any rate."

"Do so," said Reilly; "and listen, Fergus. See Paudeen, the smith, from
time to time, and get whatever he knows out of him. His father was a
tenant of ours, and he ought to remember our kindness to him and his."

"Ay," said Fergus, "and he does too."

"Well, it is clear he does. Get from him all the information you can,
and let me hear it. I would give you shelter in my house, but that now
would be dangerous both to you and me. Do you want money to support
you?"

"Well, indeed, Mr. Reilly, I do and I do not. I can--"

"That's enough," said Reilly; "you want it. Here, take this. I would
recommend you, as I did before, to leave this unhappy country; but as
circumstances have turned out, you may for some time yet be useful to
me. Good-night, then, Fergus. Serve me in this matter as far as you can,
for I stand in need of it."

As nothing like an organized police existed in Ireland at the period of
which we speak, an outlaw or Rapparee might have a price laid upon his
head for months--nay, for years--and yet continue his outrages and defy
the executive. Sometimes it happened that the authorities, feeling the
weakness of their resources and the inadequacy of their power, did not
hesitate to propose terms to the leaders of these banditti, and, by
affording them personal protection, succeeded in inducing them to betray
their former associates. Now Reilly was well aware of this, and our
readers need not be surprised that the communication made to him by his