and social relations of life, selfish, uncandid, and treacherous.
The sergeant, on the other hand, though an out-spoken and flaming
anti-Papist in theory, was, in point of fact, a good friend to his Roman
Catholic neighbors, who used to say of him that his bark was worse than
his bite.

When his party had passed on, Fergus stood for a moment uncertain as
to where he should direct his steps. He had not long to wait, however.
Reilly, who had no thoughts of abandoning him to the mercy of the
military, without at least knowing his fate, nor, we may add, without
a firm determination to raising his tenantry, and rescuing the generous
fellow at every risk, immediately sprung across the ditch and joined
him.

"Well, Fergus," said he, clasping his hand, "I heard everything, and I
can tell you that every nerve in my body trembled whilst you were among
them."

"Why," said Fergus, "I knew them at once by their voices, and only that
I changed my own as I did I won't say but they'd have nabbed me."

"The test of the barn was frightful; I thought you were gone; but you
must explain that."

"Ay, but before I do," replied Fergus, "where are we to go? Do you still
stand for widow Buckley's?"

"Certainly, that woman may be useful to me."

"Well, then, we may as well jog on in that direction, and as we go I