seated himself in the saddle, and gathered up the reins. “And mounts you well,” cried Freney, admiring both horse and rider once more by the light before he extinguished the lantern. The storm had now considerably abated, and they rode on at a brisk pace, nor did they draw rein till the tall ruined castle of Maynooth could be seen, rearing its dark head against the murky sky. “We part here,” said Daly, who for some time had been lost in thought, “and I have nothing but thanks to offer you for this night's service, Freney; but if the time should come that I can do you a good turn--” “I 'll never ask it, sir,” said Freney, interrupting him. “And why not? Are you too proud?” “Not too proud to be under any obligation to you,” said the robber, stopping him, “but too proud of the honor you did me this night by keeping my company, ever to hurt your fame by letting the world know it. No, Mr. Daly, I knew your courage well; but this was the bravest thing ever you did.” He sprang from his horse as he spoke, and gave a long, shrill whistle. A deep silence followed, and he repeated the signal, and, soon after, the tramp of naked feet was heard on the road, and Jemmy advanced towards them at his ordinary sling trot. “Take the trunk up to the town.”