“God be praised for that!” replied the poor woman, with tears in her eyes; “it would a' broken my heart if you had been catched in my little place.” “But, Mrs. Buckley,” said Reilly, “were there any plain clothes left for me here?” “Oh, indeed there was, sir,” she replied, “and I have them safe for you; but, in the meantime, I'll go outside, and have an eye about the country, for somehow they have taken it into their heads that this would be a very likely place to find you.” While she was out, Reilly changed his dress, and in a few minutes underwent such a metamorphosis that poor Mrs. Buckley, on reentering the house, felt quite alarmed. “Heavenly Father! my good man, where did you come from? I thought I left Mr. --” here she stopped, afraid to mention Reilly's name. “Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Buckley,” said Reilly; “I am only changed in outward appearance; I am your true friend still; and now accept this for your kindness,” placing money in her hand. “I can't, Mr. Reilly; you are under the persecutions, and will want all the money you have to support yourself. Didn't the thieves of the devil burn you out and rob you, and how can you get through this wicked world without money--keep it yourself, for I don't want it.” “Come, come, Mrs. Buckley, I have money enough; you must take this; I only ask you to conceal these clothes in some place where the hell-hounds of the law can't find them. And now, good-by, Mrs. Buckley; I shall take care that, whatever may happen me, you shall not be disturbed out of your little cabin and your garden.” The tears ran down the poor old woman's cheeks, and Reilly left her sobbing and crying behind him. This indeed was an eventful day to him, Strong in the confidence of his disguise, he took the public road, and had not gone far when he met a party of Sir Robert Whitecraft's. To fly would have been instant ruin; he accordingly commenced an old Irish song at the very top of his lungs. Sir Robert Whitecraft was not himself of the party, but scarcely any individual was met by them whom they did not cross-examine. “Hallo, my good fellow,” said the leader of the party, “what is that you're singin'?” Reilly stared at him like a man who was sorely puzzled; “_Ha neil bearla agum;_” that is, “I have no English.” “Here, Connor, you can speak Irish; sift this able-bodied tyke.”