“What!” exclaimed the latter, “you admit your cowardice, do you?--Well, upon my honor and reputaytion, Alick, I'm extremely surprised at you--a young fellow like you--and a coward! Now I'll tell you what, Alick, I hate a coward--I despise a coward, and d--n me if any man who is mane enough to acknowledge himself to be one, shall have the benefit of my escort this night. Then stay where you are, sir, and take your punch--but you are not entitled to any protection; no, confound me if you are! A nice office for a man of my mettle to escort a coward!--no, no--take your punch, I say--you are safe under this roof, but as touching my protection, no fellow of your kidney shall resave it from me, unless in honest open daylight with a body of police or military at my elbow; and, besides, you have declined my hospitality, Mr. Purcel, and with the man--but man you are not--who declines my hospitality, I will keep no terms. Here's the 'Castle!' long life to it, and may it never have occasion to read me a lecture for protecting a coward! Steady, men--shoulder oines!--ah, I'm a pearl before swine here:--upon my honor and conscience, I'm nothing else--hurra!” Whilst this manifestation of courage and loyalty was proceeding, his daughter had sent a little girl by a lonely and circuitous way across the fields to Longshot Lodge, with a message to the effect that they had prevailed upon Alick to stop for the night, and that he would also breakfast there the next morning. The little girl's absence was very brief, and on her return, Alick had no hesitation in remaining. The heroic magistrate, having taken another tumbler, began to get drowsy, and with some assistance, was prevailed on to go to bed, where he almost immediately fell asleep. The two young men then got together all the arms and ammunition in the house, which, having made ready for an attack, they went also to bed, taking only their coats off, where for the present we leave them--but not asleep--and return to M'Carthy, for whose absence, no doubt, the reader is anxious that we should account. CHAPTER XII.--Out of the Frying-Pan into the Fire. M'Carthy on that night had not gone far, after having separated from the friendly Whiteboy, when he was met by a powerfully-formed man, who, he thought, bore a considerable resemblance in shape and size to the fellow who had been invested with authority not long before in Finnerty's. On seeing that it was M'Carthy, the stranger, whose face was blackened, and who also wore the white shirt outside, approached him coolly but determinedly, and laying his hand upon his shoulder, said--: “Your name is Francis M'Carthy'?” and as he spoke, M'Carthy could perceive the ends of a case of pistols projecting from his breast within the shirt, which was open at the neck. “As I have never knowingly done anything that should occasion me to deny my name, I acknowledge it--you know me, of course.”