Part 18 (1/2)
”Your favor's granted, sir,” she replied--”granted, Mr. Reilly, even before I hear it--that is, supposin' always that it's in my power--to do it for you.”
”It is simply to carry a letter--and be certain that it shall be delivered to the proper person.”
”Well,” she replied, ”sure that's aisily done. And where am I to deliver it?” she asked.
”That I shall let you know on some future occasion--perhaps within the course of a week or so.”
”Well, sir,” she replied, ”I'd go twenty miles to deliver it--and will do so wid a heart and a half.”
”Well, Molly, I can tell you your journey won't be so far; but there is one thing you are to observe--you must never breathe it to a human creature.”
”I thought you knew me better, Mr. Reilly.”
”It would be impossible, however, to be too strict here, because you don't know how much depends upon it.”
At this moment Fergus put in his head, and said, ”For Christ's sake, snuff out the candle, and Reilly--fly!--There are people in the next field!--quick!--quick!”
Reilly s.n.a.t.c.hed up his hat, and whispered to the widow, ”Deny that you saw me, or that there was any one here!--Put out the candle!--they might see our figures darkening the light as we go out!”
Fergus and Reilly immediately planted themselves behind a whitethorn hedge, in a field adjoining the cabin, in order to reconnoitre the party, whoever they might be, which they could do in safety. This act of reconnoitering, however, was performed by the ear, and not at all by the eye; the darkness of the night rendered that impossible. Of course the search in the widow's cabin was equally fruitless.
”Now,” whispered Reilly, ”we'll go in a line parallel with the road, but at a safe distance from them, until they reach the cross-roads. If they turn towards my house, we are forewarned, but if they turn towards Sir Robert's, it is likely that I may have an opportunity of securing my cash and papers.” On reaching the cross-roads alluded to, the party, much to the satisfaction of Reilly and his companion, did turn towards the residence of Sir Robert Whitecraft, thus giving the fugitives full a.s.surance that nothing further was to be apprehended from them that night. The men in fact felt fatigued and were anxious to get to bed.
After approaching Reilly's house very cautiously, and with much circ.u.mspection--not an outhouse, or other place of concealment, having been left unexamined--they were about to enter, when Reilly, thinking that no precaution on such an occasion ought to be neglected, said:
”Fergus, we are so far safe; but, under all circ.u.mstances, I think it right and prudent that you should keep watch outside. Mark me, I will place Tom Corrigan--you know him--at this window, and if you happen to see anything in the shape of a human being, or to hear, for instance, any noise, give the slightest possible tap upon the gla.s.s, and that will be sufficient.”
It was so arranged, and Reilly entered the house; but, as it happened, Fergus's office proved a sinecure; although, indeed, when we consider his care and anxiety, we can scarcely say so. At all events, Reilly returned in about half an hour, bearing under his arm a large dark portfolio, which, by the way, was securely locked.
”Is all right?” asked Fergus.
”All is right,” replied the other. ”The servants have entered into an arrangement to sit up, two in turn each night, so as to be ready to give me instant admittance whenever I may chance to come.”
”But now where are you to place these papers?” asked his companion.
”That's a difficulty.”
”It is, I grant,” replied Reilly, ”but after what has happened, I think widow Buckley's cabin the safest place for a day or two. Only that the hour is so unseasonable, I could feel little difficulty in finding a proper place of security for them, but as it is, we must only deposit them for the present with the widow.”
The roads of Ireland at this period--if roads they could be called--were not only in a most shameful, but dangerous, state. In summer they were a foot deep with dust, and in winter at least eighteen inches with mud.
This, however, was by no means the worst of it. They were studded, at due intervals, with ruts so deep that if a horse! happened to get into one of them he went down to the saddle-skirts. They were treacherous, too, and such as no caution could guard against; because, where the whole surface of the road was one ma.s.s of mud, it was impossible to distinguish these horse-traps at all. Then, in addition to these, were deep gullies across the roads, worn away by small rills, proceeding from rivulets in the adjoining uplands, which were; princ.i.p.ally dry, or at least mere threads of
water in summer, but in winter became pigmy torrents that tore up the roads across which they pa.s.sed, leaving them in the dangerous state we have described.
As Reilly and his companion had got out upon the road, they were a good deal surprised, and not a little alarmed, to see a horse, without a rider, struggling to extricate himself out of one of the ruts in question. ”What is this?” said Fergus. ”Be on your guard.”
”The horse,” observed Reilly, ”is without! a rider; see what it means.”
Fergus approached with all due caution, and on examining the place discovered a man lying apparently in a state of insensibility.
”I fear,” said he, on returning to Reilly, ”that his rider has been hurt; he is lying senseless about two or three yards before the horse.”