“Oh, Holy Mother!” he muttered, “the blood is soaking through me! Master Tom, dear! Master Tom, my darlin' speak to me,--speak to me, acushla!” But though I heard each word distinctly, I could not utter one; a dreamy stupor was over me, and I only wished to be left quiet. “This must be it; ay, here it is,” said Darby, as he laid me gently down on the stone sill of the door, and knocked loudly with his knuckles. The summons, though repeated three or four times, was unheeded; and although he knocked loudly enough to have alarmed the neighborhood, and called out at the top of his voice, no one came; and the only sounds we could hear were the distant cadences of a drinking song, mingled with wild shouts of laughter, and still wilder cries of agony and woe. “Here they are, at last!” said Darby, as he almost staved in the door with a heavy stone. “Who's there?” cried a harsh and feeble voice from within. “'Tis me, Molly; 'tis Darby M'Keown, Open quick, for the love of Heaven! here 's a young gentleman bleedin' to death on the steps.” “Ugh! there 's as good as ever he was, and going as fast, too, here within,” said the crone. “Ye must take him away; he would n't mind him now for a king's ransom.” “I 'll break open the door this minit,” said Darby, with a horrible oath, “av ye don't open it.” “Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the hag. “If ye wor Darby M'Keown, ye 'd know well how easy that is. Try it,--try it, acushla! oak timber and nails is able to bear all you'll do!” “See now,” said Darby, dropping his voice to a whisper; “see, Molly, here 's five goold guineas for ye, av ye 'll let us in. 'T is a man's life 's on it, and one I 'd give my own for twice over.” “Av ye offered me forty,” replied she, “I dar'n't do it. Ye don't know the sorrow that 's here this night; 't is Dan Fortescue is going. I 'm coming, I 'm coming!” muttered she to some call from within. And then, without waiting to hear more, she shuffled back along the passage, and left us once more alone. “There's nothing for it but this now,” said Darby, as, retiring a few paces, he dashed his shoulder against the door with all his force; but though a powerful man, and though every window rattled and trembled with the tremendous shock, the strong panels withstood the stroke, and never yielded in the least. “'T is no use firing through the lock,” said he, in a tone of despair. “Blessed Joseph! what 's to be done?” As he spoke, the light tread of a barefooted child was heard coming up the lane, and the same moment a little girl approached the door. She carried a cup in her hand, and held it carefully, as if fearful of spilling its contents. As she neared the door, she seemed uncertain how to proceed, and at last, as if gaining courage, tapped twice at it with her knuckles. “Don't ye know me, Nora?” said Darby; “don't ye know Darby the Blast?”