The young man stepped back, his face pale as death, and his mouth partly open. He whispered a word in the old man's ear; to which the other responded,--“Where?” The youth pointed with his finger. “How many are they?” was his next question, while his dark eye glanced towards the old musket that hung on the wall above the fire. “Too many,--too many for us,” said Maurice, bitterly. The women, who had gathered around the speaker, looked at each other with an expression of utter wretchedness, when one of them, breaking from the others, rushed into the little inner room off the kitchen, and slammed the door violently behind her. The next instant the sound of voices was heard from the room, as if in altercation. Malone turned round at once, and throwing the door wide open, called out,-- “Be quiet, I say; there's not a moment to be lost. Maurice, put that gun away; Shamus, take up your net again; sit down, girls.” At the same instant he drew from his bosom a long horse pistol, and having examined the loading and priming, replaced it within his waistcoat, and sat down on a chair beside the fire, his strongly marked countenance fixed on the red blaze, while his lips muttered rapidly some words to himself. “Are ye ready there?” he cried, as his eyes were turned towards the small door. “In a minit,” said the woman from within. At the same instant the sounds of voices and the regular tramp of men marching were heard without. “Halt! stand at ease!” called out a deep voice; and the clank of the muskets as they fell to the ground was heard through the cabin. Meanwhile, every one within had resumed his previous place and occupation, and the buzz of voices resounded through the kitchen as though no interruption whatever had taken place. The latch was now lifted, and a sergeant, stooping to permit his tall feather to pass in, entered, followed by a man in plain clothes. The latter was a short, powerfully-built man, of about fifty; his hair, of a grizzly gray, contrasted with the deep purple of his countenance, which was swollen and bloated; the mouth, its most remarkable feature, was large and thick-lipped, the under-lip, projecting considerably forward, and having a strange, convulsive motion when he was not speaking. “It's a hard day. Mister Barton,” said Malone, rising from his seat, and stroking down his hair with one hand; “won't ye come over and take an air at the fire?” “I will, indeed, Ned,” said he, taking the proffered seat, and stretching out his legs to the blaze. “It's a severe season we have. I don't know how the poor are to get in the turf; the bogs are very wet entirely.” “They are, indeed, sir; and the harvest 'ill be very late getting in now,” said one of the young men, with a most obsequious voice. “Won't ye sit down, sir?” said he to the sergeant. A nod from Mister Barton in acquiescence decided the matter, and the sergeant was seated.