“Egor! I’ll improve his moind wid grand discourses on trayson and informin’ an’ betrayin’ his oath, and the like o’ that, till he’ll be fit to die wid shame.” “No--I dunno--p’r’aps it’d be better not to let him know _we_ know--jest make him think we’re his friends, hidin’ him away from the police. However, that can take care of itself. Say whatever you like to him, only--” “Only don’t lay a hand on him--is it that ye were thinkin’?” broke in Jerry. “Yes, don’t lick him,” said The O’Mahony. “He’s had about the worst bat on the head I ever saw a a man git an’ live, to start with. No--be decent with him, an’ give him enough to eat. Might let him have a moderate amount o’ drink, too.” “I suppose there’ll be a great talk about his vanishin’ out o’ sight all at wance among the Brotherhood,” suggested Jerry. “That don’t matter a darn,” said the other. “Jest you go ahead, an’ tend to your own knittin’, an’ let the Brotherhood whistle. We’ve paid a good stiff price to learn what Fenianism is worth, and we’ve learned enough. Not any more on my plate, thankee! Jest give the boys the word that the jig is up--that there won’t be any more drillin’ or meanderin’ round generally. And speakin’ o’ drink--” A noise from the curtained bed in the alcove interrupted The O’Mahony’s remarks upon this important subject. Turning, the two men saw that Linsky had risen on the couch to a half-sitting posture, and, with a tremulous hand, drawing aside the felt-like draperies, was staring wildly at them out of blood-shot eyes. “For the love of God, what is it?” he asked, in a faint and moaning voice. “Lay down there!--quick!” called out The O’Mahony, sternly; and Linsky fell back prone without a protest. The O’Mahony had finished melting his gum, and he spread it now salve-like upon a cloth. Then he walked over to where the wounded man lay, with marvel-stricken eyes wandering over the archaic vaulted ceiling. “Is it dead I am?” he groaned, with a vacuous glance at the new-comer. “No, you’ve been badly hurt in battle,” said the other, in curt tones. “We can pull you through, perhaps; but you’ve got to shut up an’ lay still. Hold your head this way a little more--that’s it.” The injured man submitted to the operation, for the most part, with apparently closed eyes, but his next remark showed that he had been gathering his wits together. “And how’s the battle gone, Captain Harrier?” he suddenly asked. “Is Oireland free from the oppressor at last?” “No!” said The O’Mahony, with dry brevity--“but she’ll be free from _you_ for a spell, or I miss _my_ guess most consumedly.” CHAPTER XV--“TAKE ME WITH YOU, O’MAHONY.” The fair-weather promise of the crimson sunset was not kept. The morning broke bloodshot and threatening, with dark, jagged storm-clouds scudding angrily across the sky, and a truculent unrest moving the waters of the bay to lash out at the rocks, and snarl in rising murmurs among themselves.